You had that hypoglycemic episode, passed out, and landed in the ER. That’s how.
Needing a minute, I sit on the edge of the couch before I drop Poppy.
Ramona starts edging toward her room, and I tell her to wait. “I just want to be honest. I’m feeling a bit sideswiped right now. I thought we were friends.” Maybe not good friends, but Jesus, she’s about to bail on our lease. Regardless of what she says, I know she realizes that’s wrong.
“I need some space.” Her expression remains impassive even though I’m absurdly crushed she’s ditching me. “You tend to micromanage everything.”
I open my mouth, but only a squeak comes out. Damn it. “I donotmicromanage. Ifollow throughwhen we decide things.”
“Whatever. Two weeks should be enough time to find someone new.” And with that, she disappears into her room.
Sienna sidles closer. “Wow, that was pretty bitchy of her.” When she sees my face, she gasps. “Aww, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.” Except, damn it, I am, and that pisses me off more.
She slings her arm over my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. Poppy wiggles between us.
I pull away before we smother the baby and wipe my eyes. “I sometimes have a h… hard time when p… people leave.” At least that’s what a school therapist once told me. “Separation anxiety or some shit.” I suppose that’s why Rider cutting ties with me back then hurt so much.
Deep down, I know it’s unreasonable to cry over this. Ramona and I were never close. It’s not like we hung out. But for a girl who doesn’t have a lot of friends or family, she was someone consistent in my life since the beginning of sophomore year.
A few hours later, that anxiousness has me picking up the phone to call my aunt, which is likely going to add insult to injury. Except I need something. Someone familiar to ground me. A familiar voice. Someone who might love me. Even a little.
After putting Poppy down for a nap, I curl up on my bed and dial.
Except she doesn’t answer. She never does.
22
RIDER
It’s not a pretty win,but considering I barely slept last night, I’ll take what I can get.
By the time I’ve answered all of the press’s questions, I’m ready to pass out. I’m lucky no one has gotten wind of Poppy yet because I’m not sure how to field that. I guess I really do need to talk to Sully. Coach needs to know. I’m not prepared to have that convo today, though.
Back in the locker room, the guys are jacked despite the fact that we won by the skin of our teeth. Cal Winston, our wide receiver, struts around buck-ass naked while jeering the other team as though they can hear him through the concrete walls.
I lower my voice so that only he hears me. “Dude, they kicked our asses in the first half. Have some respect.”
Sure, winning matters a whole helluva lot, but so does sportsmanship. Winston might chalk it up to locker-room talk, but every once in a while, this shit leaks out and lands someone in the hot seat. And the only thing worse than a sore loser is an arrogant winner.
He rolls his eyes. “Did you see me tonight? Two touchdowns. That bad boy deep in the end zone was one-handed. Pretty sure you’ll see me onSportsCenterhighlights.”
God help me.
Of course I saw him. I’m the one who threw those touchdowns.
Tank didn’t want Winston living with us, and I’m glad I listened to him. Ben might be standoffish, but he’s not a dick like Winston.
I hand him a towel to cover his junk and pat him on the back. “You kicked ass. Now take it down a notch before you get your head caught in the doorway.”
He laughs and struts off, shouting, “Time to get some puss-ay, my little bitches!”
I shake my head and head to the showers.
Everyone’s headed out to unwind and get laid. Despite the close game, I understand their euphoria. Being undefeated this far into the season is something to celebrate, but I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall flat on my face from exhaustion and drown in a puddle of drool.
I just want a bag of ice for my shoulder, three ibuprofen, my bed, and silence for the next eight to ten hours.
