Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Dad: Proud of you always.
Mom: I’m also proud of you.
I laugh because they probably sent the texts at the same time.
Zoey with a Y: Dude, what the fuck is up with your game? I don’t know a lot about hockey, but that did not look good.
I chuckle because she is not wrong.
Then I read the group text with my cousins.
Christopher: If it makes you feel better, we won’t make the playoffs either.
Matty: Chin up.
Stefano: This is why I don’t play hockey.
Matty: This is why? It’s not because you suck?
Christopher: Now we all have to deal with Dylan, Tristan, and Xavier saying their team is better.
Matty: They made the playoffs; I’m going to say they are.
I turn off the phone because the one person I wanted to hear from didn’t text me. I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. It’s not like she knew tonight was a big game. Our chats lately haven’t been deep and meaningful.
Ever since I asked her to move in with me, over three weeks ago, it’s been awkward between us. Forget the fact we haven’t seen each other; we haven’t even made the effort. I really couldn’t, but she could have, and she didn’t. I was thinking of just showing up at her place, but I didn’t think she would want that either. Things have just become weird between us. Even the conversations are few and far between. The texts are starting to dwindle also.
Not bothering to turn on any lights when I get home, I go straight to my closet to get undressed. Kicking my shoes to the side and taking off my pants, I fold them and place them on the hanger with the jacket over them.
Getting into bed, I grab the remote off the side table and turn on the television. The sadness of tonight makes it hard to fall asleep. I avoid watching SportsCenter to relive the game. I’m sure it’ll be on the front of the local newspaper tomorrow. I turn off the television and look off to the side, my eyes getting used to the blackness when I picture Ryleigh’s face smiling at me.
I’ve never been in love before or wanted someone who feels like she doesn’t want me back. I close my eyes, only to open them five hours later. I get out of bed and head to the shower before walking to the gym.
I know I should calm down before I call her, but my hands pull up her name on my phone. Calling her, I listen to the phone ring. One side of my head tells me to hang up the phone, while the other side of my brain tells me that it’s about fucking time.
She answers after four rings and sounds out of breath. “Hey,” she says, “can I call you back?”
“Yeah,” I say before I hang up the phone. I wait five minutes, which turns into an hour, and then finally, six hours later, the phone rings, and I see it’s her. “Hello.”
“Sorry, the day got away from me. I just walked into my place.”
I’m pissed, and it’s beyond dumb at this point. “Story of my life, I guess.”
“Excuse me?” she says, shocked.
“What is this?” I ask her, my neck warming up from the question.
“I don’t understand?” she says softly.
“This, me and you. Or is there even a me and you?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “We can’t really call this a relationship, can we?”
“I don’t know wh—” I cut her off.
“Yeah, I know. I think we both don’t know what this is. For me, it’s a relationship. But then the reality is that maybe it isn’t one.”
“Stone,” she whispers.
“I mean, let’s be real.” My stomach tightens. “Were you even trying to be committed to me?” The question makes me want to vomit. “I’ve been constantly telling you that I’ve missed you. I’ve been constantly trying to tell you how I feel, but all I’ve gotten is the runaround.”
“Can we just for once—” she says, and I snap.
“Yes, can we just for once say it like it is?” I close my eyes, and the lone tear escapes me. “It was a fling, I guess a long-distance fling. I was in it more than you were, and I was hoping in the end you would want me just as much as I want you. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have started this thing; I know that now. I should have left you alone.”
“Stone, please, it’s no—” she cuts me off, but I don’t want to hear it.
“It’s not what?” I cut her off again. “Are you going to start with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit? Because I think it’s past that. It’s been over six weeks since we’ve seen each other. It’s been over six weeks since you lost the case and not once did you offer to come and visit me. Not once did you say ‘Hey, should I come down this weekend?’”