Chapter 14 Ian
FOURTEEN
IAN
After practice, I hurry to change. Levi will be discharged from the hospital today.
Wanting to be there for my best friend, I call him, but it sends me straight to voicemail. An unsettling feeling dips low in my stomach, tensing me up.
My sister calls as soon as I hang up, and I can barely make out her words through her sobs. But I understand she’s waiting at my building.
With a single focus, I speed toward her, ignoring all the traffic rules to get to her sooner.
Amelie sits on a bench outside the building. Head down, shoulders slumped as if she lost the fight to keep herself upright. A coat of dejection drapes over her frame, weighing her down.
My feet grow heavy with each step.
She lifts her teary gaze, and her despondency wrecks me. I wrap my arms around her, needing to comfort her. She clutches the lapels of my jacket, sobbing.
I caress her back to soothe her. “What happened?”
“He left. He just left me,” she says, her voice broken.
I’m going to fucking kill him. Does he have to jeopardize the only good thing in his life? My initial disapproval of their relationship feels like a justification in this case.
I clench my jaw hard enough that my molars might crack. “Come on. Let’s go inside to my place.”
“Why doesn’t he want me there? I thought he loved me,” she hiccups.
“He loves you.”
If I know something, it’s that, but he’s also a stubborn idiot. Black dots scatter across my vision. I am so pissed at him, I could punch him until his head gets straight.
Inside my loft, she slumps on the edge of the sofa.
I head to the kitchen, open a cabinet, and prepare some tea.
I wouldn’t even have had tea in the house without Lilly.
Relationships are messy and end. Friendship is better.
Then why does my heart stop and start beating every time I see Lilly, pumping me up with renewed life?
I bring Amelie the cup, swirls of steam dancing above the chamomile brew.
With shaky fingers, she brings it to her mouth. “I want to be there for him. I thought we moved past the need to deal with our own stuff separately.”
I drop on the sofa next to her, raking a hand through my hair. “What did he say?”
She stares blankly into the cup. “That he will return. But I…”
“He’s going through a rough patch,” I say, needing to do some damage control on my best friend’s behalf.
She shuts her eyes for a moment. “I’ve been there every minute. I know what he’s going through. He’s so obsessed with my independence. It would be admirable if I wanted that as badly as being there for him.”
A faraway look contorts her face. She takes small sips, and then she places the cup down with more force than necessary. “I’m so mad at him. I am not taking him back. Maybe you were right. Look at me crying to my brother over his best friend.”
Emotions lie thick in the air. I love them both and seeing them suffer again without being able to help tears me apart. Nothing hurts more than witnessing the ones you love hurting. I would take it from them if I could.
“He will come to his senses,” I assure her.
She interlaces her fingers on her lap, staring at them with a lost expression.
“It doesn’t even feel like a breakup,” she whispers.
I tuck her to my side. “You can stay at my place for a while.”
“I need to go back. I can’t lose him and my bakery. Work has always helped.”
I drive her to the airport. In the car, she looks out the window, chest heaving with deep respirations. Her dejected sighs wreck me.
“I don’t know what I will tell mom and dad, but I don’t need them on my case. I have enough to deal with.”
“No problem.” I am good at keeping secrets. The irony.
I can clearly see the love for him glistening in her eyes—the hope, all the dreams, but also the struggle.
After I park, I accompany her inside the airport, waiting with her until she goes through security. We hug tightly, and my sister says a final goodbye with a small wave.
People steal glances at me. Usually, I am all for taking my time to sign autographs and talk a bit with every fan, but today I just walk away, saying, “No, I’m not Ian Weston.”
Back at my loft, I pace around. Every minute, rage takes over until it conquers my composure. I would have been there for him if he let me.
I call him again, and when he answers, I yell, “Are you kidding me? You fucking promised not to make her cry again.”
“Ian—”
“No, fuck you. She’s my little sister and apparently the fucking love of your life. It doesn’t seem to mean much. But again, you left me too. And I am supposed to be your fucking best friend,” I grit out.
“Man, I gotta heal. I can’t be the man for her right now, nor your best friend. I won’t be a bitter husband, envious of his woman having something to love, or envious of my best friend still playing,” he says in a calm voice. His words don’t diffuse the fog of anger, though.
“How will leaving help with that? I know you’re hurting, asshole. I understand. She does too. I thought you were loyal. Must have been mistaken,” I snicker.
“Ian,” he tries, but he can’t reach me.
I am hurt and mad, a combination that does more harm than good. “You listen to me. I hope you get better, but I am majorly pissed at you. Consider us on a friendship break.”
I hang up. He doesn’t call me back.
I can’t stay here, or the ire will push me to tear my place apart.
I call Roman and we meet at our regular sports pub. It belongs to a retired teammate. Matt Phillips is a local legend and played for the Sharks for a decade. Current players get a private section, separated from the front and prying eyes.
I arrive first and order a bottle of water. I sip from it as Roman takes the place next to me.
“This has never happened before,” he says in a cautious tone, testing the waters.
Yes, I’m in a bar in the middle of the day. I grunt, peeling the label.
“Do you want to talk or stare at that bottle as if it’s the opposition you’re ready to crush.”
My chest heaves with a ragged breath. “Levi left.”
He opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“We’ll need something stronger than this,” Roman says, jerking his chin toward the hard liquor bottles behind the bar.
“It’s enough, I’ll catch heat from Coach tomorrow. No need for you to as well,” I mumble, waving off the bartender, knowing that not even if I drink the entire shelf could I drown my misery.
He slaps a hand on my back. “You’ll get that, regardless. He’s still looking at you like he wants to hug and punch you simultaneously.”
Leave it to Roman to pull a smile from me, even when I’m miserable.
“I don’t know what I would have done, but staying in the place where I can’t play any longer would just make it worse.”
Running a hand down my face, I sigh. “You don’t have to find excuses for him. I understand his reasoning, but I am pissed at how he acted on it.”
Tapping his finger on the smooth bar surface, he says, “He’s not thinking clearly, and neither are you. You’re best friends.”
I shrug, clenching my fingers around the bottle. “It might be your lucky day. I’m looking for a new one.”
“I always felt like a third wheel in your bromance. I’d bet you my monthly salary that you’re going to move past this.” He takes a long gulp, his foot bouncing up and down nervously. “Do you know why I have been so insistent on being your friend?”
That piques my interest. I cock my head at him, and a small smile stretches on his face.
“I grew up poor. Like dirt poor next to the richest neighborhood in New York. Basically, everyone had more. I only had my talent. Football was my only chance to overcome my condition. People are drawn to the ones who feel similarly.” He shrugs.
“I’ll always feel like everyone would rather give me up than choose me. ”
“You have to get past her.”
I know it’s her because he got drunk one night and told me. She did a number on him. But rich girl, poor guy. It works only the other way around.
“There’s this feeling inside of me that I will never be good enough. And you must face yours, Ian. The fear of abandonment.”
I jerk my chin toward him. “You first.”
We fall silent, and over the next few hours, we hang out and talk. My phone keeps vibrating, and I read the texts from Lilly.
Where are you?
Why aren’t you texting back?
I’m worried.
Ian?
Each text only splits me more apart, wanting to make her mine, knowing I fucking can’t. My bad mood only worsens.
I glance at Roman, who came to support me, but usually it’s the other way around. It’s our secret. I guard his and he mine.
Like clockwork, he says, “I thought she loved me, would wait for me. I bet she’s married and popped out some entitled brats with someone better than me.”
“Her loss, man.”
He shakes his head with such force as if he wants to propel her out of his mind. “No, Ian. It’s still mine.”
I am surrounded by men in love who hurt worse than not being in love at all.
“That’s why Lilly and I are just friends.”
He snorts, eyeing me with knowing eyes. “Just friends, sure. Stop lying to yourself.”
“We’re friends,” I grit out.
He nudges his elbow into my side. “Yes, friends who’d like the other to make the first move.”
“Fuck you.”
But he’s right. It’s like we wait for the other to do something.
Neither will, because our circumstances won’t change miraculously.
God knows I need her in my life. I can’t afford to jeopardize that.
Best example, Levi. And Levi has always pined for my sister.
Waited for her, loved her from afar. And what does the idiot do?
Flees because he thinks he’s not good enough anymore.
I have no fucking clue how a relationship that isn’t toxic even works.
Parting with a side hug, I get in my car, feeling so fucking lost.
Inside my loft, Lilly waits for me.
She plants her palms on her waist, eyeing me intently before she breathes out, her features softening.
“Good, you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry.” For worrying her and for being a damn wreck.
She gives me a strained nod. “Apology accepted. But I want you to think about how you would have felt in my position.”
I would have probably raided every damn bar in the city, searching for her.
Her soft feet pad along the floor, her floral scent invading my nostrils. “What happened?” she asks, reaching me. Slipping her hand in mine, she gives it a light squeeze.
I tell her about Levi leaving, my sister’s breakdown, and my talk with both of them as we drop onto the sofa. Talking to her is easy, the words just flow. I can be just me when I’m with her, and honesty pours out, baring all my vulnerabilities.
“That explains it. Ian?” She searches my gaze and our eyes lock.
“It has nothing to do with you. People are complicated. Their struggles have nothing to do with wanting to hurt or abandon you.”
I doubt I ever told her about my greatest fear, but she senses it.
“I’m here. You’re not getting rid of me.”
My heart grows fuller, only to deflate when she says, “What are friends for?”
I swallow the groan back. “Right.”
“Now, go to bed.” She stands up. “We’ll talk tomorrow. My father will lose it if you don’t perform.”
I hate Coach Parker so fucking much. He’s keeping me away from her.
“Good night, Ian,” she says softly and leaves me to simmer in my need.
“You’re cruel, leaving me teetering on the edge. I am fucking starved for more of you,” I say as she closes the door.
I have to pull my shit together. Play at my best. I am on a fine line with Coach, and I can’t slip when I barely gained back his trust. I am not a mess, damn it.
Stepping out of the shower, I drag my hand across the fogged mirror, seeing myself more clearly. Bags lie under my eyes, pale skin. It’s written all over me that I am not in the best form.
I change and pack my gym bag when the smell of eggs and buttery bread draws me into the kitchen.
I do a double take at the set table. Lilly grins so bright that I forget all my troubles. Her simple presence is the cure to all my ailments, I swear.
“I am getting better. Just taste it,” she says, excitement ringing in her sweet voice.
I would taste anything if it’s made by her, not bothered by possible food poisoning.
She digs the fork in the fluffy eggs, bringing it to my mouth. My eyes widen when it reaches my taste buds. It’s great, and the bacon is perfectly crispy.
I palm my chest, faking incredulity. “Who are you and what did you do to my flower girl?”
She giggles as she waves me off, and we take our seats. “I’m taking cooking lessons.”
She chews on that fuller bottom lip of hers, enticing me to do the same. “It feels like a skill we all should learn… and I wanted to surprise you.”
“You surprised me all right.”
Yeah, keep doing that—fascinate me. I am losing myself entirely to her. I want in her heart, body, mind every day a bit more. It’s driving me wild.