Play On (Game On 4)

“No. No. I didn’t hate you. I just hated being pushed away. I hated feeling like I couldn’t talk to you and hated that you seemed to be able to talk to everyone but me. And I hate that I didn’t understand why.”

How could he possibly have understood? There were so many things since Will died that didn’t make sense anymore; things I would have understood before. Maybe it was the same for Miguel. Both of us wrapped up in our pain, unable to see anything clearly.

“You seemed to be doing so well,” I said. “Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been okay.”

“I am okay. Most of the time. I go to work, I keep busy. That’s how I get through it. The first few weeks I almost ran myself into the ground trying to do overtime, trying to get the guys to do extra training, and if that didn’t work, I was helping everyone I knew with anything they needed just so I didn’t have to think. Luckily, we have awesome friends, and Bryce and Jude staged an intervention to slow me down. They checked on me the way I wanted to check on you.” Miguel set his drink down. “Out of everyone who was closest to Will, you and I knew him the longest. I just wanted to be around you. To remember him with you.”

Miguel and I had many things in common but grieving methods was not one of them. While I understood him, I couldn’t do things his way, not right at the start. Not because I didn’t want to think about Will; that was all I did. But because talking about him, thinking back over our best memories was like being kicked in the guts because Will wasn’t there to remember the good times with us. Each memory was another stab to my soul. Another reminder that we wouldn’t be able to make new memories together.

Speaking of…

Was I finally ready?

I put my own drink down and stood up again then walked over to the coffee table. After Will died, my friends had put together a photo album for me. It was filled with snapshots from times gone by. When they gave it to me, I didn’t manage to turn more than two pages before my tears blurred my vision and I closed it up. It was too damn hard to look at. I was so, so grateful for the gesture, but I hadn’t been able to open the cover and look through the pages since the day I took it home. I put it on the small shelf under the coffee table and left it.

I pulled the album out and smiled fondly at the front cover, which Leah had decorated with blue sparkly hearts.

“Is that…?” Miguel began, raising an eyebrow. Of course he recognised it. No doubt some of his own photos had gone into the album. Part of me wished I’d been there the day everyone sat around choosing the photos. However, a bigger part of me knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I wasn’t sure I could handle it now, but I owed Miguel something after shutting him out for so long, and maybe he was the best person to share this with.

I sat beside him again, laying the blanket back over me before placing the album on my lap. I didn’t need to say anything. Miguel reached for my hand as I took a deep breath and opened the front cover.

Since I’d seen it before, I was already chuckling at what the first page held. It was a photo of an eight-year-old Will dressed as a cowboy, complete with a very classy Stetson. He poked his tongue out at the camera, and his cheeky side shone through.

“We all loved this photo,” Miguel said, smiling. “Will’s mom gave Leah a few to choose from, and she’d already decided before she showed us the selection. It was the only one she made a copy of.”

“It’s a great choice. I always loved this one too. Will’s mom has an enlarged version hanging on the wall in her living room. Will was totally embarrassed by it. He thought she should have taken it down by now, but she always said it’s one of her favourite memories of her little boy.”

“You know if the guys had known about this he’d never have heard the end of it?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “He made me swear nobody would ever find out about it. This was way back, before we started dating. He had to buy me a lot of dinners to ensure my silence!”

That wasn’t the half of it. I’d laughed so hard the first time I saw the photo I’d given myself a stomach ache. Will and I hadn’t been friends for long; I can’t remember why we were even at his parents’ place, but seeing him acting

so silly had triggered my funny bone because I’d never seen that side of him as an adult. I’d only ever seen the serious “coach” side of him; I’d had no idea how much more there was to him. I’d never have told the team about the photo, but Will was so worried he’d bought me lunch at work for about three weeks.

“He lightened up a lot over the years,” Miguel said, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “I think that was partly because of you.”

“And partly because of you.” I looked up at Miguel and smiled. “You’re the most laid back person in the history of the world; that must have had an effect.”

“I guess. I remember when I first met him, I thought he was going to explode every time I told him to relax. He was pretty tightly wound.”

My stomach twinged a little when I chuckled again, pulling me back to that place inside me that refused to let go. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths the way I always did when these moments took over me.

“Are you okay?”

With a low growl, I gently pushed the photo album off my lap. “I’m okay. And I’m not.”

“What happened?”

Miguel’s question was gentle, almost as though he was afraid to ask for fear I’d disappear inside myself again and he’d lose me like he did before.

I opened my eyes and turned my head towards him, ready to tell him what I hadn’t fully explained to anyone. “I’m sort of… hollow. Right after Will died, I was glad for it. When I was numb, I didn’t feel pain. Now, even though the numbness has gone, it’s like my insides are empty. Nothing makes me happy, nothing makes me excited, nothing makes me feel anything good. Aside from pain, the only thing I’ve really felt is fear when I went back to work. Like just now, I could laugh about Will’s photo, but I don’t feel it. Not really.”

Miguel’s head tilted to one side. “Freya, have you seen a doctor about this?” He quickly held up his hands before I could speak. “I don’t mean that to sound patronising. I just mean, what if you’re suffering from depression? Something more than just normal grieving?”

“The doctor doesn’t think that’s the problem. He’s more concerned about the sleep deprivation, and I’m trying to fix that, preferably without medication. He told me to see him if I feel any worse, but I don’t. I feel the same, and I’m tired of it.”

Miguel’s eyes softened but resignation was clear inside his chocolate browns; resignation that he couldn’t help. “Maybe there’s something you haven’t tried?” The pain in his tone made my stomach twinge again.