Page 24 of Wrap Around
"Gideon! Wait. I didn't mean–"
"Just drop it, Si," he snaps. His voice is low and sharp. Biting.
I try again. "It's not what you think. I wasn't trying to–"
"You weren't trying to what? Remind me why I left three years ago? Turn it into a joke so we can pretend it never happened, and you can feel better about yourself?"
I pull back like he hit me, barely keeping myself from flinching when he skirts around me to stalk into the showers.
This is stupid. I hesitate, but follow him in. There's nowhere else I can seem to corner him to make him face me.
The steam is thick, laced with the smell of soap and jock sweat. It's loud. I have to raise my voice to be heard over the hiss of water echoing off the tile.
"Gideon, please. Just talk to me. Yell at me. Throw something. Fucking hit me again if it makes you feel better!" I say, my voice getting higher with every word. "Just don't shut down again. Not when we're finally making this work."
He doesn't look at me. Doesn't answer.
For the first time since I got here, I’d felt a thread of hope growing between us. And now with his clear dismissal, I feel that fragile thread snap.
Maybe I've been delusional in thinking we might ever get back even a fraction of the friendship we once had. Much less the love I know I felt between us.
He called me Si. That can't mean all is lost, right?
Or maybe I am truly delusional.
Vegas is loud. Bright. Alive.
I am none of those things.
I'm exhausted, in every way possible. We just got shut out 5-0 in our worst game of the season aside from the game where my former best friend and teammate checked me into the boards, of course.
Most of the team went out to drown the loss in neon lights and poor decisions. I stayed behind. I'm not in the mood to fake smiles or face questions from my teammates. Like how long I expect to be here, when it's obvious that every time Gideon and I find a way to take a step forward, we fall three steps back. We’ve been playing well together, but whatever happened in the gym the other night set him off. We won that game against the Islanders by the skin of our teeth. And tonight? Well, we could have done worse, I suppose. We weren’t playing terribly, or playing against each other like before, but the fire wasn’t there. How can we get it back, if he’s so dead set on pretending there’s nothing between us?
It's hard not to contemplate everything that brought me here. There was a lot of luck involved, but I also targeted the Red Valley team like a homing missile. I was single-minded in my momentum to get as close to Gideon as possible. But was it worth it?
Was it worth putting everything into the impossible odds that I would make it onto Gideon's team? A few weeks ago, I would have said yes. I was ready to risk everything just for a chance to prove myself to Gideon, to get him to talk to me.
He hates me. And there’s no coming back from that. I have to find a way to live with it. To work with him and coexist on a team that doesn't feel big enough for us and all of our baggage. Backing off and giving him space isn’t enough. Then again, maybe I’m not giving him enough space.
We don't have to be friends. We don't have to talk. We just have tobe. So we don't lose everything and put Lily and Adaline through anymore bullshit.
The thought makes me want to scream.
A loud bang rattles the door. I sit up fast.What the?
More banging, this time more insistent.
"Silas!"
Is that?—?
"Silas, for fuck's sake. Let me in already!"
What is he yelling for? Where is his key?
I yank open the door and stare into bleary green eyes and a massive frame barely able to hold itself up. Gideon sways in the hallway, eyes glazed, skin pale and clammy. He smells like whiskey, sweat, and misery.
Pushing the door open wide so he can stumble in, I gape at him. He's more than just drunk, he's a mess. A quick peek into the hallway shows me he's alone.
