Page 94 of Catching Feelings

?CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MILES

She isn’t in the stands, but neither are Riley or Kendall. I tell myself it has nothing to do with Rowan not wanting to be here. With her distancing herself from me or her friends. I’m off my game, missing easy catches, letting defenders get by me, and not getting myself open for Dec’s passes.

We lose to New York. If I ran and dodged the defender better in the fourth quarter, I would have caught the thirty-yard pass and would have had a touchdown. Which would have won us the game.

I make good blocks, catch long passes, am good for eighty yards a game and a handful of catches.

Not tonight. One catch and four yards.

Usually after a win the team can count on me being stupid and cracking a few jokes. Dec and Nash stay back to talk to reporters, and I hang my head as I walk through the tunnel to the locker room.

Since it’s a late game, there aren’t many friends and family members lingering around. It’s close to midnight by the time I get home and I make myself two peanut butter and banana sandwiches, washing them down with a glass of milk.

The only text messages I have are from my aunt and sister. Crowds aren’t my aunt’s thing and Julia has been too bogged down with grad school to come to a game. I’d hoped she’d come with Rowan one day, but that ship has sailed.

I send them a quick text thanking them for their kind words. Well, Aunt Lynn’s text was sweet. Julia was her typical bratty self, sending me GIFs of a Butterfinger and another of the iconic Marsha Brady scene from the seventies when she got a football to the nose.

I’ll never live that fuck up down. I turned too late and the ball bounced off my faceguard. Can’t wait for ESPN to play that over and over again. There’s a good chance that’ll turn into a GIF as well.

Since it takes me a few hours to unwind after a game, I plop down on the couch and turn on my gaming console. For the next few hours, I zone out playing Madden. When my ass goes numb, I shut it down and crawl into bed.

I hate being mopey. It’s not me. Even after a shitty loss, I’m mostly chirpy. As I lay in bed and stare up at my ceiling, I think about the empty seat where Rowan usually sits. There were three empty seats, which should make me feel a little better. Jackson and Taylor were there for the first half, but it makes sense that Riley and Kendall would stay home with their kids. Rowan could have come with Jackson, but she didn’t.

She works early. The game didn’t even start until after eight. It would be stupid for her to be out that late, but I couldn’t help staring at the empty seat. Which was why I missed so many catches and blocks.

We play at one o’clock next week, then we’re away for three weeks in a row, which means I have one more shot to see her in the stands for a while.

Turning to my side, I stare out the window and the lights from the city cast shadows on my walls.

I fucked up the first relationship I’ve ever cared about, and I have no idea how to fix it.

***

Aweek goes by withno word from Rowan. I make good on my promise to her and don’t bother her, even though my fingers itch to send her a text. To call her. To write her another letter.

I could write one and not give it to her. Maybe it would be therapeutic. Maybe I’ll give it to her after today’s game. The one o’clock games are always well attended. Early November in Boston makes for the perfect football weather. Cool and crisp but not frigid.

Fans are warm enough in their jerseys and sweatshirts while donning Revs winter hats. Players aren’t freezing their nuts off on the sidelines waiting their turn to play and we’re not sweating our asses off in heat and humidity either.

The sky is bright blue, our playlist is screaming through the sound system, and the energy in the stands is epic. I’m pumped up, the team is fired up, and we’re ready to kick Miami’s ass.

“Be right back. Gotta kiss my wife.” Walker slaps my shoulder and jogs toward the stands.

I turn to follow him so I can catch a glimpse of Rowan, and my stomach drops when I see her empty seat. I tell myself not to over-analyze it, she could be in the restroom or standing in the concession line. But she’s still not there when we jog off the field, and when we make our grand entrance at the start of the game twenty minutes later, the seat next to Kendall is still vacant.

Once again, I’m off my game. I miss easy catches. I don’t block the defenders. I suck ass.

My head isn’t in the game and I’m at a loss for how to get my focus back on. Not even coach or Dec’s pep talks during halftime get me back in the right headspace. With three minutes left in the third quarter, Coach pulls me from the game, and I don’t blame him. I’m not contributing anything but a record number of dropped balls.

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