Twenty Four #3
“Brenna and I … We grew up together. She was a year ahead, but the moment she moved to Seattle, we did everything together. School, hockey, all of it. And I—” Her voice wavers.
“I had the biggest crush on her. Like embarrassingly massive. But we were best friends, so I kept it quiet. Until we both got into Minnesota. I thought, maybe this was it. Maybe things were lining up.”
I try to ignore the strange feeling in my stomach, the twinge of jealousy for someone I’ve never met, and instead focus on her words. Still, my gut churns.
“And it was good, for a while,” she continues.
“We dated through junior year. But then I started getting worse. My body, I mean. I could barely handle practice, let alone parties or nights out. I kept asking her to stay home. Movie nights, board games, anything low-key. Anything to give my body a break. She wanted the opposite. I didn’t know how to explain that I felt like I was falling apart. ”
She pauses, eyes falling to her hands.
“I tried. I told her I was tired, that everything hurt. And at first, she acted like she got it. But when things didn’t get better after a while …
I don’t know. I think she just got tired of me.
When I finally got diagnosed, I was honest about everything.
But by then, it was too late. She’d already decided she was done.
“I can’t say I blame her. Being around someone like me, someone who cancels plans and is always in pain …
It’s exhausting. I know. But it still hurt.
Afterwards, I wanted to go public in my own way.
I thought maybe I could help someone else by sharing what I went through.
But before I could, she told the media. When I confronted her, she said it was to ‘protect me’ from having to talk about it, but really, it was about her.
She wanted to beat me to it. Control the narrative. She didn’t even ask.”
My eyes sting, unhelpfully. I swipe at them before she can notice.
“She knew I’d lost Portland,” she continues with a sigh. “I think part of her hoped the spot would go to her, but it didn’t. And that pissed her off even more.”
“Why would she do that to you?” I ask, sounding angier than I had meant to.
Darcy shakes her head. “I think she felt betrayed. Like I shut her out. And maybe I did. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love her.
It was because I didn’t know how to bring her into it.
Into … this.” She gestures to her entire body.
“And nobody else on the team understood either. They all just felt like I gave up. So, when everything went down…” She huffs a sad laugh.
“Well, let’s just say that I was on the first flight out of there.
So you not dating? You’re not really missing out. ”
There’s a scalding, heavy feeling in my stomach, like all the pebbles have melted into molten rock.
I want Darcy to know that not everyone is like that.
That good friends, like Harlowe and Bailey and sweet little Indie, would never pull a stunt like that.
But Darcy seems fixed on her decision to be alone.
And I can’t say that I blame her.
“Did she ever get drafted?” I ask, and I don’t know if it’s morally corrupt, but I silently pray that she didn’t. That she’s out there, miserable without Darcy in her life, because that’s what she deserves.
Darcy shakes her head. “No,” she says. And god, I’m evil. She continues. “But … she’s a ref now.”
Not exactly a win, but not exactly a lose either.
I swallow. “For what?”
Her eyes catch mine. “This.” Tears begin to well, and she quickly blinks them away. “She’s reffing the Hornets game next week in Spokane. I just found out this morning.”
My stomach drops.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I let the silence settle between us, and hope that feels like it did when we were here the other week, pulling us closer instead of pushing us apart.
“I hope you don’t feel like you gave up,” I say finally.
Darcy’s throat bobs as she swallows, but she doesn’t say anything, so I press on.
“I think,” I add slowly, recounting my own experiences. “Sometimes people take things personally when they don’t understand them. Humans like to be knowledgeable. Nobody likes feeling dumb. So instead of admitting they don’t get it, they just … get mean.”
Her green eyes meet mine, and she tilts her head. “That’s … surprisingly insightful for someone who eats eggs with a spoon.”
I grin. “I contain multitudes.” Then my smile falters. “You said Brenna didn’t get it. That you were falling apart, and she just left.”
Darcy nods, but doesn’t look at me.
“Well,” I continue. “Just because she didn’t know how to love you through it doesn’t mean no one else can.”
The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s soft, like there’s a blanket thrown over the two of us, blocking out the chaos of our lives.
“Also, just for the record?” I add, just in case I was too subtle before. “If I were your girlfriend, I would’ve taken a hockey stick to anyone who tried to sell you out to ESPN.”
A breathy laugh escapes her, and I scoot just an inch closer, so that her thighs melts into mine.
“Good to know,” she says.
And she doesn’t move away. Not even a little.