Page 103 of End Game

Okay, maybe I wanted more, too.

My world moves on without her in it. I go to class, go to practice, go to meals with the guys. Sam keeps eyeing me as if she’s expecting me to fall apart and break down at any moment. She’s not that far off. Stewart means a lot to me. He’s been more of a father figure to me than my own dad the last few years.

But what has me on tenterhooks is Diana and her lack of response. I’d like to know that she’s okay. I’d like to know that we didn’t irrevocably destroy our friendship. I’d like to know that it will all turn out okay.

Stewart is dying, but he’s not, like, actively dying right this minute. He broke his hip. After his surgery—which, yes, might be risky because of his compromised immune system—he’ll go to a rehab facility and get stronger. It’s not the end for him, not yet.

Wes has been giving me a wider berth lately. As far as I know, he’s the only one who has even an inkling that something went down between Diana and me. It’s not like we were fucking on the living room sofa; we went up to my room, and we were relatively quiet, respectful of my roommates. I think most of them were home. Nobody has said anything.

I wasn’t awake when Diana slipped out of my bed. I don’t know what time it was. All I know is that we went to sleep with her head on my chest, my arm around her, and when I woke up, she was gone. I sent her some money to cover her cab fare and—

Shit.

What if she thinks I was paying her for the sex?? What if she thinks I’m trying to bribe her? She probably thinks I’m scum, that’s why she’s not talking to me. I’m the kind of guy that—

No.

Diana knows me. She knows I offered to pay for her cab ride. We discussed it. I didn’t want her to have to worry about train schedules and finding a ride from the station. I just wanted her to get home, to get to the hospital. She knows I love her and respect her. She knows I would never purposefully do anything to hurt her.

All I can do is love her from afar. All I can do is support her from afar. She won’t let me in—she might not be able to let me in, not after the events of Sunday night. When she’s ready, when she’s able, I’ll be there for her in whatever way she needs me. Until then… I just have to wait.

So I go to classes, and I go to practice, and I live my life. My dad calls me on Thursday morning. I ignore his call. That afternoon, we board the bus for our trip to Virginia Tech. Friday, during film review, my mother calls me. I ignore her call.

I am a dutiful son. I obey my parents. I treat them kindly.

But right now, I can’t talk to my perfectly healthy, perfectly dismissive parents. Not when Stewart is in the hospital. Not when I don’t know how he’s doing. Not when so much is in flux.

I do check their voicemails, though. I’m not a monster. My dad’s was an incoherent rambling about finding the trail, most likely a pocket dial. He doesn’t call me all that often to begin with. My mom’s message reminded me that there’s a family dinner coming up next weekend and attendance is compulsory.

Dougie texts me, too, which is only slightly unusual. My brother and I aren’t close, which is more a function of our equally busy schedules, and not because we don’t genuinely get along. He’s fine. I’m fine. We’re just busy with school and, for me, practice and travel for games.

He’ll be at dinner, though. So will our cousins. It’ll be nice to see them. They’re all older than me by a few years, so we’re not buddy-buddy. I’m hoping that as we get older, we can be closer. Kyla is married now, and Nate has a steady, long-term boyfriend, so they’re starting to settle down and think about futures and babies. Vince is kind of a dick. Hannah is great, she’s a fashion designer, so she’s busy shuttling between Boston and New York. Everyone else is in the area.

And soon, I will be, too. Soon I’ll be living in the city and working with Dad, Uncle James, and Nate, and living my grown-up life.

The only question is, what will the rest of my life look like? Will Diana feature in it? I hope so, but after the last week, I’m not so sure she wants to be. I know she’s going through a lot. I know our… escapades last weekend probably didn’t help the situation.

So much is in flux. There’s so much up in the air, so much I don’t know. All I know is that I have to live relatively close to the Financial District, in order to make the commute to the office not suck too badly. Other than that… I know nothing.

And it’s fucking terrifying.

Chapter 31

Diana

The hospital released my dad to a rehab facility after three days in the hospital. He’ll be there for a week or so before they let him go home. Because my parents’ house has stairs and his bedroom is upstairs, he has to relearn how to walk up the stairs before he’s ready to be set free.

The rehab facility smells sterile. It smells like old people, too, and antiseptic and sadness. His roommate is a crusty old broad named Marjorie who farts a lot and generally seems displeased with the world. She’s been here for a week already.

Dad loves her.

The physical therapist comes by a few times a day, practicing mobility and stretching. He has to relearn how to stand and how to walk. He’s weak, and even with the help of a walker, he’s unsteady on his feet.

I have never felt so helpless in my life. I don’t like this feeling. There’s nothing I can do. By Wednesday, he’s recovered enough to do slow, slow laps around the halls, and I join him to get some movement in. We walk to the cafeteria and drink watery coffee and eat stale pastries. We walk through the garden and sit outside in the chilly sunshine. We walk as much as we possibly can, which is not a lot at all. He gets tired easily.

He asks about school, about soccer, about Barrett. There isn’t much to tell him; we talk all the time, so he’s already up to date on most of the extracurriculars going on in my life, and I’m not about to tell him about what transpired between Barrett and me on Sunday. We reminisce about my childhood, about fun family vacations to Mexico and China and South Africa, and silly memories like when I helped him build a jungle gym in our backyard when I was six years old or when he would ride his bike around the block towing me in a buggy when I was three.

We talk about his family. I’m not close to his parents—my mother’s family is more tight-knit in the same small Wisconsin town, whereas my dad’s side of the family all live across the country in Scottsdale, Reno, and Tahoe, with a few adult cousins scattered elsewhere. I heard one cousin lives in New Zealand now. I’m not sure; we don’t keep in touch.