Page 107 of Fake As Puck
“What’s gotten into you?” Hurley asks. “Something going on with the Misses?”
I look over at him, and he laughs.
“Death-glaring doesn’t look good on you bro. Where is the West Carmack at right now? The guy I know can’t stop analyzing the shit out of everyone playing, and he does it with a smile, my man!”
Reed’s less subtle when he looks at me.
“You look like shit,” he says getting ready for the showers.
I nod. “Thanks, guys. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
Reed says, “I’m serious. Are you having first day jitters? When’s the last time you slept?”
“I’ve been sleeping fine.”
Hurley cuts in, “Immediately defensive. What the hell’s going on, Carmack?”
Reed asks, “West, what’s going on? Is it Liv?”
Hurley pipes up, “Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” I mutter. “My focus is on hockey, and then I’ll see her in about a month at another wedding.”
Reed whistles. “I hate long-distance, man.” He points at Hurley and Colton. “I don’t recommend it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It sucks, but no, I’m just focused on this year and what means for the team. I’m trying to focus on my flaws and weaknesses, but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to let my anxiety call out all of yours.” I point at all the guys, and they laugh.
When I get home, I walk past her guest room without opening the door. And then I stop because I realize how ridiculous I’m being. This is my home. She’s not going to come here again, so why continue to avoid this room?
I reach for the knob and open it, feeling like I’m interrupting something. But the room is bare, completely empty. It doesn’t even smell like her in here. The bed is made. I walk in a circle, and then leave.
See?
I can be an adult.
I last exactly one week before I crack.
Seven days of not knowing where we stand, not knowing if she’s done with me, not knowing if I should text her or give her space or show up at her door with flowers and a speech about how I can’t stop thinking about her.
Seven days of training myself into the ground and pretending I’m fine when I’m clearly falling apart.
On day eight, I break down and call Tessa.
“Oh thank god,” she says by way of greeting. “I was wondering when you’d cave.”
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“West, you realize it’s six in the morning. On a Tuesday.”
“Shoot. Did I wake the kids?”
“No, trust me. They’ve been awake for hours. So, help me save my sanity. What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I huff. “Liv doesn’t need me anymore.”
She chuckles. “What do you mean, you big baby?”
“She got a job now, which you probably know about. A good job, apparently. So she doesn’t need the fake girlfriend money anymore, which means she doesn’t need me anymore, and I don’t know if she’s done with this whole thing or if she still wants to see me or what.”
