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Drew.
He’s onto me. He knows I’m about to freak. My heartbeat is a relentless, thud, thud, thud that I’m certain he hears when I slowly slide the bar and answer. “Break a finger over there or something?”
“I decided I wanted to hear your voice instead,” he says with a little laugh.
Because he isn’t in front of me, because I’m not distracted by his golden glow, his voice has that much more power over me. It sinks through dense flesh and slides along bone, nestling deep into that hard-pumping organ that used to be my heart. It doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
“And I hate texting,” he continues. He’s unsure. I can hear it in the way he tries to force a light, joking tone. And because I know this is hard for him, the guy for whom everything comes easy, I clear my throat and dive in.
“It’s impersonal,” I add.
There’s a real smile in his voice now. “Yeah. Most people don’t get that.”
“Are you tired?” My tongue feels bigger than normal, like I’m going to soon trip on my words, tell him something I’m not ready to admit.
“Yeah.” The sound of him shifting around comes through the phone, and I immediately wonder if he’s in bed. Does he sleep naked? “Can’t sleep though,” he says, thankfully unaware of my devolving thoughts.
“Happen a lot?” I know it does. We’ve already talked each other to sleep before.
“More so now.” He pauses. “I keep thinking about you.”
Shit on a pretzel stick.
The pillow is soft against my back, but my skin is still too warm. “I think about you too.”
He sighs. It’s soft and gusty, and I lean toward it, pressing my cheek to the phone.
“I wish I were there,” he says.
I do too. So much it hurts. It hurts deep in my chest and along my stomach. I slide farther down the bed, as if I can run away from the feeling.
When I don’t say a word, he just keeps talking. Maybe he knows I’m hiding under the covers now. Maybe he knows I’ve lost my voice.
“You ever wonder if who you are is the person you’re supposed to be?” He speaks low now, as if he’s lying beside me on the bed, as if we’re having the kind of drowsy chat you use at a sleepover, just before you nod off.
“Like should I be trying to change who I am?” I ask him.
“Not exactly. More like...” He laughs softly. “Hell, I’m not even sure. I just... I’ve always wanted to play football. I can’t even fathom an existence that doesn’t include it.”
“At least you know. I have no idea what I want to do. I don’t want it to be drudge work. I don’t want it to be boring. I want a life outside the ordinary. But how do you get that when you’ve no clue?” When all you are is ordinary.
I’ve opened more of my soul to him. But it doesn’t hurt, because he gives me glimpses of his in return.
“You think knowing is better? All I know how to be is a quarterback. And every moment of it revolves around winning. Or losing.” He pauses as if struggling. “Think of it, a whole life constantly focusing on the next game. So does that make me who I am? An endless roster of victories and losses?”
For a moment I feel the weight of every one of those eyes that constantly bear down on Drew. And it’s crushing. My fingers tighten around the phone. “Are you afraid to lose?”
At first, I think he won’t answer, but he does, and his voice carries a strange, almost secretive tone. “You want to know what winning really is?”
“Tell me.”
“It isn’t about talent. Not at the top level. That’s almost equal. And it’s not even about who wants it more. It’s about who believes with the most conviction they can take it. Fear, doubt, hesitation, that’s what kills you.”
“Are you afraid?”
“In the dark, late at night? Yeah. Sometimes. On the field? No. Hell no. It’s just in me. Knowing I can do it.”
I smile at that. “Yet you sound...low. Did you lose the game today?”
