Page 62 of The Fall
The celebration rages. Svoboda jumps from the bench onto Novak’s back, nearly sending them both into a wall. Hayes is on his phone, grinning, probably texting Erin.
Why am I so fucking scared? This is winning. This isus. But inside, I’m unraveling.
Blair’s arms tighten around me. I cling to him, squeeze ferociously back.
Remember.
I’m a statue in the heart of this storm; the joy here is a language I can no longer speak. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, the rock crumbling under my feet, and everyone around me is cheering for the beautiful view.
“Listen up, degenerates!” Hayes is standing on a bench, towel around his waist, phone in hand. “I just got off the phone with my magnificent wife and she’s got our celebration spot locked down. It’s time to trade in this Gatorade for margaritas, boys! The Seawall is waiting for us, and the rooftop deck is all ours!”
Cheers erupt.
The Seawall. The newest, hottest bar on St. Pete Beach, overlooking the ocean.
“Wives, girlfriends, boyfriends,” Hayes continues, winking at Blair and me. “All welcome. I got us a limo, so let’s fucking go!” His eyes are bright with victory. “We’re celebrating tonight!”
Fourteen
“Hey.”Blair’s hip bumps against mine. “You ready?”
The question pulls me back to him, to his wide shoulders and the steadiness in his eyes. “Yeah.”
An arm hooks around my shoulders, folding me into a boisterous side-hug. “Let’s get moving, boys!” Hayes’s voice sweeps through the locker room, pulling the last of the stragglers toward the garage.
The limo waits for us in the garage, sleek, black, unexpectedly extravagant. Everything inside is gleaming leather and polished chrome.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
Hayes tumbles in, tugging me with him. Blair slides in next and sits beside me on the long bench seat, his thigh against mine.
The door slams shut.
The light inside is dim and warm, washing us in gold. I’m jammed between Blair and Hayes, their laughter merging into one bright sound that bounces off the leather seats. For a heartbeat, the world settles into focus.
“This is it!” Hayes shouts. A roar goes up, the sound of a team that has clawed its way into the playoffs, defying the oddsthat were stacked against us. The guys are alive with the rush of winning, of pushing into the playoffs, of defying expectations. Hayes pulls me into a bear hug. He grips the back of my neck, his face split into a wide grin. “You are a fucking champion, Kicks!”
“Team effort,” I choke out. I blink and force myself to be in this moment and enjoy what the night’s supposed to be: a crazy celebration after months of grinding it out and sacrifices that took everything from all of us.
Hayes ruffles my hair. Hollow pops a champagne bottle, and everybody cheers. Blair passes me a bottle of Gatorade.
Champagne fizzes as glasses pass from hand to hand. Divot bypasses his glass entirely, drinking straight from a second bottle. Hawks and Nolan have started singing something off-key while Axel’s bass voice rises above them.
“Fuck yeah! Playoffs, here we come!” Hawks whoops.
I down a long drag of Gatorade, too sweet and too cold.
Blair’s hand covers mine. He lifts it, his lips brushing the back of my knuckles. He’s so certain. The guys around us are smiling, nudging each other, elbows in sides. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. Can anyone else hear it? There’s too much noise. Cheers wrap around me like barbed wire.
City lights blur past like streaks of paint, too fast, too dizzying. I twist away and focus on Blair instead. Breathe him in and think of waves crashing in the moonlight somewhere soft and sweet and far away.
“You all right?” Blair asks.
I nod. The lie sits between us, fragile as tissue paper. I’m not all right, but what could I possibly say that wouldn’t shatter this night for everyone?Sometimes, none of this feels real.That would go over well.I don’t know who I am.That isn’t exactly going to improve this celebration.
Maybe I should have been more honest with Dr. Lin.
Remember.
