Page 8 of Scoring Zone
My laugh sounds stilted and too loud.
When I get back to my room, I text Austin.
Me: FYI- I got the brain today
Austin: Says who?
Me: Griff
Me: He’s telling tales to Kenney
Austin: *angry face emoji* taking a nap
If last night hadn’t happened, we’d be spending the day complaining about getting old and playing video games. But since last night happened and his text reads like he wants to be alone, I go to my room to do the same. He needs his solitude to recharge, and I respect that as part of his personality. Today, his need to be alone comes off as personal, and I should get over that. I ignore the emptiness of solitude. When I lie down, his phantom touches and crisp scent, which remind me of the ice rink and the holidays, linger as if they’re real.
Loneliness grips me as tight as a lover as I force thoughts of Austin away.
I’ve never had butterflies about seeing my best friend. Actually, what’s happening feels more like bees than pretty butterflies. My strategy is simple: get on the plane first, sit in my regular seat, and close my eyes. Austin can either sit with me like normal or choose another seat.
Only Austin gets on the plane first, and his carry-on is sitting in my seat. I guess I have my answer. But as I’m walking down the aisle, one of the rookies stows Austin’s bag in the overhead compartment for him.
Now I’m unsure what to do. Taking another seat will draw more attention than sitting next to him and ignoring our issue. I slide into my seat.
“Two days in a row,” Benz says as he sits next to Griff. I catch him staring longingly at Leo with the other coaches.
“For what?” Austin asks.
“Not dressing the same. I kinda miss it.” Benz heaves a big sigh, and Griff elbows him.
Austin side-eyes me and I shrug. No matter how much I dreamed about his hands on me when I took a nap, I’m not projecting my desire onto him.
We don’t talk until after takeoff, and no one else is paying attention. He turns as much as he can in his seat to face me.
“There aren’t enough words to tell you how sorry I am for hurting you.” His sorrowful blue eyes beg for forgiveness.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I’m trying to understand what happened.” Our heads are inches apart so no one can hear us. His scent of spicy cloves and vanilla shampoo makes it hard to think.
What hurt the most was him pointing at the bed and declaring that the night we spent together didn’t happen. He dismissed the best sex of my life, as if he could will it away.
“I don’t know.” His eyes cloud with confusion. “All I know is that I hurt you, and I never want to do that again.”
It’s great that he’s taking responsibility for his behavior, but that doesn’t give me any clarity about us as more than friends.
“You know you can talk to me. You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you to help figure out what upset you.” My intention is to offer advice and comfort, but he turns red and his lips pinch together.
“I already said I’m upset about hurting you.”
“Yes, but you should consider how you feel about what happened.” With the way he’s looking at me, I’m sure we’rehaving two entirely different conversations. It’s strange to be on a completely different wavelength. Usually, he’s easy to read, and his thoughts broadcast straight to me.
“I don’t matter when I hurt you.” He turns to face forward, and my hope fades that continuing the conversation will be productive.
“As long as we stay friends, that’s all that matters.” It sounds simple, but the armrest between us could be a steel wall. My best friend might as well be a stranger with the way he’s leaning away from me.
“Friends forever.” He forces a smile that’s detached and unconcerned.
My muscles seize as if I’m about to be attacked, and I painstakingly relax. The voice in my head doesn’t believe him, and I can’t convince myself it’s being a lying bastard.
I rationalize that he needs time to figure out what last night means for him, and then he can deal with what it means for us. I gotta calm my ass down.
