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“You have no idea how proud of you I am for confronting this. Honestly. I don’t have words. You’ve grown a lot in the few months I’ve known you.”
“Thank you.” He picked up his straw paper and twisted it into a ball. “So, one of the things she has me doing is writing. I’ve been writing a lot, about my feelings, my thoughts, anxiety triggers, etcetera. Just so you know, I’m not sitting in my room crying over you the entire time. I just needed you to know that.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Writing can be so cathartic.”
“Cathartic! That’s the word!” he yelled, startling her, then lowered his voice. “I was trying to remember it the other day.” The waitress brought over the two slices they ordered and set them down. “Thank you, sweetie,” Ryan said.
“Of course," she replied with a wink.
“So that’s one thing. The other thing,” he said, picking at some cheese that had slid off his slice, “is that I’m in a pretty good amount of pain, Amara. I have this giant pit in my stomach and no matter what I do, how much I try to ignore it, it won’t go away. The only thing that gives me any relief at all is seeing you, but even that’s temporary because as quickly as I feel better, I instantly remember that it's over and it starts to hurt all over again.”
She picked at the crust on her slice; neither of them had eaten a thing. “I understand that. I’ve wanted to talk to you, Ry, but I don’t exactly know what to say.”
“Let’s start with this. Do you miss me?” he asked, staring down at his plate.
“I do.”
“I miss you, too. So much. But Mar, being around you is breaking me down. I’m total shit on the ice, I’m shit off the ice, and I don’t know how to fix it. The only thing I can think of is that maybe…I might need to find somewhere else to live.”
She snickered, pushing her plate away from her. “So much for being friends and getting to know each other better, huh?”
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Then please, tell me what to do, Amara,” he begged in a low voice. “Tell me how I’m supposed to get up, see you every day, knowing that we can never be more than friends, knowing that’ll never be enough for me, and keep my shit together. I’m all ears.”
She stared at her hand in his. “I don’t know, Ryan.”
His eyes filled with tears, and he let go of her hand. “God, why can’t this just fucking work?”
“I don’t want you to leave, Ryan. I want you to stay.”
“Amara, I don’t want to leave either. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay.”
“Remember that game we used to play, where we’d tell each other random, embarrassing shit about ourselves?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss that. It’s stuff like that, Ryan. Before our feelings got in the way, we really did have a connection. And I wish…I wish we could have that again.”
“I do, too.”
“Then stay. Please? I don’t want you to leave. Let’s hang out tonight, do something fun. As friends.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
At that moment, they both got notifications on their phones at the same time. She reached for hers first. “Oh my God!” she gasped, as Ryan checked his phone and read the same message:
T: Just got the call. I'm going to the fucking Isles, baby!!! Come to the game tonight. 6:05 start.
“Oh my God. He’s going. Holy shit. Well, guess I know what we’re doing tonight.”
“This is amazing,” she said, looking at Ryan. She knew he was happy for Tyler in his heart, but the look on his face told a different story. She reached over and touched his hand. “Hey? Your time is coming.”
“Yeah,” he said blankly. “Guess we should go get ready if we’re gonna get to the game on time.”
???
“So how’s it work?” Amara asked Ryan, as the two headed into UBS Arena after taking the Bridgeport Ferry to the LIRR, which let them right off at the venue.
“There’s a whole section they designate for players’ families and friends. Each player on the roster gets two tickets per game to give to family or whoever. Ty wanted us to have his.”
