40 - Nathan
Nathan
Liam is worried about me. He didn’t say it outright, but he’s insisted on hanging out every night this week. It was fine when that involved staying home and ordering something greasy, but now I wish he’d just leave me alone.
The pitying look in his eyes is the only reason I agreed to go tonight. It’s Becca’s birthday, and she wants the boys there. It’s my fault, really. Wesley and I let our teams get too friendly, and now, I’m paying the price.
I’ve already tried to get out of it twice. I would’ve tried again, but Liam told me that Wesley is completely fine with me being there.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Because if she’s fine with it, if it doesn’t matter to her, then I’m sure as hell not going to let it matter to me.
I can’t say I’m surprised. Being okay is Wesley to a T. That woman could block out any emotion without blinking. I was a problem but ghosting me solved it. She’s probably moved on and classified me as a two-month mistake. Nothing more.
Getting ready took longer than necessary because I couldn’t stop standing in front of my closet, trying to find the right shirt.
I hate that I cared. I hate that I even registered which shirt looked better, but I put on the black button-down anyway.
It’s just a shirt, but sitting in Liam’s car outside the bar, I smooth it down too many times for it to be casual.
We make our way inside, finding it packed. Becca has gotten the bar to rope off a section in the back for her, and most of my teammates are already here. Music is thumping through the walls, bass rattling the windows.
Becca said it would be a small get-together, which apparently means the whole damn city. Wyatt is slumped down in the corner, sipping on what I’m sure is not his first beer. Over by the bar, Avery and Haley chatter away with a couple of guys I don’t recognize.
I clock the exits and the time, wondering how long I have to stay before Liam will detach himself from my side so I can go home.
“Relax,” Liam says, bumping my shoulder. “You should be having fun.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Sure you are.”
Wyatt grins as he saunters up to us. “I’m surprised you showed up. I thought this might cut into your self-scheduled wallowing time.”
I glare at him as he flashes a sarcastic smile and pats my shoulder.
We push toward the bar. I order a beer I don’t want and take a sip that tastes like nothing. My grin feels forced, because it is, but dammit if I’m not trying to be the version of me that existed before her.
It works for about thirty seconds.
Until I see Wesley.
So, this is what fine looks like.
She’s near the back, half-turned toward one of her teammates, laughing at something I can’t hear.
Her hair is pulled back, and she’s tanner, probably from spending all of last week in the sun.
I picture her at Future’s Camp, hoping she did well.
I wish I were still the person she’d call to talk to about it.
My chest tightens before I can stop it.
She doesn’t see me at first, or maybe she does and pretends not to. Either way, the effect is the same. I stand there, beer sweating in my hand, feeling like I’ve been dropped into the wrong scene of my own life.
Liam follows my gaze. “She doesn’t seem bothered.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Maybe tonight will be like closure or something," he adds, taking a swig of his beer.
My stomach churns because closure means settled. It means it’s over for good. She looks like she’s already gotten whatever closure she needs. She’s clearly not stuck in the part of this that I am.
Grayson whistles low. “You could go say ‘Hi.’”
I shoot him a look that manages to shut him up for once. The last thing I want right now is his responsible, wise perspective.
The space between Wesley and me feels intentional. She’s not avoiding me exactly. She’s just existing in a way that doesn’t account for me at all, even though I’m aware of her every move.
Becca squeals when she sees Liam and me, launching herself into a group hug that smells like tequila and perfume. She thanks everyone for coming. Someone buys shots, and the party commences.
At some point, it becomes unavoidable.
We end up in the same loose circle, friends overlapping, conversations bleeding into each other. I’m suddenly very aware of where my hands are and how close I’m standing to her. My heart rate has picked up as if I’m finishing a shift on the ice.
She notices me at the same moment I stop pretending I haven’t been looking.
Her smile falters a fraction before she smooths it back into place and turns toward me. My hands start sweating.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey.”
There’s a beat where neither of us speaks. Music thumps behind us, the bass vibrating through my ribs. Avery says something to Becca that makes her laugh, but the sound feels like it’s coming from another room.
I clear my throat. “Uh. Sorry if… if me being here is awkward.”
The words taste like pride swallowed sideways.
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “What? No,” she says easily. “Of course not.”
Of course not. Great.
Maybe she really did pretend the entire time.
“How was the camp last week?” I ask because silence feels worse. “Did Florida treat you okay?”
“It was good. Really good, actually.”
I nod, even though I’m numb. “Yeah?”
She nods back, a little more animated now. “I played well. The feedback was solid.” A pause. Then, quieter, like she’s letting herself have it for half a second. “I’ve got a real shot.”
There it is. The thing that mattered more than us.
I should be proud of her. I am proud of her. That’s the problem. Pride mixes with something bitter and ugly before I can stop it.
“Glad you got what you wanted.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know they're wrong.
They’re sharp and laced with something I’d been trying to bury deep. But the words are already out there, implying everything we’ve left unsaid.
Glad you got what you wanted, and it wasn’t me.
Her face stills, and I’m surprised by the hurt that crosses it. It’s blatant but quiet, as if my words cut deeper than either of us knew was possible.
The music surges, someone shouting for shots, and suddenly I can’t stand here another second without saying something worse.
“Anyway,” I mutter, already stepping back. “I’m going to grab a drink.”
She nods once, reflexive. “Yeah. Sure.”
I don’t wait. I don’t look back. I cut toward the bar like it’s a lifeline, elbowing through bodies, my pulse roaring in my ears. I grip the edge of the counter harder than necessary and signal to the bartender, jaw tight.
Smooth, Wilder. Real smooth.
I stare at the bottles lined up behind the bar and try to swallow past my heart in my throat while I wait for my drink. Once I have it, I down the first sip fast, welcoming the burn.
I hate that I said it.
I hate more that some part of me meant it exactly the way it sounded.
It makes me feel like an asshole I don’t recognize.
I tell myself I’m not watching her, but even from across the room, I can feel her presence.
From the bar, over the rim of my glass, I find her easily. I’m pretending to listen to Liam argue with the bartender about tequila brands, while I watch Wesley laugh in a loose circle with her teammates. Her shoulders are relaxed in a way they weren’t when she talked to me.
That’s the part that gets me.
I drink faster after that. One beer turns into two, which turns into me losing track somewhere around the third round of shots to celebrate the birthday girl. The edges of the room soften. The noise gets louder and farther away at the same time.
At some point, I end up back at their table.
I don’t remember deciding to go there. I just… am.
I drop into an empty chair with unsteady and careless movements. My lips tilt up in a grin as if I’m not totally aware that Wesley is close enough to touch.
Liam looks up immediately, eyes narrowing. “Hey, you good?”
“Never better,” I reply, reaching for a beer that isn’t mine.
That’s when she appears. Some blonde that I’m sure we’ve seen here before. Her dress is short, and her makeup is dark. I hardly notice anything else about her before she takes it upon herself to slide onto my lap as if it were reserved for her. She has full confidence and zero hesitation.
I almost slide her off me. It’s a knee-jerk response to the feeling that I belong to someone else, but I don’t.
I never really did either.
It stings sharply enough that I decide to let her stay.
Her arm loops around my neck. “Well, hello.”
Liam’s hand clamps down on my shoulder hard enough to register through the alcohol. “Nathan,” he says sharply. “Get up.”
“Relax,” I mutter, waving him off. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. Don’t do this.”
I turn my head, glaring at him. “Fuck off.”
The words are louder than I mean them to be. People glance over, and the whispers start. I can almost track the murmurs as they make their way to Wesley.
The girl in my lap laughs. My hands stay pinned to my side while she wraps herself around me. The idea of touching her makes me sick to my stomach. But…
I sit there and let it look bad.
I let it look like I don’t care.
Across the table, Wesley’s smile is gone.
She doesn’t say anything, no, she’s far too controlled for that. Instead, she leans in, whispering something into Becca’s ear. Becca’s eyes flick to me, then back to Wesley, concern written all over her face.
After they talk for a few minutes, Wesley grabs her jacket and takes off.
That’s when the fog in my head clears enough to feel my stomach drop. What the fuck am I doing?
I shove the girl gently but firmly off my lap, standing so fast my chair tips back. Liam says my name again, a warning this time, but I’m already pushing through the crowd, following her out the door.
Cold air slams into me when I burst outside. My head scans the street until I find her halfway down the block.
My strides swallow the distance until she’s only a few steps ahead, arms crossed tight over her chest, heels clicking angrily against the sidewalk. I grab her shoulder without thinking.
“Don’t,” she snaps, yanking her arm free. “Don’t you dare touch me.” She turns on me, eyes blazing.
I drop her arm instantly, hands falling to my side.
She motions back to the bar. “What the hell was that?”
Oh.
She’s mad.
While I’ve been miserable, she’s been off at camp, happy with her friends, and doing who knows what else. At least now she’s feeling something for me. I’ll take this over her cold indifference every time.
A bitter laugh slips from my lips. “You’re mad at me?”
“Yes,” she yells, incredulous. “You let some girl climb all over you right in front of me. What are you trying to prove?”
Her voice carries loud enough that a couple of people look our way. I turn slightly, hoping they didn’t recognize me. The last thing I need is the paparazzi seeing me lose Wesley for a second time.
I spread my hands, lowering my voice. “Why does it matter? Why do you care?”
She stares at me. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Why does it matter who’s in my lap when none of this was real, right?”
She exhales slowly, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “Nathan, please don’t be like this.”
That tone flips something ugly in my chest.
“Like what? Like I’m hurt? Like I’m pissed? At least I’m not lying to myself.”
“Neither am I.”
“No?” I rub my jaw, taking a breath. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to pretend anymore. You said it changed something for you. Then, you walked away like it was nothing.”
Her jaw tightens, hands tapping against her thighs. “I didn’t walk away like it was nothing.”
“You’re right. You drove away. I mean, fuck, Wesley, you didn’t even text me back.”
A part of me wants her to argue back. As if her yelling at me is proof she felt even a fraction of what I did. Of what I do.
Instead, she lets out a slow breath. “We both know why.”
It’s like I’m looking at a stranger. This isn’t the Wesley who went ice skating with me. The one who danced with me. She isn’t the person who opened up about her family and the pressure that she struggles to deal with.
This Wesley turns it all off.
“Yeah. We do.”
“That doesn’t mean it was easy.” Her eyes shift from the cars passing by to the sidewalk, never glancing my way.
“Look at me, Wes.” My voice cracks, and I swallow. “Please just fucking look at me while you break my heart.”
Her eyes flash to mine, glistening with unshed tears.
“You didn’t choose me.” The words tumble out of me, fueled by alcohol and weeks of swallowing everything down.
“You chose soccer. You chose the thing you always choose. And you know what? That’s fine.
” I run my hand through my hair. “I get it. But don’t stand there and act like I’m the asshole for being hurt. ”
“I couldn’t risk everything I’ve worked for.”
“You weren’t the only one risking something.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it.
I barrel on before she can stop me.
“You don’t get to tell me it was real, make me collateral damage when you end it anyway, and then be mad that someone else touches me. You made it clear I’m not what you want.”
“God, Nathan. I do want you. Every fucking part of me wants you. Every part of me wishes things were different. But they’re not.” A tear falls down her cheek. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“That just makes it worse.” All the fight drains out of my voice. “Because you didn’t want me enough.” I blow out my breath, letting it cloud in the air. “We weren’t worth taking a chance on. You didn’t even bother to try. And you were never going to.”
Silence drops between us, thick and brutal.
Her eyes shine, but her spine stays straight. The same way it was the morning she drove away.
I hate it.
I hate that I still love her, and she’s standing here destroying me all over again.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Her voice is barely audible over the traffic driving by.
“Kinda like how I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Looks like we both fucked up.”
Her eyes widen, and I realize what I’ve said only after the words leave my lips. It’s an embarrassing admission, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s been eating me alive for far too long.
“Good luck,” I say, jaw tightening as the words scrape on the way out. “With everything.”
I turn before she can answer or say something that might make me stay. I flag down the first rideshare I can find without looking back.
Through the window, I catch one last glimpse of her standing there alone on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding something together.
Then the city swallows her whole.
And I let it.