I’ve been dumped before, sure, but this is different. Past relationships were nothing in comparison to the one I had with him. I’m in an unexpected stage of grieving as I try to heal from losing someone who is still alive. Someone who still lives across the street from me. In a way, I think it might hurt worse than losing someone to death. Those losses don’t necessarily choose to leave you.
But Zanders did, and now I have to grieve that he’s no longer in my life because he chose not to be.
I want to hate him. I want to despise every little thing about him because hating someone is so much easier than loving them when they don’t love you in return.
But I do love him, and that’s the worst reminder of all.
My heart has never hurt as much as it has the last few days. I can feel the pain through every nerve in my body. There’s not a thought in my mind that isn’t clouded with him. With us. It’s as if my entire being can’t associate that he’s no longer a part of me. That he doesn’t want me.
My bed has never felt so empty, and my nights have never been so restless as they have been without Zanders and Rosie by my side. My food has never tasted so bland, and the days have never felt so long. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but it’s moving in slow motion. How am I supposed to heal when minutes tick on like hours?
I think about him constantly, and I miss every little thing about him. I miss the confidence he instilled in me. I miss his smile that could melt me on sight. I even miss the extra twenty minutes I would spend waiting for him to finish getting ready after I was already done.
But most of all, I miss how much I thought he loved me, and I wish I could’ve been enough to make him stay.
He hasn’t reached out, not a single phone call or text. It was a clean break for him, but for me, it turned my entire world into a spiraling mess, and I don’t know how to start cleaning it up again.
“You ready for this?” Indy gently asks as we wait in the back galley as the team boards the plane in Chicago.
My dull and tired eyes zone out, staring towards the entrance. “Not even a little bit.”
Round three, game three is tomorrow night. It’s the first road game since Zanders ended things, and we’re headed to Seattle. Surprisingly, for the first time in my life, I wish I was on my way back to Nashville instead.
There are some memories tied to that city that I’d rather not revisit. It’s the place where things began to shift for Zanders and me. Nashville tends to make me feel like I’m not enough, and right now, that’s the last thing I need to be reminded of. Trust me, it’s been my most constant thought. But more important than any of that, Nashville is where my dad is, and sometimes a girl just needs her dad.
“Wow,” Indy breathes out. “He looks like shit.”
Her words pull me out of my zoned-out daze, causing me to snap out of it and look up. Right there in the exit row, Zanders stands, unmoving, his eyes locked on me.
He looks dim, as if any light in him has burned out. I never thought I’d say this, but he does look terrible.
Zanders holds my stare, and the longer he looks at me as he stands motionless in the aisle, the more the unshed tears begin to burn my eyes. But I refuse to cry here at work, and I refuse to let him see how much he broke me.
His brows are creased, the corners of his lips turned down. His signature three-piece suit is wrinkled, and both the jacket and vest are unbuttoned. He needs a haircut and a shave, but regardless of how disheveled he looks, I can’t tear my eyes off him.
His face has been ingrained in my mind for days. It’s the only thing I see whether my eyes are opened or closed, and now that he’s in front of me, I refuse to look away.
But unfortunately, Tara pops in front of me, ruining my line of vision.
“I know it was you.”
My heart sinks. “What?”
“In the picture. I know that was you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the shit, Stevie. I’ve had a suspicion for a while.”
My throat is thick as I try to swallow down the truth, looking for a lie to cover it up. But my life has been nothing short of a colossal clusterfuck the past few days, and at this point, I don’t care about much anymore.
“What are you going to do? Fire me off suspicion? Go for it.”
Tara’s head jerks back slightly, seeming surprised I’d offer myself up like that. “Once I get confirmation, I will.”
“Sounds great.” My voice is even. “Now, if I can get back to my job, that’d be wonderful.” I point up the aisle. “Looks like everyone’s on board, so we should get going, don’t you think?”
Tara fixes her posture, standing up straighter as she tries to study me. “Do the exit row briefing,” she commands, turning her back to us and heading up the aisle.
“Do you want me to do it?” Indy offers.
“No.” I push my shoulders back. “It’s my job. I can do it.”
Wearing my faux mask of confidence I haven’t had to fake in quite a while, I make the trek to the exit row. I sense eyes on me, but I try to ignore the stares. There’s no way in hell these guys haven’t seen the nasty comments online, and they all know I’m the girl from the picture.
It’s embarrassing, to be honest, but I’m just trying to get through the day.
Keeping my eyes on the ground, I address Maddison and Zanders. “Are you ready for me to brief you on the exit row?”
“Stevie,” Zanders says in a breath of relief, asking for my attention.
“Are you guys ready?” I ask again. This time, my eyes find Maddison, begging for him to answer so I can get this over with and hide in the galley once again.
He feels terrible. It’s evident in the way he’s looking at me, so finally, he nods his head to allow me to begin.
Zanders’ eyes burn into me the entire time as I repeat the exact same emergency briefing I’ve given them all season. I’m almost positive they both have this memorized, but Zanders watches, hanging on every word, begging for me to look at him. I can’t, though. It hurts too much.
This used to be fun. It used to be the perfect excuse to see him right before every takeoff, but this time I hate it.
“Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
I look to Maddison first. “Yes,” he answers, his eyes bouncing to Zanders, clearly uncomfortable sitting in the tension between his best friend and me.
Refusing to glance at Zanders, I keep myself distracted by staring off to nothing, waiting for him to say yes.
He knows the rules. He has to say yes before I can leave, but he stays silent, so I repeat, “Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
“Stevie.” His tone is laced with desperation.
“Are you willing and able to help in case of emergency?”
“Can you look at me?” he softly asks, sitting forward.
I don’t care that his tone is sad. I have to do my job right now, and he’s not letting me. He’s the one who broke up with me, and here he is, forcing me to stand in front of him. It’s a unique form of torture.
“Please look at me,” he begs.
“Can you answer the question?”
In my peripheral, I watch him slump back into his seat, defeated. “Yeah. I’m willing and able to help.”