The Game Plan
Page 80
Leaving her alone goes against every instinct I have. But I do it. Because whatever Fi wants, I’ll give to her.
Chapter Forty
Dex
Walking down the dark tunnel from the locker room toward the bright light of the field beyond is an activity I’ve always paid attention to. I think a lot of guys do. And it sounds crazy, but the imagery is unavoidable—the dawn of a new game, a new opportunity to change your fate, to win.
It’s different at halftime. You can be on top of the world, kicking ass, or lower than sludge, down by horrific numbers, or somewhere in between. In those minutes, those steps between cool darkness and harsh brightness, you make a decision within yourself—quit or to keep fighting.
All the inspirational speeches, tongue lashings, or hand clapping can’t do it for you. It’s something every man has to find in himself. Sure, we’re a team. But no matter how you cut it, a team is made up of individuals, and is only as strong as its weakest link.
I’m almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to Fi. I can see the light and the possibilities of us. But right now, it’s fucking dark. I’m afraid for her. She’s been battered by this shit, and I don’t know how to fix it.
God, I want to fix it. I want to keep her safe, shelter her from all this ugliness. Just keep her. Forever. She’s mine. Mine to protect.
But I give her the space she asks for. Fucking hate that word now. Space just means I’m alone in my courtyard, and Fi is holed up in our room, napping. That’s all she does now: nap.
And I can’t snap her out of it. She doesn’t want to go out—not that I can blame her. Far too many people recognize her now for all the wrong reasons. It probably isn’t a good idea anyway, considering I’m likely to beat the shit out of someone if they make the wrong remark.
I try to entice her to at least come out of the room, watch a movie, work out with me, anything. Sex is out of the question. She changes in the bathroom and crawls under the covers before I can get near her. She always cuddles close in at night, but if I try to touch her in any way that’s sexual, she freezes.
When I ask what’s wrong, she shakes her head and says the same thing. “I just keep thinking of all those people looking at me naked. It turns my skin, Ethan.”
What can I say to that?
Sitting on my tractor tire, I stare up at the window to our room. I ache for Fi.
It’s fairly cool outside, the air laden with humidity. I feel it in all my joints and along my shins. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s Drew calling.
“Hey, man,” I say as I answer.
“Hey. How’s Fi?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not great. She’s listless, not interested in anything. It’s like she’s just…slipping away, you know?”
“Sounds like she’s depressed.”
“I know that, Battle,” I snap, then sigh. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
I gave a press statement, saying Fi was my serious girlfriend and someone I admired and cared for. The implication being that all the Fi-haters needed to fuck off. It did precisely dick.
Drew’s voice is low. “You need to get her out of the house.”
“She won’t go.”
“Tough love, Dex. Be the guy who kicked my ass every time I moped. You’re the anchor, our Big Daddy, and so on.”
I laugh without much humor. “I really don’t want to play Big Daddy for Fi.”
He laughs too. “Yeah, okay, not that. But the other shit.”
I glance up at the window again. “She’s fragile right now. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”
“You won’t. But that’s kind of the point of tough love, isn’t it? You do what has to be done no matter what.”
No matter what. I push off from my seat on the tire. “I gotta take care of some things,” I tell Drew. “Call you later.”
“Good luck, man.”
I’ll probably need it. I hang up and head into the house.
Fiona
For the most part, I avoid the phone. I answer Violet’s call because I know she won’t give up until we talk, and it’s rude to leave her worried.
“I am going to fucking rip this fucking company wide open,” she promises, her voice shooting through the phone like street justice.
“No, you aren’t,” I tell her sternly. “I won’t have you risking jail time for me. Revenge doesn’t get my pride back.”
“It’s a start.”
“No, Violet. No,” I repeat again because I need her to hear me. “Promise me you won’t touch them. I’ll just worry and be upset if I think you’re breaking the law.”
She huffs, loud and sharp. “Okay. Fine. But I have to do something.” I can hear her nails clack on her desk. “I know! I’m sending you a kickass bag.”
“A bag?”
“A new handbag always makes me feel better. Oh, Prada has the cutest little turquoise clutch. I’m sending you that. My cousin works at Vogue. She can get anything.”
We chat for a while but it exhausts me. I beg off by saying Ethan is home. A lie. But it sounds better than telling her I just don’t have it in me to talk anymore.
A text follows a short time later, one that I can’t ignore. It’s from my old co-worker Alice.
AliceW: Thought this might cheer you up. Elena’s out. Felix gave her the boot this morning.
Me: Get the Papa Smurf out! Why?
Chapter Forty
Dex
Walking down the dark tunnel from the locker room toward the bright light of the field beyond is an activity I’ve always paid attention to. I think a lot of guys do. And it sounds crazy, but the imagery is unavoidable—the dawn of a new game, a new opportunity to change your fate, to win.
It’s different at halftime. You can be on top of the world, kicking ass, or lower than sludge, down by horrific numbers, or somewhere in between. In those minutes, those steps between cool darkness and harsh brightness, you make a decision within yourself—quit or to keep fighting.
All the inspirational speeches, tongue lashings, or hand clapping can’t do it for you. It’s something every man has to find in himself. Sure, we’re a team. But no matter how you cut it, a team is made up of individuals, and is only as strong as its weakest link.
I’m almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to Fi. I can see the light and the possibilities of us. But right now, it’s fucking dark. I’m afraid for her. She’s been battered by this shit, and I don’t know how to fix it.
God, I want to fix it. I want to keep her safe, shelter her from all this ugliness. Just keep her. Forever. She’s mine. Mine to protect.
But I give her the space she asks for. Fucking hate that word now. Space just means I’m alone in my courtyard, and Fi is holed up in our room, napping. That’s all she does now: nap.
And I can’t snap her out of it. She doesn’t want to go out—not that I can blame her. Far too many people recognize her now for all the wrong reasons. It probably isn’t a good idea anyway, considering I’m likely to beat the shit out of someone if they make the wrong remark.
I try to entice her to at least come out of the room, watch a movie, work out with me, anything. Sex is out of the question. She changes in the bathroom and crawls under the covers before I can get near her. She always cuddles close in at night, but if I try to touch her in any way that’s sexual, she freezes.
When I ask what’s wrong, she shakes her head and says the same thing. “I just keep thinking of all those people looking at me naked. It turns my skin, Ethan.”
What can I say to that?
Sitting on my tractor tire, I stare up at the window to our room. I ache for Fi.
It’s fairly cool outside, the air laden with humidity. I feel it in all my joints and along my shins. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s Drew calling.
“Hey, man,” I say as I answer.
“Hey. How’s Fi?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not great. She’s listless, not interested in anything. It’s like she’s just…slipping away, you know?”
“Sounds like she’s depressed.”
“I know that, Battle,” I snap, then sigh. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
I gave a press statement, saying Fi was my serious girlfriend and someone I admired and cared for. The implication being that all the Fi-haters needed to fuck off. It did precisely dick.
Drew’s voice is low. “You need to get her out of the house.”
“She won’t go.”
“Tough love, Dex. Be the guy who kicked my ass every time I moped. You’re the anchor, our Big Daddy, and so on.”
I laugh without much humor. “I really don’t want to play Big Daddy for Fi.”
He laughs too. “Yeah, okay, not that. But the other shit.”
I glance up at the window again. “She’s fragile right now. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”
“You won’t. But that’s kind of the point of tough love, isn’t it? You do what has to be done no matter what.”
No matter what. I push off from my seat on the tire. “I gotta take care of some things,” I tell Drew. “Call you later.”
“Good luck, man.”
I’ll probably need it. I hang up and head into the house.
Fiona
For the most part, I avoid the phone. I answer Violet’s call because I know she won’t give up until we talk, and it’s rude to leave her worried.
“I am going to fucking rip this fucking company wide open,” she promises, her voice shooting through the phone like street justice.
“No, you aren’t,” I tell her sternly. “I won’t have you risking jail time for me. Revenge doesn’t get my pride back.”
“It’s a start.”
“No, Violet. No,” I repeat again because I need her to hear me. “Promise me you won’t touch them. I’ll just worry and be upset if I think you’re breaking the law.”
She huffs, loud and sharp. “Okay. Fine. But I have to do something.” I can hear her nails clack on her desk. “I know! I’m sending you a kickass bag.”
“A bag?”
“A new handbag always makes me feel better. Oh, Prada has the cutest little turquoise clutch. I’m sending you that. My cousin works at Vogue. She can get anything.”
We chat for a while but it exhausts me. I beg off by saying Ethan is home. A lie. But it sounds better than telling her I just don’t have it in me to talk anymore.
A text follows a short time later, one that I can’t ignore. It’s from my old co-worker Alice.
AliceW: Thought this might cheer you up. Elena’s out. Felix gave her the boot this morning.
Me: Get the Papa Smurf out! Why?
