Page 48 of Game On
Ella:
maybe you could call me
I hesitate only a moment. I don’t really call anyone these days except my mom. It’s always texts, maybe a video chat if someone’s feeling particularly nostalgic. But calling Ella feels right.
The phone rings, and after a few tones, she answers: “Hey.” Her voice is soft and sends an unexpected rush of relief through me.
“Hey,” I echo. There’s a brief silence. “So, how many minutes did you give him before he fucked up?” I cut through the quiet with a half-joke, trying to lighten the mood.
She laughs, a heartfelt sound that makes me smile. “Oh, none. He fucked up the moment he showed up outside my flat.”
“Did he say anything weird?” I ask, leaning back against the headboard, picturing her standing there, strong and breathtaking as usual.
“Yeah.” She sighs, and I can hear a rustle of fabric, probably as she shifts position. “I don’t think he was too happy that you dropped me off. Thought you were, you know, my new fella.”
I let out a snort, the image of Jamie’s face painted with jealousy giving me immense satisfaction. “And what did you tell him?”
“I told him it was none of his business,” Ella says firmly, and I can almost picture it, hands on her hips, her hazel eyes blazing with defiance.
“That’s my girl,” I murmur before I can stop myself. There’s a pause and for a moment I fear I’ve overstepped. That I’ve said something too presumptuous, too familiar, and that I’m about to get a load of shit for it. But then soft laughter trickles through the phone.
“Well, your girl is exhausted,” she says, a touch of amusement in her voice that soothes my racing nerves. “But thanks for checking in.”
“Sure.” I pause for a second before moving the conversation on. “When can I, uh, when’s the next open gym?”
“Thursday night.”
“Turns out I’m available.”
“Oh, what a lucky coincidence,” she drawls.
“Isn’t it?” I respond with a light-hearted chuckle. “I’ll see you then, Davies.”
“Goodnight, Hudson.” Her voice is low, as if she’s whispering the words into my ear rather than speaking over the phone.
She hangs up, and I stare at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the Call-back button before I push the impulse away. I toss my phone back onto the bedside table, leaning back against the headboard again with a sigh.
I let the weight of the conversation settle on me, moretethered to her than I want to admit. It’s this undeniable pull between us, one I’ve been fighting because I know how messy it can get.
I’ve seen firsthand what happens when things fall apart—my parents’ relationship crumbled under the weight of resentment. I’ve spent years keeping myself at arm’s length from other people, too consumed by my own compulsions, the guilt, the need for control.
It’s easier, I think, to push people away than risk burning everything down in the end.
Yet here I am, already looking forward to seeing Ella again, to that rush of being back on the mat beside her. It’s like stepping back into a part of myself I’d locked away, and it feels damn good.
My thoughts are interrupted by the silent call of my bedtime routine. First things first, I head to the bathroom, peeling off my sweaty clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, removing the grime and sweat of the gym, but it’s more ritualistic than cleansing. It’s a full reset—a washing away of the entire day.
After I turn off the water, I wrap a towel around my waist and head out to check the house. Levi’s gone to bed, and it’s time for my nightly ritual, one born out of necessity rather than choice. Every light switch needs to be flicked off, every lamp unplugged.
I check, double-check, and sometimes triple-check before I can convince myself that everything is safe, that the night can pass without incident.
Once I’m satisfied, I make my way to the kitchen to feedSourdough. He’s waiting for me, his eyes following my every movement as I scoop his food into the bowl. “Here you go, bud,” I say as I set it down.
Finally, the weight of exhaustion settling into my bones, I head back to my bedroom. Sourdough reclaims his usual spot. I slip into bed, careful not to disturb him too much, and let out a long, tired sigh.
