Chapter 30 #2
“Scot, please,” he pleads in a low voice, looking at the fans like he’s worried I’m going to make a scene. I don’t know if I am or not. I can’t think. Can barely breathe.
I keep walking backward, away from the fans toward the parking lot. “It’s not five days anymore, Jake. It’s tomorrow. If you don’t do it, I will.”
“Scot!”
“Don’t follow me, Jake.”
I stride through the lot, fumbling in my bag for my keys, when I remember I didn’t drive.
But I can’t turn back now. I keep walking away from him through the empty parking lot away from the van that will take the team to the hotel, but I don’t care. I can’t go back there.
After a dozen more yards, I look around.
I’m standing in the middle of the lot with nowhere to go when headlights sweep across me.
“Did you miss the van?”
I go still.
It’s Doug’s voice.
Did he hear?
Do I care?
He’s rolled the window down in his Tesla, and he’s leaning next to his son, who’s sitting in the front seat, although he hardly looks old enough to be up there.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, trying to regain feeling in my face so I can force a smile. “I needed some air. I’m just going to walk to the hotel.”
“Nonsense. You were outside all day. Hop in.”
“Doug, please don’t worry about me,” I say. “Enjoy the time with your son.”
“I don’t mind. Mason, hop into the back.”
Mason—the son—gives me a long look. “You’re Jake’s girlfriend, right? Think you could get me some signed merch? One-of-a-kind stuff?”
Doug’s eyes flutter closed as he pinches his temples. “Do not give him merchandise.” He drops his hand and looks at Mason. “Get in the back. And no more selling sports memorabilia to your classmates. Someone’s going to report me to the league office.”
Mason grumbles but exits the front seat and gets into the back. He leaves the door open for me, and considering I just stormed away in a pretty dramatic fashion, I’m worried that if I don’t climb in, Doug’s going to worry.
Part of my job is to keep Doug from worrying.
“Thanks, Doug.”
“My pleasure. The hotel’s on my way.”
When I buckle up, he doesn’t waste any time.
“So how are things?”
“Good,” I say confidently as he drives to the parking lot exit. “Lucas and Logan both played well. Diego and—”
“Let me clarify. I meant, how are things with you? You have a lot on your plate, Ms. Quinn.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mean to pry, but I spotted you walking away from Jake.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t affect a thing.”
The streetlights pass over Doug’s face in slow bands of light and shadow, showing me he’s frowning.
“Thank you, but that wasn’t what I was asking. Are you okay? Not Jake’s girlfriend, not the Fischer twins’ player coordinator. You. Scottie Quinn. Are you okay?”
His question stirs something deep inside that I cannot—for the life of me—let him see. He’s asking—really asking, like he wants to know a truth I will never give.
“I will be. I always am.”
“I hope so.” The hotel is only a mile from the stadium, so we’re almost there when he says, “I’m impressed with how well you’ve been handling so many different personalities already. If you decide you want to do this on a bigger scale, I have a spot for you.”
“Really?” I ask, the feeling returning to me in a rush. “Thank you, Doug. I love working with the Fischer brothers.”
“Well, I couldn’t guarantee you’d be assigned to one of them. I don’t like drama, and you seem to have a knack for keeping the clubhouse quiet. I’d give you someone a little harder to handle.”
“In that case, I’m okay where I am,” I say, hoping he knows I’m teasing. Thankfully, he laughs.
“I’m not poaching you from Kayla without talking to her, but I want you to think about it. If you’re interested, talk to her. Have her call me.”
He pulls up to the covered porte cochere in front of the hotel entrance, and I smile. “Thanks, Doug. I’ll think about it.”
I’m opening the door when he says, “Oh, and between you and me, Fischer’s all but a sure thing.”
Excitement spills out of me. “Which Fischer?”
He chuckles. “Good point: Lucas. I don’t have a spot for Logan right now, but I hope to. If he’s still performing, you can expect to see both your boys on the roster when the season starts.”
I give him a real smile. “I’m so happy to hear that. Good night, Doug.”
“Night, Scottie.”
I walk through the quiet lobby, take the elevator upstairs, and kick my shoes off the second I get to my room. I flick on the bathroom light and see my red shoulders laughing at me, mocking me like I’m a generic pale blonde woman who was too busy crushing on a player to remember sunscreen.
I wash my face quickly and change into my pajamas, not even pretending I’m going to pull out my laptop and get more work done. I slide under the sheets and lie there for a moment in the dark, thinking about what Doug said about having a spot for Lucas and hopefully Logan.
Having a spot for me.
My teenage neighbor sent me a thumbs-up that Pinto’s doing okay along with a blurry picture of him running toward her when she opened the door.
Kayla has sent me a message ripping Jake to shreds along with a photo someone already posted of us tonight when I stormed off.
It’s clear that we were fighting.
Kayla’s message is an atta girl that I don’t have the heart to reply to. I can’t vent about him right now, because if I vent, I’ll feel guilty, remembering everything I know about his growing up … and worse, everything I don’t.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop looking at the blue dot next to my family’s unopened text thread.
When Lucas texts me right at ten p.m., it’s not the relief it should be.
Lucas
How are you?
I start typing. Did you see Jake’s interview?
But then I delete it. I don’t want to do this right now, especially not over text. Besides, if he didn’t see it, I don’t want to ruin his night.
Scottie
I’m tired. Jake trying to kiss me pushed me over the edge.
Did you and Logan get to talk?
Lucas
No, he’s reading with headphones on. That’s Logan for “Don’t talk to me.”
Scottie
I’m sorry.
Lucas
What’s the latest from your family?
Scottie
I don’t know. I’m not answering. I may just delete the thread entirely. Or block them all.
Lucas
Hey, I’m here for you. You know that, right?
Scottie
I know.
Lucas
Say the word, and I’ll do whatever you need. Scale the building and sneak into your room. Find Jake and punch his lights out. You name it.
Scottie
Don’t break curfew, don’t scale buildings, and don’t punch Jake’s lights out.
But thank you for being willing to do all of those things for me.
I look at my phone, wanting to say three more words, but I can’t. We haven’t said it out loud, and it’s not something I can say when the world thinks I’m with Jake.
Tomorrow, though, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.
I send him a heart emoji. He sends me one back.
And then I stare at my family’s thread. And stare. I look at the four missed calls from my mom—no voicemails—and then go back to stare at the unopened thread.
I click on it.
Mom
Scottie, sweetie, please call me. I’m worried about you.
I thought you two had a plan. What happened? This is getting out of control, kids.
The room tilts, and I throw a hand down on the mattress to brace myself.
Does she actually think I did this?
My brothers are silent.
My dad and sister-in-law have put exclamation points on Mom’s message.
No chastisement of Jake.
No mention of how he switched things up and basically said he’s going to propose to me, betraying his promises and our plan. No mention of the toll this is taking on me.
How could she think I wanted this? How can she not see that I’ve been holding it together with sheer willpower for months?
How can she not know how many times I’ve stood between Jake and disaster?
Why doesn’t she care how many lines I’ve drawn and redrawn, how many sacrifices I’ve made, all for him?
But, then, I signed on for this. I just never figured out how to sign off.
My sunburned shoulders sting against the pillow.
I stare at the ceiling. Look at my phone again. Stare at her question about what’s going on.
And my thumbs start moving.
Scottie
I wish I’d never agreed to this at all.
I stare at it, at the naked truth typed out so plainly.
What will my family think if I hit send?
How will I survive if I don’t?
My thumb hovers over the button, my breath coming out so shaky, I feel dizzy, even in bed.
I’ve spent my whole life making myself easy to overlook. Quiet enough that no one had to choose me. Small enough that losing me wouldn’t cost anyone anything.
For once, I want it to cost something.
Whoosh.
I open ReelTime before I can think too hard about it. Jake was supposed to do this. I gave him every chance.
I draft the post in under a minute, hitting all the buzzwords—mutual decision, we’re better as friends, grateful for the time together, he’ll always be part of the family—the kind of clean, bloodless ending he was never going to write.
I schedule it for three a.m. and don’t let myself feel guilty about it.
Don’t let myself wonder if I’m being fair to him.
It’s the first thing I’ve done in months that’s fair to me.
I send one more text. To Lucas.
Scottie
It’s done.
I power my phone down.