Page 18 of Sweet Girl
“Get the hell off me!” He blocked my next punch and his knee got a good jab at my balls. “No wonder your girl is fucking someone else. You’re fucking crazy, man!”
All I saw was red. My vision blurred, my ears filled with a white noise so loud it could drown out a New York city street during rush hour. I can’t remember what happened next, all I know is someone pulled me off and I was being held against my will as I struggled to get loose.
The next thing I know, I’d been given a technical foul by the ref and ejected from the game. I was quickly escorted back to the locker rooms by one of the assistant coaches where I stewed over my anger the remainder of the game. It was a colossal fuck up.
I fucked up colossally.
After I’d cooled down enough to realize what had just happened, my first thoughts were of my parents and my brother. If they saw my melt down on Sports Center or on the news, they’d be embarrassed by my behavior. I wasn’t the type of player that got into pissing matches. I never lose my cool. That’s just not who I am.
I apparently have a breaking point and a hot button. My second coherent thought was what if what Jalen said was true? Or was it just a trumped up lie just to get me riled up and into my head?
I thought back to all the games we’ve played together in the past, and although he was always talking trash, he never personalized like this. He’d never attacked anyone down to the quick like he did with me tonight. So that meant there must be some validity in his statement. And to get to the bottom of it, I’d have to confront the only person I knew who had the real story.
After the game, I tried calling her –five times– each one went directly to her voicemail. On the fifth and final attempt, I left her what was probably an accusatory, incoherent message.
“I want to know why you don’t answer my calls anymore, Lynds. Why the hell can I never get ahold of you? Where are you all the time? Why are you always too busy to talk to me? And oh yeah...please tell me you’re not fuckingGoddamn Cody Leach. You better believe we’re gonna have a talk when I see you next week. If the rumor is true...goddamn it, Lyndsay. I don’t deserve that.”
I’d hesitated a second, pushing back the tears that had gathered behind my eyelids. I blame it on the anger and the adrenaline of the fight. But I know it ran much deeper than that. “I thought you loved me.”
I couldn’t get out another syllable without choking on the words or crying like a pussy, so I simply pressed the end button and hung my head in my hands. I felt the crack in my world that instant – the chasm breaking my heart in two. My life as I had known it for years was about to change without my permission – collapsing down around my feet.
The pain was excruciating
****
I’m parked outside Lyndsay’s house, waiting for her to come out so we can go to dinner.
She’d called me back the night of the game, after I’d drowned my sorrows in one too many beers. I was still sober enough to hear her guilt over the phone. She was too smart to openly admit that she was fucking someone else, but she did have the guts to tell me that yes, indeed, she was at a party with Cody Leach and that she would tell me about it when we got together at Thanksgiving.
So here I am, tapping on the horn to let her know I’m here. I should go up to her door and say hello to her mother, who is still grieving over the loss of her husband just six months ago, but I just can’t seem to find the nerve to get out of the car. My fingers curl around the steering wheel with a death grip, my knuckles turning white.
The car door opens but I will my eyes to stay focused in front of me. I will not look over at her, for fear of losing it right here in my car. Lyndsay’s familiar scent fills the interior, surrounding me with memories of my youth, and I have to close my eyes, trying to avoid all the moments that bombard my brain. Images of our first kiss; our first date; lying together naked after we both lost our virginity together, limbs entwined as if we were each other’s lifeline. All of it was too much and I have to bite my lip to restrain myself from reaching over and pulling her into my arms.
But I don’t. I won’t fall for the nostalgia.
She shifts in her seat. “Hey, babe.”
When I whip my head in her direction, she has the decency to look apologetic for using the pet name in greeting. I’m sorry, but she does not have the right to throw out a term of endearment right now.
Her voice softens, offering up a bargain in its wake. “Can we swing by The Blue Horse and pick something up to go? Head out to Coal Springs?”
“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.” My voice is tight and dispassionate.
We get to the restaurant and order a pizza to go, as we make small talk in the waiting area. As we stand together, I notice a few nuances in her physical features that I hadn’t noticed the last few times I saw her.
She appears thinner than she’s been in the past few years – her blouse hangs loose at her shoulders and her waist is drawn in where it’s tucked in at the hem of her shorts. As an athlete, Lyndsay is tall and has carried a lot of muscle. That muscle is still there, but she looks gaunt.
It’s in her face, too. Her eyes are shadowed underneath and her skin holds a gray pallor.
“Lynds,” I say her nickname and her eyes flit to mine in surprise, as this is the first time I’ve actually said her name since I picked her up. “Are you okay? You’re not looking so good.”
She appears to think about my comment, which is far from a compliment, and just as she opens her mouth to respond, our order is called. I walk up to the window and grab the box, and we head back out to the car. All of this triggers memories for me. We’ve done this so many times I can’t even count. Picking up food and heading out to our favorite spot at The Springs, which is really just a big pond by an old coal mine.
As soon as we’re back on the road, Lyndsay returns to my question.
“I don’t think I’m okay, Van...”
Her voice is laden with sorrow. Weariness. Truth. Consequences.
