If I ask you ‘why’, how would you respond? #13275 PS – I’m talking about that morning
Needing to immediately respond before I break down in tears, I take one black dragon and turn a game day pamphlet into another dragon. On the black dragon, the response is simple and heartbreaking.
My sister.
I can’t even sign it off. Just thinking of Sage breaks my heart and turns my body to jelly. I’m so exhausted even saying the word doesn’t do it justice. I feel like a failure—as a parental figure and as a sister. But if he met her, he’d understand. Hell, if he spent one night in our apartment, he’d flee like a man possessed.
His crypticwhymakes sense. I don’t write on the dragon made out of the game day pamphlet. My sister is enough of a reason for why I snuck out that morning. And the pamphlet should be enough to tell him why I can’t acknowledge him now.
As I set the two dragons at the front of my locker, it occurs to me that the two most important relationships in my life don’tinvolve speech. Sage’s face and actions give voice to her feelings. With Dylan, it’s the tiny space on our origami gifts. In a way, I’m getting to know both of them at a deeper level because we don’t speak. Dylan and I joked about pretending to be on our sixth date, well, it feels like we’ve known each other for six months instead of a couple of weeks.
Is this true intimacy? Is this me learning how to build different connections with my sister and the male species? It’s not like I have experience in long-term relationships. Knowing I wanted to move to the US for cheer, any boyfriend had an expiration date. They were around for a fun time, not a long time. I never needed to think about the sort of man I wanted to end up with—because that would be a job for Adult Emma, post college and cheer.
Dylan is still my Mr. Perfect—except for the whole man-whore reputation he seems to wear as a badge of honor. Previous Emma would have dated him until he cheated, then dumped his ass as publicly and humiliatingly as I could. Responsible Emma with a traumatized sister can’t risk bringing Dylan into my world. Not unless … well, not unless I know he can accept Sage as part of me.
“Got plans for the fifteenth?” Skye asks, and I jump away from my locker. It’s an unofficial rule that we respect each other’s privacy, but there’s no reason to push my luck. “I think I’ve got an offer you won’t want to refuse.”
The girls keep inviting me to join them after training or games, and I’m running out of excuses. They don’t know about university or my sister. At first, I didn’t want to start a pity party, and now it would be too awkward to drop it into conversation.Sort of like saying I had a one-night stand with Dylan before my first day of cheer, but please don’t hold it against me or sack me.
“It’s a Wednesday, right? What have you got in mind?” It’s easier to decline once I know what I’m declining.
“Yeah, Lloyd McMillan is hosting some charity event. They want two Mavericks cheerleaders to represent the team and help with the auction. They’ll supply us with our choice of evening wear, and it’s not a direct order. But …” she grins, “… any girl who decides to go will get six hours of paid overtime at double time and a half. Kareene asked me and said I can pick the other girl.”
Six hours. That would pay for a month of therapy.
“Will the players be there?” Tell me if Dylan will be there without me asking if my favorite swan-giving player will be there, please.
“I hear Cooper will be there because he’s the captain. They’ll probably send a couple of the single players to mix it with the female guests. They were going to invite Dawson until that baby-mama drama happened with his ex, so who knows which players we’ll get to hang with.”
Dylan could be there.
“You had me at six hours of overtime.”
I want to believe Dylan is more than just his reputation. But even if he’s the nicest guy as well as being the best man I’ve ever slept with, what good would it do? After the last appointment with the speech therapist, the only chance my sister has for a full recovery is if I’m one hundred percent focused on her.
I don’t have time to be selfish or petty about dirty dishes or clothes. My sister needs my love and support so she feels safe enough to work through her trauma. And six hours of overtime will take some of the pressure off my credit card bills.
Dylan could be there.
Chapter 7
Game To Forget
Dylan
Another week, another game, and this one is full-on, full-throttle intensity. The crowd roars, the ball keeps finding me like a magnet, and adrenaline courses through my veins like a drug. This is the part I love. This is the part that usually makes all the shit I deal with off the field worth it. But today? Today’s different.
I’m pissed off. My focus isn’t where it should be, and it’s not just because we’re getting our asses kicked on the scoreboard. It’s not even because I’ve dropped three catches and have forwards steamrolling me as if I’m not even standing in their way. Yeah, the crowd is roaring but not one fan in the stand has a reason to cheer for me—because I’m fucking shit.
Worst. Game. Ever.
Even worse than that game in under-eights when I cried because someone tackled me. Instead of getting up and playing the ball, I crouched over and hugged it until the coach lifted me, and the other team physically removed it. Good times. At least, back then, I had years of rugby league ahead of me to erase the embarrassment.
Today’s game is going to go down in the history books as my personal meme. I don’t blame them. I don’t even blame Cooper for bawling me out after my missed tackle lets in another try. There’s no good in the ball finding me like a magnet when I don’t know what to fucking do with it.
“Get your head in the fucking game and earn back some self-respect, or next week you won’t even be cleaning our fucking boots.”
“Head. Game. Got it.”
