Page 110 of Play the Last Card

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I don’t … I can’t talk to him yet.”

“Ivy,” Katie drawls on. I can tell she’s disappointed in me but I need a second to catch my breath before I can figure out how to do what I need to do.

To move forward. To be better.

So instead, I fall on old patterns. “I have to get to work.”

“No, Ivy.” Katie grabs the bag I was about to pick up from the counter. “You aren’t going anywhere until we talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk yet.” I say. My chest is beginning to ache.

Last night officially drained me of all my emotions. I woke up this morning feeling numb. My eyes are itchy and I blink a few times, trying to bring back some of the moisture. I have been crying all night. I’m officially sick of crying.

“You love him,” she says stating a fact rather than asking a question.

“I—”

“You do. And you’re being so fucking stubborn about this. You love this guy but because you have some weird grudge, you’re not going to be with him?” If I had anything left to give, I would likely flinch at her words. Instead, I just let them wash over me.

“It might never work,” I reply, my voice sounding almost robotic.

“Say’s who?” She steps back, arms out and palms up, like she’s asking me to point something out to her. “Because from what I can see, Ives, he’s trying to make it work with you. And do not try to tell me he isn’t because the man has been calling and texting you non-stop for weeks!”

Anger rises in my chest. An emotion so hot and powerful, that I’m almost shocked by it. I feel my face flush and my hands shake.

All the decisions I made on the drive home last night—getting help, working through my grief, figuring out how to control my anxiety better—feel as if they are crowding around me and sucking the air from the room.

Too hard.

It all seems too hard in the light of day.

“Says me,” I all but yell back at her. My best friend just stares at me with a sad expression. “I say, Katie. I have spent my whole life having people tell me how great my parents were. What a great couple they made, that they were great parents when I was a baby. I have been told over and over and over about howincrediblemy dad was on the football field, how he would’ve been inducted into the hall of fame with Pops, how it is such a shame thatwelost him so soon.”

“We,” I snarl, desperately trying to keep calm and not allow the angry tears that wait in the wings out. “There shouldn’t be awe. Ilost him. I lost them both. They were away because of that stupid game. Maybe if they hadn’t been so god damn invested, him such a fucking prodigy, I would still have them.” My voice cracks and I feel as if I’m going to be sick. “Don’t you think I’m allowed to be a little hesitant of throwing myself back into that world for a man. A man that they feel like they own? Just because he is in the NFL?”

Because what if I lose him too? What if I have to end up grieving him too?

My head pounds. My stomach rolls.

Katie stares at me, her eyes glassy. “Ivy, your mom and dad didn’t die because of football. You … you know that right?”

Memories flash through my mind.

Except, they aren’t memories. They are memories in the form of stories. Stories that my Nan told me of a time when Pops was on the road playing football back in the sixties. Stories they’d told me of my parents.My dad dedicating his time and his energy to playing ball growing up, to the struggles my parents went through when they fell pregnant with me because how could my dad focus on going pro when he had a daughter he wanted to be home for? How would they possibly make that work?

And then, suddenly, the faces in my head morph and it isn’t my parents but Scott and myself.

Scott being gone all the time.

Scott missing birthdays and holidays.

Scott being more famous than my pops or dad ever was.

In every scenario, I am left alone. Every single silly fantasy I have thought up since meeting Scott rises from the ashes and morphs into my personal nightmare.

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to make sense of all the emotions swirling around inside me.

Sadness, confusion, numbness, anger, years old grief.