Page 4 of Stick With Me
Thinking I’d found my person, I never thought I’d have to go through another breakup. Not that I have much experience with them to begin with. My first and last breakup was with my high school sweetheart. My naive sixteen-year-old self thought it was the end of the world. I was utterly heartbroken—crying myself to sleep, incessantly texting him to give us another shot, and eating my weight in Sour Patch Kids. That prickly feeling on my tongue from too much sourness became my constant companion through the months I mourned the loss. To this day, I can’t even look at them without feeling sick.
But this time around, heartbreak feels different. It’s like there’s a knife in my back, and I want to pry it out and wield it. I’m not sad, I’m pissed.Not murderous, though, to be clear.
I storm across the hardwood floor toward the walk-in closet, not making an effort to soften my steps. Yanking a floral print sundress from its hanger, I crumble it into a ball and add it to the chaotic pile of clothes strewn across my bed.
“Hannah, there’s no need to stomp,” Jace says, appearing in the doorway. He leans casually against the frame, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Lucky him. “Are you almost ready? Your flight leaves in two hours. Oh, and we should probably talk about the social media plan. It would be great if you could craft a post that echoes my sentiments in the article.”
Is he serious?I crinkle my brow, trying to examine him for answers.I think he is.
And God forbid I miss my flight. The one he so kindly booked for me, ensuring I get out of his hair as quickly as humanly possible. My jaw ticks as my molars grind together.
The messages from my mother told me he also contacted my parents to let them know I’d be on my way.Hannah, what happened? Are you sure it’s nothing you did? Do you think you can work it out?I can already feel the headache coming on.
“Does it look like I’m ready?” I snap, spreading my arms wide to emphasize the mess around me—clothes everywhere, open drawers, an unmade bed. Jace just rolls his eyes and turns, walking back down the hall, leaving me to figure out how to fit my life into one large suitcase and a smaller carry-on.
An hour later, I’m in a rideshare on my way to the airport. I’ve got two suitcases filled to the brim, and the rest Jace agreed to ship to me once I’m settled somewhere new.
As my mother’s texts continued to assault me throughout the afternoon, I considered changing my flight. But I don’t have any other options. My friend Natalie is a traveling nurse, so staying with her is out of the question. I could stay with Ryan, my best friend, but I need a moment to restabilize, and being around him always makes me a bit off-balance.
Speak of the devil. Swiping to accept his incoming call, his deep voice comes through my earbuds. “Hannah, are you all right?” The worry is clear in his voice. Before I can answer, he continues, “I saw the article. One of the guys sent it to me. Why didn’t you tell me you guys broke up?”
“Hi to you, too. Well, I didn’t tell you because I, too, just found out.”
There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “What’s going on? That interview was given months ago. I’ve done enough of them to know.”
“I know… I’m not sure why he didn’t tell me. Breaking up with me is one thing, but the way he did it is just plain cruel,” I say, then fill him in on my plans to regroup at my parents’ place in Florida.
After listening mostly in silence, he comes up with a plan. Of course he does; he has a plan for everything. “We have a break coming up for All-Star Weekend. All the guys who aren’t participating have time off. How about I come down there to see you? I know you and your mom will be at each other’s throats in a day, and you could use a friend.”
I can’t stop my lips from tipping up. How does my friend, who I only see a couple of times a year, if I’m lucky, know me better than my fiancé?Former fiancé,I remind myself again.
His plan sounds perfect, and he’s right. I’ll need rescuing. “Okay, that sounds great.”
“Yeah? Okay, yeah.” One of his teammates yells at him in the background. “Hey, Sunshine, I gotta go. Ice time is in thirty. Text me when you land, okay?”
Ending the call, I slump back into the leather seats, a huff of air escaping my lungs.
What am I going to do now?
TWO
“What’sup with the banana emoji? Is that like the new eggplant?” Fox’s face pinches in thought. “Wait, this might work for adding a layer of organization to my contacts—Eggplant, grade A head. Banana, solid B, still nothing to balk at,” Dominic Fox, my closest friend—currently questioning this status—and Saints’ teammate, says from where he sits beside me in our team’s navy-and-yellow-themed locker room.
I shake my head, running my hands through my sweat-soaked hair. My skin is sticky, and every muscle aches after our brutal loss against Vancouver. My eyes lose focus on our logo projected onto the floor, a bold “S” with angel wings. If only those wings brought us the miracle we need this season.
We’ve lost more than we’ve won. No matter how hard we fight, we always seem to end up on the losing side. A feeling I know all too well. Tonight’s loss is just a drop in the bucket compared to the weight I’m carrying, knowing what Hannah is going through—and that I can’t be there for her.
“Did you hear me? You didn’t even laugh at my joke.” Fox’s voice jolts me out of my daze.
I follow his eyes to my phone, sitting between us on the bench. A message from Hannah waits for me. I have her contact saved with a banana emoji—Hannah Banana, the first nickname I gave her. Looking back, it’s not hard to see how I shot myself in the foot with her. Banana isn’t really a sexy pet name, is it?
“Dude, shut the fuck up, it’s Hannah.” I scowl in his direction but don’t take real offense. It’s Fox. The shit that comes out of his mouth is unfiltered, so I’ve learned not to take much of what he says seriously.
“Ahh, right, the chick giving you years of blue balls. She doesn’t deserve the banana, man. The blue heart emoji seems more fitting… ya know, for your balls.” He laughs at himself.
“Forgive me if I don’t take advice on women from you, Fox.”
“Maybe if you did, you’d get laid more,” he chirps back and elbows my side. “Speaking of getting laid, you coming to Sully’s?”
