“Trust me, man. The best thing you can do right now is give her space. If she changes her mind, you’ll find out soon enough. But if you go back to her right now, if you blow up her phone or show up on her doorstep, you’re only going to remind her of every reason why she’s upset, and the more she sees you in that headspace, the the wedge is going to drive.”
My shoulders deflated. I could still remember the look in her eyes that night, the way she watched me like she didn’t know who I was at all.
With one stupid omission, I’d lost all her trust.
Colby was right. It wouldn’t matter what I said now, because I gave her no reason to believe me.
“I don’t know how to just… let her go. How do I pick myself up and move on? How do I just walk away?”
“Don’t think about all that. Right now, you’ve got a game to focus on. Okay? Listen to me,” he said, and I could picture the way he used to lean forward, grabbing my shoulder, leaning his helmet against mine when we were down in a game. “You’ve worked too hard, for too long, for this opportunity. Chicago needs a receiver, and we both know you’re the man for the job. So, right now, don’t focus on how to get over Belle. Right now, focus on the game.” He paused. “Just… put on your pads, lace up your cleats, and pretend like nothing else exists in this world other than that pig skin. You hear me?” He paused again, and when I didn’t answer, he said, “Football, Mak. That’s where your head needs to be.”
I nodded, swallowing down my urge to argue with him as I turned onto my street. “Thanks for picking up, Colby.”
“Always, brother. I look forward to watching your game on Sunday.”
That makes one of us.
Belle
On Friday night, Gemma swiped at the tear that leaked free from her left eye, doing it as slyly as she could like I wouldn’t notice. But her sniff gave her away, and I pegged a Milk Dud at her.
“Are you seriously crying?”
“What?!” She threw her hands up, not bothering to hide the next few tears. “It’s Queer Eye. How do you not cry?”
I smirked, pretending like I was going to throw another Milk Dud at her before I popped it in my mouth instead. “I still can’t believe this is your bachelorette party,” I said, gesturing to my messy condo. It’d been a mess all week, thanks to the disaster state of mind I’d been in. But Gemma had insisted this was what she wanted to do for her bachelorette party — a classic junk food and guilty-pleasure TV night.
She feigned offense, pressing her hand to her chest. “Are you saying this isn’t the most glorious bachelorette party you’ve ever been to? I mean, look at us,” she said, waving her hand over herself. “We’re in our PJs instead of heels and some obnoxiously tight dress. We’re on the couch instead of out at some bar we don’t want to be at. We have enough chocolate and pizza to feed a high school, and the wine is much cheaper when we buy it from the liquor store than at the bar.” She held up her glass to cheers herself on that one, taking a sip before she smiled at me. “Besides, we did the whole pink penis straw night out on the town thing the first time I tied the knot, remember?” She wrinkled her nose then. “And that marriage did not turn out the best.”
I smiled back. “As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”
“I am happy. I really am.”
“You’re getting married,” I whispered, squealing a little as I tickled her side. “Like… in four weeks!”
Gemma sighed, sinking farther into the couch with a smitten smile. She might as well have had little hearts exploding in her eyes when she looked at me. “Belle, I feel like everything life has put me through was all for this. He’s the reason.” She shook her head. “I don’t care what happens for the rest of my life, as long as I have him.”
My throat tightened, because with every word she said, I thought more and more of Makoa. “Well, Zach’s not going anywhere,” I told her. “He’d never let you go. So just settle in for a lifetime of happiness.”
Gemma chuckled, biting her lip. “I have to tell you something.”