Page 18 of Defensive Zone

Why does it feel like he’s avoiding me?

I scroll through our message thread. It’s a sea of blue bubbles. A one-sided conversation. His responses have become shorter, less frequent over the last few months.

I don’t know what has happened to cause this… distance between us, but I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I miss my best friend. I miss him to the point it’s causing me physical pain.

Rubbing the aching spot over my chest with my palm, I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. There’s no point in getting angry because there’s nothing I can do about it, but it doesn’t stop me from being disappointed. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him for months.

The football season hasn’t gone as well as I’d hoped. I genuinely thought this was going to be our year. Our time to shine and bounce back after our Super Bowl loss last year. Instead, I have reporters questioning whether being awarded Defensive Player of the Year last season has become a curse because I’m having the worst season of my professional career.

Knowing that I was going to be seeing Zach today has kept my chin up. It has kept me from spiraling into a cloud of negativity, especially now, given we just had our asses kicked by Chicago on the field.

But now the cloud is looming, darker than before, and I don’t know what to do.

“Not seeing your boy today?” Walker asks as he sits down in the stall next to mine to lace up his shoes. He’s a defensive tackleon my D-line and probably one of the guys I’m closest to on the team.

I haven’t even begun to get undressed, not feeling the usual urgency or eagerness to get out of here.

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s got a session with the trainer.”

Walker winces. “Shit, man. Bad timing.”

Bad timing, indeed.

Or purposefully bad timing.

No, that’s unfair. I don’t think Zach would intentionally avoid me like this. He’s quiet and introverted and so damn intelligent. Nerdy, too, but I think that’s what makes him so endearing. The guy could recite the entire script ofReturn of the Jediby the time he was ten, and I made it my mission to learn it so I could impress him like he constantly did me.

Throughout my life, his opinion was the only one that mattered. I’ve never cared for the press or the so-called fans who comment on whatever slice of life I decided to share on my social media. I’ve never cared about what anyone else thought. Only Zach.

Because Zach Reid has been my buoy for the majority of my life, keeping me afloat, and now I’m lost, drowning without him.

Heaving a sigh, I muster up the energy to get undressed and head into the showers. My movements feel sluggish, like that stupid text has sucked every ounce of energy out of me. By the time I’m dressed in sweatpants and a team-branded hoodie, I shove my feet into my sneakers and make sure all my belongings are in my duffel bag. I’ve been in this game long enough that I’ve learned to double-check my stall before I go. I’ve left way too many things in visiting locker rooms over the years.

I thank the equipment team as they load our gear onto the specialized container units, then make my way out of the arena to the bus that’s waiting to take us to the airport. Normally, I would be rushing through my post-game routine, eager to getout so Zach could pick me up so we could do our thing before he dropped me off at the airport.

But there’s no reason for me to rush today.

Fuck, I can’t keep torturing myself like this.

I run an agitated hand through my hair. I don’t know what to do with myself. As I take the steps up into the bus, I’m greeted with surprised expressions.

Palmer’s, another defensive tackle on my D-line, eyebrows rise to his hairline, jaw dropping open. “Holy shiiit. What have you done with Carter Lockwood? He doesn’t ride the bus with us in Chicago.”

I want to flip him the bird, but I don’t have the energy. I just grunt in response, glaring down at my shoes as I head further in and take a seat, quickly pulling my noise-canceling headphones out of my bag. A clear sign for nobody to bother me.

Selecting an upbeat, pop playlist, hoping it will boost my mood, I scroll through our message thread again, then close the app to go on Instagram. I bring up Zach’s profile and click on the stories, just like I’ve done a thousand times since last night. I go through each of the slides and pause on the photo of him and his teammate Elliot at Gino’s. Elliot has his arm wrapped around Zach’s shoulders, both of them with a beer in hand. Zach’s hair is tied up off his face in a bun, and my hands itch to take it down. I love his hair. It’s so long and silky, I find it relaxing to run my fingers through it.

My ex-girlfriends always thought it was weird how I would be so openly affectionate with him. I love him, he’s my best friend—why wouldn’t I show my affection? I always wanted to be near him, touching him, even if only our knees connected. His presence has always brought me peace, but it’s his smile in this particular photo that makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut.

He hasn’t smiled at me like that in so long. Probably since the summer, come to think about it. When we were in Oahu on our vacation.

Our video calls haven’t been as regular, either, and whenever we’ve spoken, it’s like there’s this… something… between us. I don’t know, some kind of awkwardness.

Ugh.I’m probably overthinking this. I’ve been doing a lot of this recently, too, which isn’t like me.

When we board the team plane that will take us back to Denver, I stow my bag in the overhead bin and drop into my usual seat by the window and press Call on Zach’s name. He might not want to see me, but I’m not going to allow this… whatever it is, to come between us. I’m not going to be the one to break routine. Not being able to see him has already put me on edge. Going hours without hearing his voice might just break me.

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