Page 81 of Flag On The Play
She sets her phone down and shifts closer, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, babe,” she says gently. “They’re going to the Victory Bowl.”
My throat tightens, and I nod, but it’s an awkward movement.
I don’t know if I want to smile or cry. Pride and heartache war inside me, tearing me in two. God, I hate that part of me is happy for him. That I can picture the way his eyes light up when they win. That I can imagine him on the field, sweat dripping down his temple, grinning at his teammates.
And I hate even more that I’m not there to see it.
Roxy studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “I know you love him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear slipping free before I can stop it. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to you,” she says softly. “You wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”
I press my lips together, trying to will myself not to cry harder. But my chest aches so badly, and the truth is, I don’t even know if this is something we can come back from. I don’t know if I can forgive him for making me feel small when I needed him to make me feel safe.
Roxy pulls me into her arms, and I let her. My tears soak her hoodie, but she doesn’t care. “It’s okay to miss him,” she murmurs. “It’s okay to be hurt and proud at the same time. You just need to figure out which one’s louder.”
I nod against her shoulder, but I’m not sure I’ll ever know.
It’s been a week since Finlay got back from his game, and that was the last time he tried reaching out.
One week.
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours of silence.
I guess getting over me is a hell of a lot easier for him than it is for me.
Or maybe he already was. Maybe I was the only one holding on while he was figuring out how to let go.
I’m back in my apartment now. Roxy has been my rock, but I’m tired of feeling like the fragile woman she needs to piece back together. I need to figure out how to glue my own cracks shut, even if it’s messy.
So, I went to work tonight.
I danced.
Not with my heart in it, not with the teasing smile that makes me good tips, but I moved to the music anyway. I let the bass pound through my body like it could drown out the whispers. I ignored the sly smirks, the not-so-subtle nudges between customers. Pretended I didn’t hear them say, “Isn’t that the one who seduced Finlay Reed?”
I came home after, stripped down, got in the shower, and stood under the spray until my skin turned pink and my fingers wrinkled. The water was scalding, but it couldn’t burn off the ache lodged inside my chest.
Now I’m curled up on my couch, hair damp and curling around my shoulders, wrapped in the oversized hoodie I stole from Roxy months ago. I’m angry. I’m sad. But there’s something else, something small but real, pride.
Because today, I took one step toward healing, and I survived.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and the screen lights up with Roxy Facetiming me. I swipe to answer, forcing a smile.
“I’m fine,” I say before she can ask.
She’s at Heaven, and I can see Delaney leaning into the frame behind her. They both look like they’re trying to read my mood, like they’re tiptoeing around something.
“Nova, you should watch something,” Delaney says, her voice careful.
“Only if you want to,” Roxy adds quickly.
A thread of confusion tightens in my gut. “What is it?”
They glance at each other, like they’re silently debating who’s going to drop the bomb. Finally, Delaney sighs. “It’s a video. It’s everywhere online.”
