Play On (Game On 4)

I scrambled to my knees, my pulse racing yet again. What the hell? Who was this guy in my room? This was not the Miguel I knew. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him swear or lose his temper before; it wasn’t in his nature. My palms started to sweat, just like they had on my first day back at work, and for a second, everything in my vision spun.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Why can’t you look at me? I’m trying so damn hard to reach you but you keep pushing me away!” He shook his head, turning away from me then quickly turning back as if he wanted to stay more.

No words came but his shoulders heaved as he stared at me.

The room came back into focus, and for the first time, I wished for the clarity to disappear so I could pretend this was another dream. A horrible, horrible d

ream.

“Answer me, dammit! What did I do that was so wrong that you don’t want me around? I needed you, Freya! I’ve needed you since Will died but you look at me as if you wish I’m the one who’s dead!”

My jaw dropped and I choked on a gasp. The tears I’d tried to contain overflowed, dampening my cheeks then dripping onto my nightshirt. He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me.

“I didn’t… I never meant to…”

“What? You never meant to push me away? Don’t. Don’t lie to me. You think this is easy for me? For any of us? You think I don’t miss him every damn day? Just because I try to keep on top of it, try not to let it get the best of me, it doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore, Freya. It means I’m doing what I have to do.”

He turned away again, his hand lifting to rub at his forehead.

It wasn’t fair. His words weren’t fair. I never did that. Never looked at him that way, and certainly never thought it. How could he not understand?

“It hurts to be around you,” I whispered. “It hurts.”

He nodded without turning around. “Yeah. It hurts. You know what else hurts? Not being around the only person who misses Will as much as I do.”

My tears fell faster, my stomach aching at the realisation of what I’d done. I’d tried to protect myself. Tried to block out any extra pain I might feel, and the only thing I knew was that being near Miguel amplified the agony. But for him? Being around me made things easier, and I’d had no idea.

Because I’d never asked.

“Miguel.”

When he turned, his eyes fully met mine for what seemed like the first time in years. I may as well have been looking in a mirror because my own grief was reflected right back to me in his brown eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenched in a way I was too familiar with, but there was really no need for him to try and squash his feelings. My tears rained a steady stream down my face and I lifted the corners of my lips slightly, letting him know it was okay.

Miguel’s head lowered and a heart-breaking sob erupted from him. His shoulders slumped and I leapt up, rushing towards him and holding him tightly as he crashed into me. His fingers dug into my back as he let out all he’d held in. One of my arms circled around his waist, the other reached up and firmly held the back of his head, my thumb stroking soothing circles on his neck while my tears seeped into his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Miguel didn’t answer. His only response was to hold me tighter in the semi-darkness of my room until we’d cried ourselves out.

“Come with me,” I said, taking Miguel’s hand and leading him into the living room, back to the pillows we’d sat on earlier. He was shivering but the tension had gone from his body, and although his cheeks were streaked with dried tears, I at least knew he was done yelling. I grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and put it over him then went to the kitchen and made us some of Leah’s British tea, loaded with sugar, because that’s how it tastes best.

After handing one of the cups to Miguel, I lifted one half of the blanket and settled underneath it beside him. He yawned, letting me know he’d exhausted himself as much as I had, and I reached for his hand again. His fingers curled around mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“I deserved it. Every word. I’ve been so self-involved, I-”

“You lost more than I did.” He turned his head to look at me. “Your best friend. The man you loved.”

“You loved him too. He was your best friend too.”

He gave a small smile. “It’s still different. I shouldn’t have put all that on you.”

“You couldn’t have kept it inside any longer. God, you… you must have hated me.”