Page 92 of Drew
Then I swear I hear a door shut.
Finally, she puts me out of my misery. “I’m sorry, Drew, but she’s sleeping. I tried talking to her, but she didn’t even stir.”
Relief washes through me. At least she’s safe and sound.
“It’s no problem, Syd. She must be tired if she’s asleep this early.” But a new worry lingers. “Has she mentioned anything about being sick?”
“No. Not that I know of. Want me to leave her a message?”
What do I say that won’t make me look like a crazed lunatic? “Maybe you can just have her check her phone. It’s been off all day.”
I hear a light chuckle come through the phone, and I picture Syd shaking her head. “Sure, no problem. Good luck on your game tomorrow. We’ll be watching you on TV. Give ‘em hell!”
“Thanks, Syd. Please have her call me tomorrow. As weird as this sounds, I’ve felt like something was off all day, and I just can’t explain it. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Oh…” Sydney’s quiet for an unusual length of time. I can’t tell if she’s distracted, or if she doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, she breaks her silence with, “I’ll make sure she gets a hold of you tomorrow.”
I still don’t feel satisfied.
But what can I do?
“Thanks, Syd. I appreciate it,” I say before disconnecting the call.
I force myself to turn off my brain and go to sleep. I have a huge game tomorrow night. There’s a lot riding on it. I need to be well rested. Besides, Grey’s already sleeping in the bed next to me. I don’t want to disturb him any further.
I still haven’t heardfrom Abby by lunch the next day. I’ve been going through the motions, preparing the best I can for the game this afternoon. I’m trying not to read anything into her radio silence, but it’s proving difficult. Doubt is an evil bitch that gnaws at you until it practically eats you alive.
If I’ve checked my phone once, I’ve checked it no less than a million times throughout the day. I’m surprised the button to activate the screen hasn’t broken from overuse. Finally, just as I’m about to load the bus to head to the arena, a text comes through.
Relief washes over me as her name fills my screen.
Abby: Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching you on TV. Kick some ass.
I want to ask her a million questions, but not wanting to cause any drama before stepping on the court, I stick with simplicity.
Me: Thanks. Will try my best. Love you.
I see those three little dots appear, then disappear, and my heart sinks.
Something’s most definitely wrong. If I weren’t on a crowded bus, I’d call her to find out what the hell is going on. This is so unlike Abby.
“You okay, man?” Grey asks, breaking my focus on a self-imposed pity party.
“Yeah.” I try to sound convincing, but I’m a shit liar. Thankfully, Grey doesn’t call me on it. He can tell something’s off, but I don’t want to worry him. We have too much at stake to make my problems become his.
Before I can give my phone anymore thought, I stash it in my gym bag, where I refuse to look at it again until this game is over. This isn’t the time to have my head out of the game. When the bus stops, I stand, willing my focus to be on the here and now—not at home with Abby.
All through warm-ups, my attention is shit.
I go through the motions, but I’m not connecting with my team.
Thankfully, Coach doesn’t notice, or he’d rip me a new asshole.
When we go back into the locker room before the game starts, Grey pulls me aside. So that others don’t hear, he harshly whispers, “Drew, whatever shit’s going on inside of that head of yours—block it out. We’ve worked too fucking hard to let it go up in flames.”
This knocks the wind out of me.
I look around the locker room at my team and realize he’s right. I cannot do this to my team.
