Chapter 21 Rachel
"I have no idea what I’m doing!" I yell at the ceiling. "I don’t even like soccer!"
That’s true. But I do like spending time with TJ. And, for some reason that I cannot quite comprehend, he seems to like spending time with me.
So when his mother texted practically at dawn today and asked me to attend the game with them, I leapt at the opportunity. This is so unlike me, I must still be drunk.
Speaking of which, what was that? I can count on one hand the number of times in my life I’ve been that drunk. And I went over to his place.
If my head weren’t already killing me, I’d slam it into the wall a few times to try to knock some sense into myself. My entire life is spiraling into some kind of chaos that I don’t even recognize.
So why not go to another sporting event with thousands of people?
Then I remember why when I’m walking into the stadium.
I don’t do well in crowds. Everything feels like it’s closing in on me, and it’s hard to breathe.
I try to tap into my five senses to ground me to prevent the panic from growing when I remember the ride up to the Doyles’ house.
In my head, I start mentally playing "I Gotta Feeling," and by the time I find Maureen and Tom at Will Call, my heart rate is almost a normal level. Almost.
I wish I could say that, because of my budding friendship with TJ, I enjoyed this game so much more than the first. I wish I could say that, but I don’t make a habit of being a liar.
It’s still a sport that I don’t understand, don’t follow, and don’t care to.
I mean, of course I want TJ and his team to do well.
To get more points or goals or whatever.
I really should learn about soccer so I can have a conversation with him about it.
"I can’t believe I willingly went to a sporting event. Again!" I say through gritted teeth as I look up at the night sky.
Pretending to watch the game, my mind wanders, thinking about the other things on the list. Obviously there’s no way I can accomplish them all, but maybe I can knock off one or two more.
And then, maybe if I do, I’ll feel settled again.
I can put the list away and just get back to my routine. Or find a new routine is more like it.
A Google search tells me there’s a casino in Connecticut about an hour and a half from here. I could drive down next weekend and play some slots. I glance up at the field to see TJ running, his muscular legs pumping fast.
Or I could fly to Vegas to watch TJ play again.
I lean over to Maureen. "Do you go to away games too?"
"Sometimes. We usually save it for the playoffs and postseason games."
"So, you’re not going to Las Vegas next weekend?"
She shakes her head. "No, we’re babysitting the girls. Joey has a gig and Amanda wants to join him for the weekend."
The thought that I’d be able to meet up with someone I knew almost made the trip seem possible. I try to picture what it’d be like. I’d truly be solo for the entire weekend. My heart starts to pound. Maybe I could still do it. All I need is a pep talk.
I can do solo. Hell, ever since Richie died, I’ve been solo.
Being alone isn’t bad. It’s not bad at all. Especially since there is no one there to upend my routine. If I step outside my comfort zone, it’s when I’m good and ready and not a moment before. Just because, historically speaking, I’ve never been ready, doesn’t mean I can’t start now.
All in all, the last week hasn’t been terrible. It was better than the previous week when I sat in my new apartment all by myself. How much of that has to do with new experiences, and how much has to do with TJ?
"You’re coming with us for ice cream, right, dear?"
If I’ve learned anything this past week, it’s when Maureen Doyle asks a question that ends in "right, dear," there’s only one acceptable answer, and that’s the statement she’s already made. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have the confidence that she has.
But as I look at her with her doting husband and grown sons who obviously adore her, it becomes quite evident that I’ll never possess that level of confidence. Confidence is rooted in security.
At least I know I’m reliable. I can count on me, if no one else. I’d always thought I’d be able to count on Gram and Gramps. And Richie. They showed me.
"I can follow you. Same place as last time?" I search my memory for the name. Something about ugly dogs.
"No, this week, we’re going to The Flannel Cow Creamery. It’s right near Tyler’s place."
"Oh, then it’s right near me, too." I quickly type the name into Google Maps and find that it’s within a mile of my apartment. Okay, so it’s not super fancy, but the neighborhood—and my neighbor—seem to have some perks. "Wait, it says they’re closed."
"Yes, they’re staying open for us." She explains to me the deals they’ve made with many of the local places, including the cost.
"So the ice cream’s on us tonight. Well, it’s actually on Tyler. He says it’s the very least he can do to repay us for all the support we’ve given him over the years."
A pang of guilt hits me square in the chest. What have I done to repay Gram and Gramps?
I might be angry with them now, but they did a lot for Richie and me.
The least I can do is call Gram to check in and let her know I’m doing okay.
I’ve been texting her enough so that she doesn’t call the police to do a wellness check.
I’m not back to telling her the ins and outs of my day yet.
Also, how adorable is this whole ice cream thing?
If the women of ClikClak only knew that beneath the firmly chiseled abs and perfect aesthetic there was a momma’s boy whose insides were as gushy as the Cookie Sundae I spied on the menu, he’d break the internet.
Maureen and Tom follow me to my place so I can drop my car off and ride with them. It always takes Tyler a while to get there, so this ate up some of the time. As I slide in their back seat, Maureen says, "My, this is very close to Tyler. How about that?"
"It’s purely a coincidence. I moved in here about two weeks ago when my grandparents kicked me out.
" As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could grab them and shove them back and swallow them.
They are so dishonorable to the people my grandparents are.
"What I mean is that I got a promotion, but it’s down in Sharon at our brand-new satellite office.
Gramps said he trusted only me to run it. "
"That’s impressive. And lucky for Tyler too, that you’re so close." She’s turned around, looking at me in between the seats, so it’s easy to see when she winks at me. Winking must be a family trait.
Oh no, this cannot be happening. His mom thinks we’re together. "No, no, no. That’s not it. We’re not … We’re just friends. I’m not even sure you can call us friends. We’re more like …" I struggle to find the words. "Proximity acquaintances," I say. Cripes, could I be any more lame?
Of course, it’s not like there’s an easy term to describe "I sought him out because my dead sister told me to and fate keeps putting me in his path and he’s super, super hot but he’s also super kind and if I did relationships—which I don’t—I’d totally fall for him because he’s nurturing, but then I worry that I’d only be there because he takes care of me and that’s what I’ve been missing my whole life. "
Proximity acquaintances it is.
"Sure, dear. If you say so."
TJ doesn’t help the matter when he finally arrives and includes me in on the hugs he’s giving out to his parents.
This is the first time we’ve had our bodies pressed together.
The split second I realize that I want to latch on and never let go, I pull back.
I will not be developing feelings just because he’s nice to me.
Tonight, he’s different, though. Quiet. Sullen almost. I can’t help but wonder if he’s upset that I’m here.
Or that neither of his brothers went to the game.
There’s very little conversation as we eat our ice cream.
There’s no laughing and joking, there’s none of the boisterous yelling that I’ve come to associate with the Doyle family.
We’re finished in record time, and TJ goes to pay the employee who stayed late for us. As we walk to the door, Maureen says, "Tyler, you’ll take Rachel home, right, dear?"
He nods without saying a word. His parents get in their car and drive away. The two of us are left standing in the parking lot. I look down at the ground and kick some gravel. "It’s okay. I can walk. It’s not that far."
TJ sighs, walking around to open the passenger side door. "Get in." His voice is low, practically a growl.
I slide into the seat and fasten my seat belt.
I focus on my hands knotted tightly together in my lap.
See? This is why I don’t form romantic—or any—attachments.
No matter how good I try to be, I always screw it up somehow.
I’m a burden that’s easier dropped off on the side of the road than carried.
Still, he’s been kind to me. The very least I can do is return the favor. "Are you okay? You seem upset."
He slaps the steering wheel, making me jump. "Damn right I’m upset. We’re so screwed now. Brandon Nix was our best scorer. The new kid’s going to be good, someday, but he’s no Brandon Nix. We were this close to winning it all last season. Now, I’m not sure we’re going to win another game."
"You’re upset about the game?" It makes sense. They didn’t win.
"Yeah, I’m upset about the game. Losing sucks. I’m a sore loser." He turns in the driver’s seat to look at me. We’re parked in front of my building, the ride from the ice cream place taking all of three minutes. "What did you think I was upset about?"
I don’t say anything.
"Rachel, what happened? What did you think I was upset about?" he repeats, his tone insistent.
"Me. That I went to your game. That I came with your parents for ice cream. That you have to bring me home." That I exist and am a burden to you.
He slams a finger into the ignition button so hard it makes me jump, turning the vehicle off.
Then he rips off his seat belt and flings open his car door.
I watch him stomp around the front of the SUV until he reaches my side, where he proceeds to rip my door open.
"Get out," he says, that low growl back.
"TJ. Tyler, I’m sorry. I—" I’m so flustered I’ve lost all motor skills.
"Rachel, now. Get out of the car now."
With trembling hands, I finally manage to unbuckle my seat belt and slide out of the vehicle. TJ doesn’t back up a single step, so we’re standing face-to-face with mere inches in between us. "I need you to stop."
"Stop what?" I ask. But I know. Stop coming to his games. Stop inserting myself in his life. Stop—
"I need you to stop apologizing for taking up space. I need you to stop thinking that I don’t want you around.
First of all, if I didn’t want you around, you wouldn’t have passed the Ma Doyle vibe test. Second, I’m the one texting you most of the time.
The fact that you even have my number says a lot.
I …" He scrubs a hand down the back of his head and cups his neck. "I don’t have a lot of friends."
"I don’t have a lot of friends either," I murmur.
"I know. But it seems like we’re better together."
My mouth drops open into a little O. He can’t mean what I think he means. Not together together.
"Which is why we are good friends. It’s not putting friends out to give a friend a ride home.
Friends help you hose down your nieces when they’ve rolled in shit.
Friends take care of each other when they get black-out drunk, so just keep that in mind in the off-season, you’re gonna owe me one.
Friends don’t apologize for supporting each other.
If anything, I should be apologizing to you for making you sit through that terrible game. "
Now is probably not the right time to tell him that all games, no matter the score, feel terrible to me. I really don’t like sports. "I don’t go to see you win or lose. I go to see you. To be there for you. And because your mom had a free ticket."
He grins. "Thank you for being honest with me."
"Thank you for the ride home."
"Thank you for being my friend." He leans in and hugs me. Not a romantic one. Oh no. This is the friend-est of friend hugs. If there were a trophy for winning the friend zone, I would be hoisting it above my head.
He breaks the hug and calls a good night as he heads back to the driver’s side. I wave like an idiot while he pulls away. My head is still dazed as I walk up the stairs to my apartment, where I proceed to unlock the door, walk in, and fall face-first onto the couch.
I should be happy that he wants to be friends. I would be delusional to think that a man like him would date a girl like me.
But still, being friends is better than nothing, right?