I don’t know.
And that’s the problem.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, forcing me out of the depressing thoughts I’ve become mired in. It’s both a relief and an embarrassment. I don’t need people to see that I’m handling this breakup like a little bitch. There has always been a revolving door of girls coming and going from my life. It’s never been a big deal. Most of the time, I was the one holding the door open for them to walk through.
Sydney has turned out to be the exception to that rule.
Concern fills Rowan’s eyes. “You doing all right?”
Laughter gurgles up in my throat.
Hell no, I’m not all right. Do I look remotely okay?
But I’ll be damned if I allow those words to escape from my mouth.
I jerk my head into a tight nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
There’s no way I’m going to break down and have a Dr. Phil moment in the locker room. Can you even imagine? Maybe all the guys can crowd around, and we can take turns sharing our innermost feelings and expressing ourselves. We can turn it into one of those cheesy counseling videos they force you to watch in high school.
Hard pass.
Deep down, I feel like enough of a jackass for believing that we ever had something special. Clearly, I was the only idiot thinking long term.
His brows pinch together.
My guess is that Rowan doesn’t believe me. Can’t say I blame him. I’ve caught a couple of glimpses of myself in the bathroom mirror. I look like shit. My eyes are hollowed out and there are purple smudges beneath them that make it look like I haven’t been sleeping at night because guess what?
I haven’t been.
Instead of catching some much-needed Zzzz’s, I stare sightlessly at the ceiling and rehash every second of the time we spent together. Play by play. Frame by frame. It’s like I’m pouring over game film in my head, trying to figure out if I was faked out by a mastermind or if there’s something else going on that I have yet to pick up on.
Know what’s even more disturbing?
I’ve been stalking Sydney’s social media. Not that I’ve found anything worthwhile. She’s been laying low and not posting.
Yeah, I’ve become that guy.
It’s just another kick in the ass as far as I’m concerned.
“Have you tried talking to her?” he asks.
I blink out of the sneaky thoughts that have tangled around me like jungle vines. It’s disconcerting how easy it is to get sucked back into the whirl of them.
There’s no need to elaborate on who the her in question is.
We both know.
“It’s a little difficult to do that when she won’t respond to my texts.” I snap my teeth together, irritated with myself for revealing even that much. It’s not like I’m gunning to look like any more of a lovesick pussy than I already do.
It’s official—I’ve jackhammered to an all-new low.
If there were a way to shake myself out of the stupor I’ve fallen into, I would do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, there’s no easy fix. For a brief moment, I’d considered hooking up with one of the groupies who are always hanging around at the house, but the thought of touching another girl turns my stomach. Plus, I don’t want to do anything to fuck up our relationship if she changes her mind. Now, if that doesn’t solidify my pathetic status, I don’t know what will.
With nothing else to say on the topic, we lapse into silence before heading to the showers. I do a quick wash and try to concentrate on the game. The moment my mind begins to wander to Sydney, I give myself a quick mental slap and refocus my attention. I need to pull it together by Saturday or I’ll be fucked. If I’m not playing to the best of my abilities, Coach will pull me off the field and bench my ass before I can blink. I could feel him scrutinizing me during the scrimmage this afternoon. He knows I’m off. There’s no fooling Coach Richards.
I pull the towel from around my waist and run it over my face and hair before drying off.
As much as it sucks to admit, I’ve come to terms that Sydney and I aren’t going to magically get back together again. Whatever reason she cut and run isn’t going to disappear. And there’s nothing I can do to reel her back in. That being said, a few answers would be nice. Maybe then I could move on from this place where I’m constantly spinning my tires. We’re fucking grown-ass adults. We should be able to sit down and have a conversation. At the very least, she owes me that much.
Once Rowan is dressed, he grabs his athletic bag from the bench and hoists it onto his shoulder. Only then do I realize that it’s Thursday night and the women’s soccer team has a match.