I toss my gear in one of the huge laundry bins, then head for the showers and wash the stench of failure off my body. I hate losing, but I don’t allow myself more than ten minutes to dwell on it. My father taught me that trick when I was eight years old, after a particularly demoralizing loss on the lacrosse field.
“You have ten minutes,” he told me. “Ten minutes to think about what you did wrong and how bad you feel right now. Are you ready?”
He’d actually clicked a button on his watch and timed me, and for those ten minutes I brooded and sulked and wallowed in humiliation. I remembered the errors I’d made on the field and corrected them in my head. I imagined punching every player on the opposing team square in the mouth. And then Dad told me my time was up.
“There. It’s over now,” he said. “Now you look forward and figure out how you’re going to get better.”
I fucking love my dad.
By the time I’m out of the shower, the bitterness of tonight’s loss has faded, tucked away in my internal filing cabinet in a folder labeled ‘Shitty Stuff.’
I think Garrett uses the same filing system, because he’s damn near chipper as we meet up with Hannah in the parking lot. He pulls her into his arms and smacks a kiss on her lips. “Hey babe.”
“Hey.” She snuggles closer to him. “It’s getting so cold! I wouldn’t be surprised if it started snowing right now.”
She’s not wrong. It’s freezing out, and every breath we take floats out in a visible white cloud.
“Bar or home?” Logan asks, joining us at our cars.
“Bar,” Garrett says. “Don’t feel like having anyone over tonight. You?”
After a game, we either hit Malone’s or invite our teammates and friends over to the house, but it’s obvious none of us feel like playing hosts tonight.
“Bar,” Logan echoes, and I nod in agreement.
“Are we waiting for Tucker?” I search the lot, but I don’t see our roommate anywhere. “And what about Grace?”
“Tuck already left with Fitzy,” Logan answers. “And Grace isn’t coming tonight. She’s at the station.”
Feigning nonchalance, I glance at Hannah. “What about your other half?”
“I’m right here,” Garrett says smugly.
“I mean her other other half.” I grin at Hannah. “The little blond drama queen you hang out with?”
“She didn’t feel like going out tonight. She’s too busy moping.”
“Moping about what?” But I already know the answer to that. The ex-boyfriend, obvs.
Hannah confirms my thoughts. “Sean. He called her this morning, and I don’t know what he said to her, but she got really quiet afterward and she’s been mopey ever since. I would’ve stayed home tonight but I didn’t want to miss the game.”
Garrett leans down to kiss her cold-reddened cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t. We appreciate your support, babe.”
“I’m so bummed you guys lost,” she says, but I’m more concerned about the idea of Allie sulking all alone in the dorm. She’s probably ovaries-deep in a carton of Ben and Jerry’s right now while Mumford & Sons plays in the background.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t go home and braid her hair or something?” I ask Hannah. “That’s what chicks do for moral support, right?”
“Yes, Dean. That’s exactly what we do. Hair braiding, followed by naked pillow fights and then kissing practice.”
“Can I come?” Logan and I blurt out in unison.
“You wish. And no, I’m not going home yet. I texted Allie during the third period and she insists she’s fine. She’s drinking margaritas and watching this awful show. Like, I’m talking really awful. Wild horses couldn’t drag me back there tonight.”
“What show?” Garrett asks curiously.
“The worst thing to ever happen to television,” is all she says, and everyone laughs.
Logan taps the hood of my Beemer. “Are we ready to go?”
I hesitate. “Actually, do you mind riding with G and Wellsy? I need to make a few stops first. I’ll meet you guys there.”
“Sure,” he says easily. He moves away from my car and toward Garrett’s Jeep.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, but I wait until the Jeep disappears from the lot before I pull out of my parking space. I have only one stop to make, and it’s not one I want any of my friends knowing about.
*
Allie
When I hear the knock, my first thought is that Sean is at the door. Then I pray he isn’t, because after the bizarre and upsetting conversation we had this morning, I’m not ready to see him.
“I forgive you.”
He’d blurted out those three words the second I answered the phone. I, in turn, had to fight from spitting out something nasty in response, because forgiveness implies that I’d done something wrong by sleeping with someone else, and that wasn’t the case. I hadn’t cheated on him. I hadn’t lied to him. Sure, having sex with Dean so soon after my breakup with Sean isn’t something I’m proud of, but I’m not the first girl to jump into rebound sex and I certainly won’t be the last.