Page 69 of The Girlfriend Game
I drop my forehead to my desk with a frustrated and irritable grumble. My tight neck muscles ache, the tension like thick ropes vining around my spine, wrapping securely around the base of my neck.
The phone lights up to alert me of another text. I peel an eye open and glance sideways at the display.
Zeke.
This is the first time he’s reached out since the text I ignored earlier this morning. Technically, I haven’t been ignoring him, per se, because I’ve had back-to-back clients. I also haven’t made an effort to respond, even when I’ve had breaks in my schedule.
Avoidance is juvenile and unhealthy, but I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m afraid the moment I open my mouth, it’ll come pouring out and I don’t want to do that to him while he’s in Europe.
Zeke’s been over there for a week now, playing pre-season games against the European league teams. Apparently, this is a thing I never knew happened. Zeke told me how excited his teammate, Ansel Werner, was about playing to a hometown crowd in Germany, where his family and friends could come to watch.
“It’ll be broadcast on television if you want to watch,” Zeke had said, hope springing in his voice. “Or you can just wait until your big stud is back home and you can come to watch us live when we play our first home game.”
I am genuinely excited to see Zeke out on the court, doing what he loves to do and what he lives for. Especially after all the work he’d put into his mental health over the summer. I’m so proud of the progress he’s made, even outside the work we did together when he was my client.
Because of that, I’ve been very intentional not to wear my therapist hat when we’re together and sharing openly about our life. It isn’t necessarily easy turning off that part of my brain that wants to get him to open up and share his emotions and feelings with me, but I’ve managed to remain in girlfriend mode when the intimacy of the occasion called for it.
Now, I don’t know where I stand with any of it. I fear that if I tell Zeke that I’m pregnant, he’ll walk. Either that, or I’ll be forcing his hand where I otherwise wouldn’t have. Maybe the easiest decision is to walk away on my own accord. I’d be losing him either way. At least this way I’m in control of the emotional upheaval that will inevitably come.
I pick up my phone, leaning back in the chair to read his note.
Zeke:Just finished the first game. It felt incredible to be out on the court. I felt like my old self again. It was such a relief. But I wish you’d have been here to see it. Now I’m in bed, alone, and rock hard with you on my mind. Want to video chat? Wink wink.
I snicker at his blatant and not so subtle sexual innuendo and his request. I want so badly to do it. But it feels disingenuous and deceitful.
Sadly, it will only make things harder for both of us in the long run. If I’m going to go through with this unplanned pregnancy, I’ll need to make a clean break and separation of both our physical and intimate space.
Typing out a response, I fight back the tears that threaten to spill out, wiping them away as I finalize my text.
Then I bury my head in my arms and cry over my loss.
The loss of everything Zeke has given me and the one thing I’ve always wanted, and now can’t share with the man I love.
