Page 127 of Play Book

The therapist said that this is actually a good thing, that she’s finally starting to work through her anger and grief, but I don’t know if I’m going to survive it.

Since it feels inappropriate to bring her into my bed with me, every time she has a nightmare, we wind up sleeping on the sectional couch in the living room, with her on one end and me on the other. As long as she can see me, she doesn’t have nightmares, but I’m a big guy and my body isn’t pleased with this new development in sleeping conditions.

Not to mention taking time off from the team, not working out, and—and this is the doozy—losing Saylor.

I hadn’t been expecting her to dump me.

I’d had a speech planned, asking her if we could back pedal for a while, to give Ally time to get through whatever this is. It won’t be forever. It can’t be. Even if I take Saylor out of the equation, Ally has to move on, and eventually, I’m going to date. Be in a relationship. Get laid.

Except I don’t want to date.

Or randomly get laid.

I just want Saylor.

But she’s cut me loose.

I understand.

I’m not good at the boyfriend thing, and she’d had enough with middle-of-the-night interruptions. Canceled plans. Missing important events.

It just hurt that she wasn’t willing to give me a little time.

This thing with Ally isn’t anyone’s fault, and Saylor and I had reached a point in our relationship where we’d discussed how we were feeling. She knows I have feelings for her.

Doesn’t she?

I haven’t told her I love her—not in so many words—but I’ve explained why.

That’s almost the same thing.

Right?

Maybe not.

I don’t know and the events of the last week are running through my head like a movie on fast forward.

I pull out the meatloaf Colleen left us and put a few pieces on our plates.

“Ally! Dinner!”

“Coming!” She’s got her ear buds in and she’s holding her phone, talking to someone. “…okay, I have to eat dinner, but I’ll call you later!” She hangs up.

“Who was that?” I ask, scooping mashed potatoes onto the plates.

“Rhea. Her mom is going to call you. They want to know if I can go shopping on Saturday. Just the three of us.”

“Do you want to?” I ask, adding a few pieces of broccoli to her plate.

“Is that broccoli?” she demands, ignoring me.

“Look, we’re never having kale in this house. Or liver. Or artichokes. However, vegetables are good for you. And broccoli literally doesn’t taste like anything. Take a piece, dip it in the mashed potatoes, and put it in your mouth. Done.”

She eyes me suspiciously as I put the plate in front of her.

Then she gives side-eye to the plate.

“Come on,” I cajole. “It’s not bad. I swear it. I’ll give you a dollar.”

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