Page 28 of Save the Game

“Yeah. Just finishing up. Are you in bed?”

“Mm. Can’t sleep. I was thinking about your SpongeBob pants.”

“Oh?” He says coyly. “These?”

He angles his camera so that there is a sliver of his lap showing. If I didn’t already known it was his leg, I wouldn’t have been able to guess. I groan, overly loud and dramatically. He lifts the camera back to his face, grinning.

“You tease,” I chide.

“What can I say, I know what gets you going,” he says, standing up and moving to sit down on his bed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I settle in deeper against my body pillow, pressing my hips back against it and wishing it was Max lying there instead. “Do you mind just talking to me for a bit?”

“Sure. What should I talk about?” He slides down so he’s lying the same way I am, curled into the fetal position with his cheek on the pillow.

“Just talk about you,” I request, and focus on the movement of his lips as he speaks. It’s nice, spending time together like this—almost as good as having him tucked in beside me, warm and safe.

8

Max

It’s Tuesday morning, which means it’s been a full three days since I’ve spoken to Luke. The baseball team was on the road all day Saturday and Sunday, and I had a full game schedule as well. I’d texted him Saturday—a simple good luck text that has gone unanswered. I pull up the messaging app and double check for the thousandth time that he hasn’t replied; he hasn’t. Sighing, I put my phone face down on my desk and do my best to apply myself to world literature.

Marcos had warned me that Luke was a playboy, and a large part of me wonders if that’s not what’s happening here. Did our one failed sexual encounter fulfill his hook-up requirement? I don’t want to believe it; I can’t imagine the same Luke who stroked his fingers tenderly through my hair, and FaceTimed me to help himself fall asleep would ghost me. If he is, I’ve completely misread him.

Vasel catches up to me outside of class, and we walk together toward the gym. We’re not on the ice today, but working on strength and conditioning. These days are usually awful—physically demanding while being mentally dull. I wish we were doing almost anything else; I desperately need to be distracted.

It’s the assistant coach who takes us through our workout today, not Coach Mackenzie. He never does the gym workouts with us, and rarely participates in practice beyond feeding us pucks and watching from the sidelines. I wonder if his reluctance comes from the accident that ended his career; I wonder if he’d be offended if I asked him about it.

Thoughts of Coach distract me enough that I’m able to get through the workout without thinking about Luke. Unfortunately, that only lasts for as long as it takes for me to walk out the door. I think back to the way Luke had waved off my apology about throwing up; maybe it bothered him more than he let on, but he was just too nice to say something at the time. Or maybe he never liked me to begin with, and he’s cutting his losses.

Feeling disproportionately upset about the death of a relationship that was barely over a week old, I let myself into Marcos’ and my apartment. I stop and listen, ascertaining he’s not yet home, and head into my room. I’m hungry, but not hungry enough to eat; just because my body is hungry, doesn’t mean I have the mental fortitude to do so. Sitting down on the end of my bed, I make a mental list of all the things I have to do that don’t include pining over Luke Kelly.

I hear the front door open and call out to Marcos. He appears in my doorway a second later, leaning against the frame and looking me up and down to verify I’m intact.

“Hey,” he says, crossing his arms. “You got plans tonight?”

“No, just homework.”

“You think you’ll be able to get some sleep?” He asks carefully. I try not to let these questions bother me; I know they come from a place of love, even though the fact that they need to be asked pisses me off.

“Probably not,” I admit, thinking of Luke. “It’s supposed to rain, though, so I’ll probably stay here.”

His shoulders relax down away from his ears. “Is it cool if I go out?”

“Of course, you don’t have to ask permission.”

“I…might not be back until morning, though,” he says, scuffing the floor with his toe and not looking at me. “So, if you do go out later, can you text me?”

“I’ll share my location with you.”

“Okay,” he breathes, relieved, “thank you. I’m going to shower and head out.”

“Have fun. I’ll just be here, slaving away.” He snorts, rolling his eyes and waving as he walks away.

Getting up, I go take a shower and put on my pajamas. There’s no sense in keeping my street clothes on if I’m planning on staying home, and if I go out walking, it’ll only ruin Marcos’ night. He’ll spend all his time with eyes glued to the screen, obsessively monitoring my progress through the streets. He calls out when he leaves, locking the door behind himself, and then I’m alone. Pulling out my lit homework, I prop my head up on my hand and get to work.

I get in two solid hours before I let myself take a break. Picking up my phone, I unlock the screen just as a call from Luke comes through. I stare at it, thumb hovering over the green accept button, stomach systematically tying itself in knots. On the third ring, I answer.

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