Page 12 of A Play For The Heart
Actually, I think the problem was that I wasn’t thinking, at least not about things I have any right to be thinking about. At that moment, my arms itched to haul her back into the car and kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. Seeing her in my passenger seat, her curly, blonde hair windblown and her eyes sparkling with joy made me weak in the knees. And in my moment of weakness, I glanced down at the lips I’ve imagined kissing a thousand times. Her lips were a siren call and I was the foolish sailor falling into the trap. The worst part of it all is I think she caught it. I’m not entirely sure, but I’m confident enough to have spent the rest of the weekend anxiously thinking about whether or not she saw and what she could’ve been thinking.
I’ve mentally kicked myself in the shin at least a dozen times.
A sharp cough brings me back to reality. Deon glares at me out of the corner of his eye and quirks one eyebrow up, conveying a silentpay attention.I try to focus back on the coach explaining the defense of the Detroit Reapers. I catch a few words before my mind wanders away again. Pass routes and coverage defense seem irrelevant compared to the whale-watching tour and my slip-up in the car. The tour was the highlight of my time in Seattle thus far. Major shoutout to the universe for how cold it ended up being on the boat. Holding Sawyer in my arms was a euphoric experience. I can’t explain it but holding her like that felt right. Even with her short stature, she fit perfectly against me. Before that moment, I had forgotten how amazing she smells. The hint of oranges, flowers, and something uniquely Sawyer always puts me at peace and reminds me of summers in Florida. The smell is reminiscent of moments in the backyard, picking oranges from the tree, and planting flowers in the garden with my mom and grandma. Simpler times when life was uncomplicated and free.
The coach turns off the film, the change of lighting dragging me back to reality. He gives us the weekly speech about getting a good night’s rest and dismisses us for the day. Gathering up my protein shake and water, I’m working my way towards the exit when Deon stops me.
“What was up with you today? It seemed like your head was in the clouds.”
Embarrassed that it was that obvious I wasn’t paying attention, I lie to Deon. “I slept horribly last night; I was just having trouble focusing.”
“Well get yourself straight man, we need you Thursday. So go home, get some sleep, and get yourself right.”
With that, Deon walks out of the film room. While I don’t know him super well, Deon wants us all to reach our potential and works hard to make sure he encourages the entire team. He can be blunt at times, but he means well, so I don’t take it to heart. It helps that his bluntness makes his compliments mean more. I feel special when I get a compliment from Deon. I continue towards the door when a voice I recognize stops me in my tracks.
“Yeah, man. She’s been texting me constantly since she got here, asking me to meet up day and night.” Declan laughs at whatever the person he’s talking to says, then continues. “For real, she’s acting like a grade-A clinger, and she can’t seem to take a hint.”
Recognition of who he’s referring to hits me immediately andanyonespeaking about Sawyer in that way causes my blood to boil and my vision to go hazy at the edges. She might not be mine, but I’m hers, in every way. Advocate. Supporter. Friend. I belong to her, like the stars belong to the moon. If Sawyer asked, I would destroy the world, then glue the shattered pieces back together. Solely for her happiness.
Having heard more than enough and recalling the embarrassment painted on Sawyer's face when she asked me about our schedules, I storm out the door, fury fueling me. I head straight for Declan and whatever teammate he was talking with. At the sight of me barreling towards Declan, the other guy skitters off, leaving Sawyer’s boyfriend to face my wrath.
Smart man.
The closer I get to Declan, the angrier I become.Is he fucking serious?His audacity is truly unmatched.
“Why the hell were you talking about Sawyer like that?” I nearly yell into his face, my finger pushing into his chest and indignation overtaking my body. I’m nearly vibrating with anger and the urge to slam my fist into his perfectly symmetrical face is intense.
Declan looks me up and down, his attention lingering on my finger against his chest for a moment before meeting my eyes. He’s the perfect picture of nonchalance and calm. A complete opposite of myself. “What do you mean?” He asks innocently.
“That bullshit won’t work on me Declan. What you said about Sawyer was rude and degrading, not to mention it doesn’t sound like Sawyer at all.”
He looks at me again, huffs a laugh, and begins to walk away, apparently done with this conversation.
“If Ieverhear you speak about Sawyer that way ever again, I will make your life a living hell Declan. And not in the way you think. I won’t put itching powder on your gear or egg your car. I will make your life full of so many inconveniences that you’ll be afraid to leave your apartment. Think about that next time you talk shit about your own girlfriend.” It wasn’t the best threat I could have mustered up, but considering how angry I am and how bad I usually am with confrontation, I’m impressed I even managed to come up with one at all.
Not even turning back to face me, he sing songs, “Whatever you say, Parker,” as he walks away.
Stepping onto the bus that shuttles us to the airport for our away game, I’m still fuming from the interaction with Declan yesterday. The adrenaline from the confrontation faded away, but the anger still simmers right beneath my skin. I yank the hood from my sweatshirt over my head and stomp toward the back of the bus. Flopping down into the window seat, I pull out my headphones and put them on, shutting out the world. I recognize I may be behaving in a similar way to a toddler having a tantrum with my stomping and flopping, but life is rough. I'm doing the best I can.
Sitting down in the aisle across from me, Jack takes one look at me and pulls a grimace. It must be pretty obvious, based on his reaction, that I look pissed. I’m sure however angry I look on the outside, I feel ten times angrier on the inside.
“Wanna talk about it?” Jack offers.
“No.” I spit out, a bit more forcefully than I had meant to.
Gearing up to apologize, Jack just shoots me a smile and shrugs like I didn’t just snap at him for asking a simple question. I glare at Declan as he walks past, wagging his fingers at me as he slides by. My phone buzzes and I glance down at the screen.
Jack:Frowning isn't a good look on you.
Maybe you should talk about it.
It's good for the soul.
I scratch the side of my head with my middle finger, directly in Jack's line of sight. My phone vibrates again.
Jack:He’s got jokes.
Jack's comment cools some of the anger, but I still don’t say a single unnecessary word to anyone the entire time I’m on the bus or plane. When we land in Detroit, I head straight to my hotel room. Usually, I chat and joke around at team dinner, but tonight I’m nearly silent. I answer if someone asks me something directly, but otherwise, I eat in angry silence. And since I can't stab Declan with my fork, the poor grilled chicken and broccoli take the brunt of my anger.
