Page 146 of Holding On

"Then YOU go. I'm staying here."

"I hate working out alone. You know that."

I don't respond.

"What's going on with you? You've been in this room since yesterday morning. Did Coach say something to piss you off?"

"I've been sleeping. I'm tired."

"You sick?"

"No." I pull the sheet back over me. "Now get the hell out of here."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Then I guess you're not going."

"What the hell? I thought you wanted to work out."

"Not now. Right now, I just want to sleep."

"Where's Becca?" He looks around. "I thought she was in here with you. When you didn't come out, I assumed you two were going at it all night."

I grab my phone from the nightstand and check it for messages. Becca didn't call. Or text. And I didn't call her like I said I would. Shit. She must still be mad at me.

"You guys fighting?" Jackson asks.

"No. I just didn't feel like talking when she was here." I toss my phone on the bed. "I'll call her later."

"Chicks get pissed when you don't call, especially during a fight. They say they don't want to talk to you but it's bullshit. You don't call, they get even more pissed."

"Would you get out of here? I want to sleep."

He walks to the door. "I'll tell Coach you're sick, but I'm not doing it again. You're coming with me on Wednesday."

I agree to it just so he'll go away. But I doubt I'll show up on Wednesday. What's the point? So I can spend my life tossing a ball in the air? God, that seems stupid. In the grand scheme of life, it seems stupid to make an insane amount of money to play a game, and yet I spent my whole life preparing for this. And I love it. I still do. So what does that say about me? That I'm a shallow person? That I'm too stupid to do anything else?

I go to sleep, and when I wake up it's almost four in the afternoon. This is usually when Becca stops by so I get out of bed and take a quick shower. I check my phone but she hasn't called or texted. I call her but she doesn't answer.

I hear Jackson making noise in the guest room. I go over there and stand at the door, watching as he packs his duffle bag.

"Your apartment ready?" I ask.

"Yeah. I checked earlier. They said I could move in tonight or tomorrow."

"So you're going tonight?"

"Yeah, unless you want to hang out."

"I don't really feel like it."

He zips up his bag. "You ever gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

I shrug. "I've just got some decisions to make."

"What decisions are we talking about?"

"Just forget it. It's nothing."

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