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Wednesday, November 24
c/o Ryan Baylor
Effective Immediately:
Please be advised that you have been reassigned to the Worcester Railers by the Bridgeport Islanders.
You are expected to report to practice in Worcester on Friday, November 26. Details about when and where have been sent to your team email.
An update on your progress will be provided two weeks from the date of this letter.
Tomas Sellars, General Manager
Bridgeport Islanders
Amara stared in horror at the piece of paper that he’d left on the kitchen counter, as she’d just got home from picking up a few things at the grocery store. “Oh my God,” she said aloud, covering her mouth and setting her bag down. She heard heavy metal music blasting from his bedroom, which meant that he wanted to be left the fuck alone.
She immediately called Tyler, but he hadn’t picked up, so she shot him a quick text.
A: Call me the actual SECOND you can. We have a lot to talk about.
She couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow all her fault. If they’d just gone home after the game, none of this would have happened. She hadn’t even spoken to Tyler since everything went down at the party, which was not normal. She chalked it up to the fact that he was on the road with New York in Dallas and was trying her best not to read too much into it. But it’d been over two days, and she’d never gone even a day without talking to him before.
Not to mention, tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and not only would Ryan be traveling to Massachusetts, but now she’d be spending it completely alone. Nick was headed to Long Island to visit Mark’s family, and of course, he’d invited her to tag along. She declined, still planning on spending the day with Ryan, even though they still hadn’t talked since the hotel room.
Well, fuck. This just keeps getting better and better.
Just then, Tyler texted her back.
T: Just touched down at MacArthur. Headed back to the apartment. I'll come by in a bit if you'll be home.
A: Working tonight at 8. Biggest party night of the year. Ugh. Come by before, or I'll just call you when I'm done. Things just went from bad to worse.
About two hours passed, and Amara had just nodded off on the couch when she heard a knock at the door. She got up to answer it, and there stood Tyler, dressed in khakis, a red polo shirt, Vans, and of course, his signature wool hat. “Well, don’t you look dapper?”
“Dapper? Thanks, Grandma Ethel. Got any Werther’s Originals for me? Some rice pudding, perhaps?”
“Fuck off,” she said, opening the door as he waltzed in, slapped her ass, and helped himself to a beer from the fridge.
“So,” he said, cracking it and sitting down. “I guess we‘ve got some shit to talk about, eh?”
“You really didn’t even attempt to contact us at all, after what went down at the party? That’s messed up, Ty.”
“Oh, you mean after Rook got jealous seeing you with another man and decided to beat him into the fuckin’ ER? By the way, what the fuck happened to your face? He better not have hit you, too.”
She shook her head. “You have no idea what happened, do you? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering you were coked out of your goddamn mind.”
“I was waitin’ for that. You never disappoint, woman. Yes, I fuckin’ got high. Ninety percent of the people there were high, OK?”
“Since when are you such a good little follower?”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Don’t call me a bitch.”
“Then don’t fuckin’ act like one.”
“You didn’t even call or text, Tyler. Once.”
