Page 132 of The Home Grown
I finish my beer and grab another one while contemplating whether I should call her again.
Whoops and cheers fill the air around me as the drinks flow. I half-zone out of the conversation going on around me, replaying the events of the evening instead, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
Maybe it was the rings—rings I was sure she’d love, but maybe it was too much. Maybe I spooked her and ruined all my chances.
“How about you Betts?” someone says, as I snap my head up to see Greer looking at me, waiting for a response. “Come on, everyone’s got something.”
“I’m sorry what?” I say.
“Your secret pre-game superstition?” he says, taking a swig of his beer. “You know, something you do, but don’t tell anyone else about. Time to come clean.”
I force a laugh. “I don’t have anything.”
“Yeah, right,” Greer snickers. “Everyone’s got one.”
I’d usually be all over this sort of thing, but I’m not in the mood. I’m tense and anxious, desperate to know if Ellie is okay … if we’re okay.
There’s jeering around me, encouragement, so I make something up about only using a fresh roll of tape before I excuse myself, telling the guys I need to take a leak.
I head towards the lobby in the direction of the men’s room and when I round the corner, my eyes land on a figure in the far corner.
My heart stops in my chest.
What the—I can’t believe she’s here.
I freeze on the spot, my stomach practically falling out of my ass when I spot her, leaning against a window wearing a tight red dress.
I look around, surveying the immediate area, grateful that I’m alone and no one is here to witness the shit show that’s about to unfold.
“Bettsy,” she calls. “I was hoping to catch you. Have you missed me?” The shrillness of her voice has me shivering withdisgust, memories of the shit she dragged me through flooding to the surface.
The fake pregnancy. The lies about Rodgers and their broken relationship. I mean, she told me she was single for Christ’s sake, and I fell for it. Desperate for the attention—the fake admiration.
I’m such a fucking loser.
She’s walking towards me, pushing her boobs out, trying to distract me, no doubt. And I’ll be damned if I let her this time. I focus my attention on the floor—telling myself not to look her directly in the eyes; don’t look the devil directly in the eyes.
“Oh, come on—you’re still not speaking to me?” she says, reaching out a hand and setting it on my forearm.
I pull away, taking a step back. “What do you want, Roch?”
“I just want to speak to you. I heard you guys were here tonight, so I thought I’d stop by and—I want you to know how sorry I am.”
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and glance up, risking a look. “What are you sorry for?”
She bats her eyelashes. “Excuse me?”
“I said, what are you sorry for? You said you wanted me to know how sorry you were, and I’m keen to understand the details.”
She rolls her eyes. “If I knew you were going to be like this, I needn’t have bothered.”
I gape at her. She’s delusional—more so than I led myself to believe before.
“Why are you being like this?” she says.
I scoff. Complete disbelief that she’d even ask such a question.
“I was the best thing to happen to you. We both know that you won’t do better than me, so why are you trying to hide from your feelings?” she says.
