Page 1 of The Game Plan
“What the hell is she doing?”
I sit in my truck, parked outside the Chinese restaurant, my phone forgotten as I stare blankly through my windshield. My eyes track the woman who lives rent-free in my head.
Savannah Holycross.
She looks different—not in a bad way—while still looking like the same girl I’ve held in my arms so many times before. Her face is softer, rounder. Her skin glows in that natural way all pregnant women experience, or at least that’s what I’ve always been told. But seeing her, I can tell she radiates from the inside out.
Once long hair is cut off at her shoulders, the color darker than I remember. I don’t know why the change in her appearance catches me off guard, but it does. I remember the way her locks would tangle in my fingers and how I’d wake up nearly suffocating from those strands wrapped around my face and neck. And even with the changes, she’s as beautiful as ever. Hell, the changes make her features sharper, more alluring.
Gone are her sorority shirts and cut-off denim shorts, but in their place, she’s dressed in business clothes–black slacks and a button-down hug her curves. The striped shirt stretches against her growing belly, tucked into her pants, making her bump more pronounced. But it’s the damn heels on her feet that have me pausing. There’s no way at nearly seven months pregnant, heels feel good on her feet, especially while carrying groceries.
Grocery bags dig into her skin, leaving indents in their wake against her delicate wrists as she waddles down the sidewalk. My fingers twitch with the need to soothe her. To alleviate some stress in her life. Instinct has me gripping the door handle, my mind screamingfuck it, but curiosity keeps me glued in my seat. It’s not lost on me how creepy this feels. I’m watching her from the confines of my truck, and she has no idea I’m lurking.
A punch lands in my chest when my eyes trail back to her middle.
She’s pregnant with someone else’s baby.
This isn’t news. I’ve known for a couple of months, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
She’s growing a new life while preparing for a future—one that has nothing to do with me. Each time I think about our futures going separately, it’s like a wrecking ball hits me straight in the gut.
In the back of my mind, I thought we had time. That someday wouldn’t be so far away. We’d get through college, focus on achieving our goals, and find our way back to each other.
That was the plan until everything changed.
We stayed too casual and gave each other too much space. Clearly. She’s starting her own journey, while I’m stuck thinking about the late-night promises we made once upon a time. And that’s exactly what it was, a fairy tale dreamt up by two young and naive nineteen-year-olds. We had no idea what life would be like.
She was right fucking there, and I let her slip through the cracks.
I have no one to blame but myself. What started as the perfect day with the football team winning at home, and being Savannah’s plus-one to her sorority’s semi-formal, quickly turned into a nightmare. The way she looked in that rusty orange dress that hugged her curves in all the right places still haunts my dreams. It was foolish of me to make the joke. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had screwed up. When I called her my forever plus-one, she forced a laugh, but I saw the panic that streaked across her face. I remember the way her hand slipped from mine as she adjusted the strap of her purse. It was like my words detonated a bomb inside her.
By Sunday, her texts were shorter. A week later, they were few and far between. Then a month slipped by, and she quit returning my calls and texts. I told myself she was busy studying for exams and final preparations before Christmas break. Deep down, I knew I had hit her trigger. I implied a future she wasn’t ready for. A place she never trusted anyone to stay.
Fuck. The guys would give me so much shit if they could hear my thoughts. Torn up over a girl who wasn’t ever mine. Even if most of my friends are love struck with their girlfriends. Or in my best friend, Q’s, case, his wife andhisdaughter.
I drag my hand over the scruff that’s become permanent across my jaw as I take a deep inhale, trying to get my mind straight. Seeing Savannah two months ago fucked up my headspace, and it turns out, I’m not over it yet.
Throughout college, I refused to be tied down. I didn’t see the appeal of being strapped to one person. To me, college was four years to live without thought. Blame the poor decisions on immaturity and whatever bullshit excuse you want. I grew up with parents who had—and still have—a great marriage. It gave me a clear vision of what I wanted. Marriage with a womanwho wasn’t just my partner, but my best friend. The statistical two-point-five kids with the white picket fence and a golden retriever. Going to my dream job day in and day out. I could visualize my entire future in vivid detail.
Sav wanted the same things. She grew up in an unstable household without a father and an irresponsible mother. A mother who bounced from one job—and bed—to another. Sav said someday she’d have the fairy-tale happily ever after, but not until she made something of herself.
We both wanted to live first.
Funny how life works out.
My phone vibrates in my hand, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. Glancing at the screen, I see a picture of my sister and me from my senior year's National Championship game. Her nose is scrunched up, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she makes a goofy face, staring at me. Sweat coats the hair hanging on my forehead as I squeeze the arm draped around her shoulders. Happiness radiates around her, and after the time she was having, it’s a good reminder to see.
I still can’t believe she transferred to Central Texas University to be closer to us. She gelled right into our group as if she’s always been a part of our little family here. Bret Addison has always been my person—my biggest supporter and loudest cheerleader.
It’s still so bizarre to me that all my friends and former teammates call her Bret. In my mind, she’ll always be Addy to me, but I’ve started calling her Bret again. It’s a weird, long story, but basically, both my uncle and best friend in elementary school were named Bret—my uncle was her namesake—and I didn’t want another person to call Bret, so I nicknamed her Addy after her middle name, Addison.
With a deep exhale, I swipe the screen, my gaze focusing back on where Savannah is walking to the side of the Chineserestaurant. What the hell is she doing? Shuffling her bags around, I watch with rapt attention as Savannah pulls open a side entrance, which leads to apartments above the restaurant. She disappears inside, and I’m left in confusion.
Does she live here?
“Planning on eating anytime tonight?” my sister snarks by way of greeting, pulling me from where I’ve been watching Savannah. I roll my eyes at her antics.
Before I have a chance to respond, another voice spills from the speaker.
