Chapter 50
Ethan's POV
I walked out of the locker room Friday evening, hair still damp from the shower, when I saw her waiting by the fence. Blonde, pretty in that effortless way some girls managed, holding a paper bag that probably contained homemade cookies or brownies or whatever it was girls thought athletes wanted after practice.
She lit up when she spotted me, which should have felt good but mostly just made my stomach twist with something uncomfortably close to guilt.
"Ethan! Hi!" She was bouncing a little on her toes, nervous energy radiating off her in waves. "I, um, I made these for you. To celebrate your win last week. You were amazing out there."
I recognized her vaguely from campus, maybe from one of the general ed classes everyone had to take. Sarah? Sandra? Something with an S. She held out the bag expectantly, smile bright and hopeful, and I knew I should just take it and say thanks and move on with my life.
But I couldn't.
"That's really nice of you," I said, keeping my hands firmly in my jacket pockets. "But I can't accept that. I have a girlfriend."
The words came out automatically, muscle memory from the past year of turning down advances because Emily existed and therefore no one else mattered. Except the second the words left my mouth, I wondered if they were even true anymore. Did I still have a girlfriend? Or did I just have someone who used to be my girlfriend but was now too busy with her future to bother telling me we were done?
"Oh." Her face fell, smile dimming. "I didn't know. Sorry, I—"
"What girlfriend?" Connor's voice cut through the awkward moment as he walked up beside me, gym bag slung over his shoulder, grin obnoxiously wide. "The one you haven't talked to in two days? The one who's apparently too busy with some rich dude's internship to even text you back?"
My jaw clenched. "Connor, shut the fuck up."
"I'm just saying, man." He turned to the girl with an easy charm that always worked for him. "Don't let him fool you, Sarah. His girlfriend's got one foot out the door already. We're actually about to grab dinner if you want to join?"
"Connor—" I started to protest, but he already had his hand on my shoulder, steering me toward his truck with a grip.
"Come on, White. You've been moping for two days straight. Let's get some food, hang out with actual people who want to spend time with you. You don't have to marry the girl, just eat some pizza and remember what it feels like when someone's actually excited to see you."
Sarah looked between us uncertainly, still holding that bag of whatever she'd baked. "I don't want to intrude if—"
"You're not intruding," Connor said smoothly. "Right, Ethan?"
Every instinct I had screamed at me to say no. To tell Connor to back off, to thank Sarah politely and send her on her way, to go home and stare at my phone some more and wait for Emily to decide I was worth her time. But underneath all that was something else. Something that was tired and frustrated and so fucking exhausted from caring more than she did that I wanted to punish her somehow, even if she'd never know about it.
So instead of doing what I should have done, I heard myself say, "Yeah. Sure. Pizza sounds good."
Connor drove and Sarah ended up in the middle seat of his extended cab, close enough that I could smell her perfume. She talked about the game, asked questions about plays and strategies, and normally I would have loved this. Loved explaining the mechanics of football to someone who was genuinely interested, breaking down the way a good offensive line could make or break a quarterback's entire season.
But I couldn't focus on anything she said because my phone was burning a hole in my pocket, still silent, still showing no signs that Emily gave a shit that I'd reached out days ago and got nothing back.
"So what position do you play?" Sarah asked, angling herself toward me in a way that made it very clear she was interested in more than just football talk.
"Quarterback," I answered automatically, pulling my phone out to check it for probably the hundredth time that day. Still nothing.
"That's like the most important one, right?" She had her hand on the seat between us, fingers inches from my thigh, and I shifted slightly away without trying to be too obvious about it.
"Yeah, something like that."
Connor glanced at me in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised in a way that clearly said dude, she's into you, stop being weird. But I couldn't stop.
We pulled up to Tony's, this pizza place near campus that was always packed with students, and I followed them inside on autopilot. We grabbed a booth in the back, Sarah sliding in first and then looking at me expectantly. When I hesitated, Connor literally pushed me into the seat next to her, then took the spot across from us with a grin that said he was enjoying this way too much.
"So," Connor said once we'd ordered, leaning back with his arms spread across the back of the booth like he didn't have a care in the world. "Sarah was just telling me she's pre-med. Smart and pretty, right Ethan?"
I forced something that might have passed for a smile. "That's impressive."
"What about you?" Sarah asked, shifting closer under the guise of reaching for her water. "What's your major?"
"Sports Management," I said, even though the word felt hollow in my mouth. Like I was reciting facts about someone else's life. "At least for now. Might change it depending on how the draft goes."
"The NFL draft?" Her eyes widened. "You're that good?"
"He's got scouts from three different teams watching him," Connor jumped in, because apparently I wasn't doing a good enough job selling myself. "Could go pro after junior year if he keeps playing like he did last season."
I should have felt proud hearing that. It used to make me feel proud. But right then it just felt like another reminder that my timeline was completely out of sync with Emily's.
She was already networking with millionaires and building her empire while I was still years away from even knowing if I'd make it professionally. And even if I did, even if I got drafted and started making real money, it would be too late. She'd already be established, already independent, already past the point of needing anything I could offer.
Connor launched into some story about our last game, about this play where I'd threaded a pass between two defenders that shouldn't have been physically possible, and Sarah laughed in all the right places and touched my arm when she wanted to emphasize how impressed she was. And the whole time, I sat there feeling like I was watching this happen to someone else.
Because I kept thinking about Emily. About whether she was thinking about me at all, or if she was so consumed with her internship and her ambitions that I didn't even register as something worth missing.
My phone vibrated and I grabbed it so fast I nearly knocked over my water.