“Nice ice-hump there, Balls. That’ll look awesome on the highlights.” Miller pats me on the shoulder on my way to the penalty box.
We end up losing the game by one. At the bar some chick offers to make me feel better. She has dark hair like Lily’s, but it’s longer. Her lips are red, and her boobs are bigger. Her eyes are blue. I could try to fuck out some of the anger and whatever else is going on inside me, but I think it’ll have the opposite effect.
I decline and head up to the room instead. Miller’s already there. He’s lying down, doing what he always does after a game: watching the highlights.
“Check this out.” He points to the screen.
There I am, ice-humping the guy from Colorado. No wonder he was so mad. “He was being a dick; he deserved it.”
“Not arguing with that.”
Miller rolls out of bed and ambles to the bathroom. I shrug out of my suit and drop it on the floor, too lazy to give a shit. I check my phone, but I don’t have any new messages from Lily. Normally after a game she sends me one.
I pull up her contact and call her. It rings a bunch of times and goes to voice mail. I close my eyes at the sound of her voice, telling me to leave a message at the tone.
I take a deep breath after the beep. At first I consider hanging up, but then I figure she’s going to know it’s me from the number, and all I’ve done so far is pervert breathe. Miller comes out of the bathroom as I start talking. “Some girl wanted to fuck me tonight. She looked kinda like you. Well, only her hair, but not even—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Miller smacks the phone out of my hand.
“I’m leaving a message.”
I try to grab my phone, but Miller shoves me out of the way. I slam into the night table, and the lamp falls over.
“About banging some other chick?” he yells.
“I didn’t fuck another chick. That’s the point!”
Miller nabs the phone and puts it to his ear. I tackle him to the floor, and we wrestle, me trying to get the phone while he tries to punch buttons. He puts a hand on my face. “Stop being an idiot, Balls. I’m trying to delete the message.”
“I’ll delete it.” I elbow him in the ribs and finally get my phone, but I must hit the wrong button because I don’t get the option to delete or send. “Shit.”
“Don’t tell me you sent that.” Miller pushes me off of him.
I lie on the floor, panting. “I think I sent that. Should I message her and tell her to delete it without listening to it?”
Miller shakes his head. “You know, I thought I was hopeless with relationships, but you make me look like goddamn Einstein. I’mma call Sunny.”
“What good is calling Sunny gonna do?”
“She can at least talk to Lily.” Miller punches away at his phone, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m getting voice mail.” He waits a few more seconds. “Hey, sweets. I’m guessing you’re asleep. If you get a chance, can you call me? Randy left a stupid message for Lily, and it’d be better if she didn’t listen to it. Love you. Can’t wait to come home…” He lowers his voice so I can’t hear the rest.
I decide it’s probably best if I message Lily since Miller can’t get a hold of Sunny.
If u get a msg from me can u delete it? It didn’t come out the right way.
I don’t hear back from her.
Sleep sucks. In the morning I have a message.
You’re not mine, so u can fuck whoever u want.
This isn’t a conversation I want to have over text. I try to call again, but it goes to voice mail. I don’t leave another message since the last one sucked my balls.
Once I’m back home, I drop my shit at the door and head for my bedroom. All I want is to lie down and smell Lily. It’s weird, and maybe a little messed up. But the housekeeper’s been by, and the sheets are fresh. The clothes Lily left behind are folded in a neat pile on her side of the bed.
The damn chest ache is back. I rub the spot, hating the phantom pain.
That’s when I realize what I’m feeling is heartbreak. I’m always worried about hurting someone else; I never thought about myself. And it’s my own damn fault.
But trying for more with Lily will only end up causing her pain in the end.
***
“Why don’t you go see her while we’re in Toronto if she won’t answer calls?” Lance is currently kicking my ass at NHL Hockey on Xbox. Granted, I’m not trying very hard.
“There’s no point.” It’s been two weeks, and I’ve heard nothing from her.
He beats me for the third time, so I toss the controller to Miller. “You’re up.” I must throw it with more force than I intended because it hits him in the throat.
“Seriously, dude.” Miller rubs his neck.
“Sorry.”
“You’re worse than a PMSing teenage girl right now.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Uh, yeah, you are. You’ve had penalties every game for the past two weeks. You’re almost as bad as me,” Lance says.