38 - Nathan
Nathan
I’m in Seattle, three floors up in a hotel that smells like lemon cleaner and recycled air. I already know how this night is going to go.
We won the game. The guys are loud down the hall as someone knocks on the doors, while someone else yells into the rooms. I scored the winning goal, so I should be out there.
I shut myself in anyway. They pestered me on the bus ride back to the hotel, but I said I was tired.
Which is true, just not in the way they think.
I check my phone out of habit more than hope.
No new messages.
There’s a stupid part of me that keeps expecting her name to be there. But Wesley isn’t the type to wake up and undo this. She isn’t someone who would let her feelings get in the way of her plans, even if I wish she were.
I knew the second she got into her car that it was over.
I’d seen it in her eyes. It was the kind of resolve that’s useless to argue against. The decision was made, and now, a week and a half later, I still don’t know how to feel about it.
My mind does cartwheels trying to reason through it. It’d be easier if she felt nothing, then I could move on knowing that it was never supposed to be anything anyway. But, she did feel something for me. It just wasn’t enough to change anything.
It didn’t matter that it was real or felt good. It didn’t matter that she wanted it.
What mattered was that whatever was between us had put her dreams at risk, and that was one thing she’d never compromise on. It was also the one thing I’d promised myself not to get in the way of.
I’ve been sick thinking about it.
The morning replayed in my head more than any bad shift on the ice ever had. Her voice had been sharp with panic. Her face was hollow when she told me she was late, like the ground was about to swallow her whole, and she was waiting for it to happen.
I didn’t make her miss it.
I didn’t turn off her alarm or ask her to stay.
But I was there. I was a part of it, and that was enough.
I strip out of my suit and stand under the shower longer than necessary, letting the water run hot until my skin turns red, and my thoughts blur at the edges.
It doesn’t help. Nothing does. Not the noise of the water, not the quiet afterward, not the game film looping through my head instead of her smile.
I dry off, pull on sweats, sit on the edge of the bed, and check my phone again.
Still nothing.
Two days ago, I finally pestered Liam to ask Avery for information. He clocked me immediately, but did it anyway.
She was still going to camp in a couple of days.
My chest loosened at that. Relief and guilt tangled together so tight it made me nauseous. Relief because she hadn’t lost the thing she’s been building toward her entire life. Guilt because I knew exactly what it had cost her to make sure of that.
Me.
Takeout should be here any minute, but I’m not hungry.
I ordered out of habit from the same burger place we always order from here.
Ordering in was an excuse to not be around the team.
I don’t have it in me to sit at a table pretending to care about the game or the gossip.
Though sitting alone with the truth I can’t say out loud, isn’t much better.
It’s taken everything in me not to text her or show up at the stadium. I woke up before seven every day this week. It was the universe’s cruel way of reminding me that I no longer have anywhere I need to be at that time. I don’t even know when it became so natural, but it had.
What kills me is that I’d already started planning. I’d thought about how we could make it work around flights, camps, and games. My mind got caught up in it all as if I hadn’t known from the beginning exactly how it would end.
I check my phone one last time before tossing it on the bed in frustration.
This is fucking embarrassing.
I don’t blame her for the silence. If anything, I respect it. She’s doing exactly what she said she would. Choosing the thing that matters most. Cutting clean instead of letting it bleed out slowly. I should be doing the same.
Hell, I played great tonight. I’ve played great all week. I should go out to celebrate, but I can’t stomach it.
Instead, I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the city humming faintly through the window.
There’s a knock at my door, and I assume it’s dinner, until the whispers on the other side grow louder. Wyatt laughs about something, and Liam argues with him about where they’re going. Without hearing his voice, I know Grayson is there, too.
The knock comes again, louder this time, as if to emphasize they won’t be leaving unless I answer. So, I push the door open, already halfway back to my bed by the time it hits the wall.
Wyatt is dressed in his usual laid-back, dark colors. Liam follows, jacket slung over his shoulder, tapping something into his phone. Grayson brings up the rear, eyes sweeping the room in one slow, assessing pass.
They all stop when they see me in my sweats, barefoot with my hair unbrushed. I ignore the stares, yanking my food out of Wyatt’s hands.
He just blinks. “Wow. This is bleak.”
“Jesus,” Liam says. “Did we lose? Why do you look like we lost?”
“We won.” I pull a fry out of the bag and pop it into my mouth. Maybe if I’m quiet, they’ll leave.
Liam squints at me. “You sure?”
“I’m not going out,” I add before they even ask.
Wyatt scoffs. “Didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did. With your eyes.”
“I didn’t ask you shit with my eyes.”
“You two done flirting?” Grayson eyes the two of us, ever the mediator.
Liam drops onto the chair by the desk. “Come on, man. You need to get out of your head.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Wyatt rolls his eyes. “You look like a man who’s about to watch three straight hours of SportsCenter and pine after a girl that didn’t choose you.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” Liam slaps his arm.
“I’m just saying he’s not fine.” Wyatt shrugs, clueless and careless as always.
“I ordered food,” I say, as if that settles the matter.
Liam snorts.
They start talking over each other then, but I get the gist. I’m Nathan Wilder. I’m on a hot streak. I should be celebrating. It is all true and totally irrelevant.
“Get a drink,” Wyatt says. “Get two.”
Liam grins. “Get a rebound.”
My stomach twists so hard it actually pisses me off.
“Don’t.”
He raises his hands. “What? I’m being supportive.”
“I said don’t.”
Wyatt’s grin falters. “Okay, damn.”
“I don’t need a rebound, I don’t need a drink, and I don’t need to pretend I’m having a good time, just so you guys feel better about me.”
The room goes quiet.
I immediately regret the edge in my voice, but not enough to take it back.
Liam exhales slowly. “We’re trying to help.”
“Then help by leaving,” I snap.
Wyatt mutters, “You were with her to improve your game. It worked. Even with it over, you still crushed it this week. Wasn’t that the whole point?”
He’s not wrong. I should be thrilled. I’d been terrified that she was the only reason my play had improved, but here I was, almost two weeks later, kicking ass and as miserable and alone as ever.
“Yeah, it was.” I click through the TV channels. “Now, go.”
Grayson hasn’t said a word. He’s watching me, head tilted slightly, looking past what I’m saying to the thing underneath it. He always does that. It’s annoying as hell.
He finally speaks. “You guys go.”
Wyatt turns to him. “What?”
“I’ll stay,” Grayson says calmly. “You two go.”
Liam frowns. “You don’t have to babysit him.”
There’s a beat of hesitation. Then Wyatt shrugs. “Suit yourselves. Text us when you decide to stop being an ass.”
Liam looks like he wants to say something else, but Grayson shoots him a look, and he drops it.
The door closes behind them, the hallway noise swallowing them up.
Grayson sits on the edge of the other bed, elbows on his knees. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Fine by me.”
I stare at the takeout bag before pulling out the food inside. The smell hits, and I realize I am hungry after all.
Grayson watches me with real concern.
I ignore it. Suffering alone would be preferable to his hovering, but I don’t tell him to go either.
Once the room smells like fried food and the takeout containers are stacked empty on the desk, he finally pushes.
I should’ve known he would eventually.
I’m propped up against the pillows at the top of the bed, my phone resting loosely in my hand.
“You’ve checked that thing a thousand times.” Grayson points to my phone.
I don’t look at him. “No, I haven’t.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You have.”
Silence settles again with the hum of the mini fridge and the distant traffic outside, slowly driving me insane.
“What happened?” He asks.
“Nothing happened. It was always fake. It was always supposed to end.”
Grayson turns on the bed so he’s facing me fully. “That’s all it was?”
I swallow because it feels wrong to lie about what it meant to me.
“We got a little too involved, but that doesn’t mean the plan ever changed.”
“You’re not acting like any of it was fake.”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but convincing him it was nothing would be as impossible as convincing myself of it.
“It wasn’t. At least, not to me. And not to her, not really. But now, I guess none of that matters.”
He doesn’t interrupt, so I keep going. I shouldn’t, but the pressure has been building for days, and he’s always been good at finding the cracks.
“She made her choice. Soccer was always going to be her choice. It was never going to be me.” I finally look at him. “And it’s for the best.”
Grayson raises an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t even sure how much I wanted her.” The lie tastes thin as it rolls off my tongue. “Or if I was just scared that I couldn’t play as well without her. I mean, I only pursued her so she’d help me cross-train in the first place.”
Grayson stares at me for a second before laughing right in my face. It’s loud and immediately grates on my nerves.
“Are you shitting me right now?” I glare at him.
“That’s such bullshit,” he says between breaths.
“You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely do,” he replies calmly. “You’ve played your entire life. You were elite before Wesley. You never needed her to train with you, you dumbass. You wanted an excuse to spend time with her.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going.
“And if it being over was for the best,” he adds, holding his hand up to keep me from speaking, “you wouldn’t be this miserable.”
That shuts me up entirely.
I played damn good tonight. My body moved instinctually out there. My mind never drifted towards her. I was focused and unstoppable. It was only after the whistle blew that she consumed my thoughts.
I’ve been telling myself that I needed her help because it’s easier than admitting the truth that it was never about need. It was about want. I wanted her. Want her.
But what good does that do now? Denial hurts less. At least then I can protect myself from wanting someone who doesn’t want me enough.
“I’m not enough.” The words are barely audible and more to myself than to him. “I never am. Not for her. Not for…” I let the words trail off and stand up, turning off one of the lights.
Thankfully, Grayson gets the hint, grabbing his jacket off the chair.
“Seems to me it was never about if you can still perform without her, but more about if she can still perform with you.” He pulls the door open.
“And if you let her go without a fight, neither of you will ever really know about any of it.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I pace the room, my frustration growing to a new high as Grayson’s words replay in my head. She ended this. She didn’t even want to try. I’d have chosen her if I could have.
It wasn’t my choice. Letting her go was the only thing I could think to do. I loved her too much to put myself in the race against her dreams.
Shit.
I love her.
I love her, and it’s over.
I love her, and she doesn’t love me.