Page 78 of Crossed Sticks

Gabe’s voice was warm, and I looked up with the best smile I could muster. “Saved it for you.”

He sat and took a moment getting his tray organized before looking my way. “Okay, call me nosy.”

“Nosy about what?” I munched on a roll and wondered what Luca was doing.

Why the fuck can’t I get him out of my head for ten minutes? Maybe my stomach would untangle, and I could think about something besides how miserable I am.

“Harpy?”

I raised my head, and Gabe speared me with his dark eyes. I blinked at him and tried to swallow the bread, which had become as hard as concrete. I glanced away and reached for my water. “Yeah?”

“Did Criswell say something shitty about the goal you missed?”

“No.”

“Are you feeling bad about the trade?”

“No.”

He tilted his head. “Get bad news about something?”

“No!” I snapped.

Gabe threw up a hand. “Easy.”

“Sorry, man.” I blew out an exasperated breath. “No bad news.”

“Then it must be Luca. I thought so, considering how you’ve been moping around all week. Are you guys okay?”

A forceful denial sprang to my lips, but I couldn’t keep lying when it was obvious I was distracted. “I don’t know.” The words were little more than a whisper, and I glanced away as my eyes threatened to fill up with tears.

“Harpy?”

I pushed my chair back. “I need to?—”

“Look at me, Harper.”

I didn’t want to face him, because if I did, the game would be up. He’d already figured out there was a problem, and I didn’t want to add more humiliation to my day. Telling the truth about Luca and me would be like admitting to a shameful character flaw. What kind of fuck-up was I—lucky enough to find a terrific guy as soon as I moved to town, but too broken to keep him happy? Too messed up to let myself be happy?

Reluctantly, I met Gabe’s eyes. “It isn’t that we…”

He said nothing, obviously waiting for me to go on.

“Luca’s amazing, but I’m not.” My voice faltered, and a lump formed in my throat as I fought back a sob. With a harsh grunt, I jumped out of my chair and rushed toward the door. A row of one-seater bathrooms lined the hallway outside, and I hoped one of them would be empty.

31/

luca

It had beenten days since I last saw Harper—ten goddamn miserable fucking days. Early in the week, I’d almost driven to the Warriors’ camp in Rocky River to see him, but I fought the temptation. Crowding him in the middle of his first training camp wouldn’t get me the kind of attention I wanted. When the urge returned a day later, much stronger, I reminded myself I probably wouldn’t be able to see Harp if I went since the Warriors’ camp was closed. Even if I’d been able to use my status as an athlete to get in, I’d still be bothering him while he was trying to figure things out. This would hardly move the process in a positive direction.

Usually, I texted him during the day, and he responded late in the evening. Though his replies were longer than the ones he’d sent from D.C., they were still nothing to hang my hopes on. I understood how busy he was, but there was always a sharp twist in my stomach when I read his meager replies, knowing I wouldn’t hear from him for another day. To make things worse, I had no idea how long things would go on like this. Would the situation be any better when his season started? Or would I have to wait until winter or even spring?

I felt like shit, mentally and physically, so I holed up at home. When a buddy from the Steamrollers messaged asking if I’d like to meet him and another teammate for tennis and burgers, I didn’t answer. I was afraid if I responded, they’d ask why I wasn’t interested, or worse, pressure me to go. Caleb also texted a time or two wondering how things had gone with Harper. I didn’t want to talk to him about it, so I left his messages to answer another time.

My appetite disappeared completely, and although I knew I needed to eat, I couldn’t force much down. I had a boiled egg one day, and some string cheese later in the week. Increasingly, I spent time upstairs in the loft. The bed was a comfortable hideout. There was a nice TV, and the blinds kept out the light, which helped with the headaches I’d been having. When I felt sick, I pulled the comforter over my head and lay in its dark, snug embrace. My legs got heavier every day, and since going up and down the steps was difficult, I brought crackers, string cheese, and water upstairs and kept them near the bed.

Mostly, I left the TV muted while thoughts of Harper circled in my head like sharks. They must have been nuclear sharks, because they never got tired. Swimming in endless circles, they asked the same questions over and over. What the hell happened? What could I do to make things better? What would Harper decide, and how the fuck long would it take him?

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