The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill
Thirty-Five
Zeke
“Hey, bro. I’m glad you came out with us tonight. It’s been too long. Cheers.”
My teammate Alan hoists a drink in his hand, and I follow suit, clinking his glass as I watch him down it in a few gulps. I take a sip of mine, but it’s already warm and flat. The club beat pumps music through the speakers, too loud to really hold a conversation, and the lights blindingly flash around the dance floor, extending shadows and strobe effects out over the dancing crowd. Every now and again I catch glimpses of couples bumping and grinding to the rhythm.
I have no desire to be here tonight, but it was either this or go home like a glum loser, feeling bored, sad, and desperate for a woman that doesn’t want me. With nowhere else to go and no one else to do anything with, I accepted the invitation from Alan and his posse of rookies to come out and party.
I slide a glance over at Jaeger, who’s bouncing on his toes with a beer in hand, casually scoping the room for any single women that catch his eye.
My eyes remain glued to the table, staring at the empty shot glasses arranged like soldiers in front of me. One shot to celebrate our victory tonight over Philly. Two shots to loosen up my tense muscles. And three shots to forget the woman I love no longer wants to be with me.
Fuck, I sound like an annoying loser even to my own ears.
But I can’t get over her. I’d tried several times since returning from Europe to contact Kendall, hoping if I saw her in person, I could plead my case. I even told her I was ready to make this my last year in the league if only she’d take me back. If that was her only objection for not being with me, then I would give up my fucking basketball career to remove that obstacle.
She has to know our relationship isn’t some game to me. I fell hard and fast for Kendall. Losing her was not an option. I even tried proving my love by offering to give up everything that mattered to me. It didn’t make any difference. She doesn’t want what I have to offer.
Kendall doesn’t want me.
I doubled up my therapy appointments with Dr. Yu, even turning to Zoom while I was out on the road over this past month. I was worried I’d fall back into that dark hole I escaped from earlier this summer. That’s not a place I ever want to be again.
Sure, I’m still heartbroken and depressed. But I’m handling it a whole lot better than I would have back then. It’s true what they say about talking things out with a professional. Sharing what I’ve been going through with Dr. Yu has helped me deal with my emotions instead of hoarding and boarding them up inside and becoming a self-destructive dick. Like a ticking time bomb, counting down the minutes until they turned explosive and dangerous to myself and others.
Sadly, the reality of the situation is that while talking it out may have helped me handle it mentally, it didn’t help me win back the girl. I’m still lonely and sad.
Without a girlfriend or someone to go home to, it’s forced me to find other alternatives. So here I am, hanging out with my single teammates who are all only looking for a good time and a hook-up or two. Been there, done that. Don’t want it again.
“Come on, Forester!” Trenton encourages, slapping me on the back with his big meaty hands. “You look like you’re at a funeral, man. You could at least try to smile.”
He flashes an exaggerated grin, digging a finger into his cheek, his pearly whites gleaming in the bright lights. Leaning in, Trenton’s arm drapes around my shoulders and he says, “Smile and charm work wonders when you’re trying to pick up women.”
I scoff. “Bro, I was picking up women long before you were even out of Peewee ball. I think I know a thing or two about it.” Turning away so he can’t hear my next words, I mutter. “I just don’t want to.”
Both he and Jaeger laugh, posing for selfies, sticking their tongues out crudely for the shots like douchebags. Jaeger rounds the table and crowds into me, throwing an arm around my shoulder to sandwich me in between them. He messes the back of my hair.
“Come on, Zeke. Get a pic with us.” Jaeger angles the phone in front of us, he and Trenton offering wide smiles, while I grumble and sulk.
After taking a few, Jaeger drops his gaze to the phone, flipping through each shot, examining the photos.
“Goddamn, you’re probably right. Women always go for the broody guys,” Jaeger bemuses, showing me the shot.
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m just better looking than the two of you douches.”
Just then, a tall blonde in a skin-tight red dress garners his attention, Jaeger’s head swiveling with interest in her direction.
Sure enough, a pretty woman saunters up to our high-top table, dressed to kill with fuck-me eyes and sexy red lips. She leans over our table, dropping her elbows to the table, which pushes her tits together in a spectacular introduction. My guess, from the looks on Trenton and Jaeger’s faces, is they probably popped boners in their pants.
“Hello, boys. I’m Ally and my friend, Emma, over there, made a bet with me. She claims you guys are basketball players.” She flips a hand over her shoulder toward another woman watching us intently. Then she quirks a seductive eyebrow. “I think you’re hockey players. Which one of us is right?”
Trenton smirks and elbows me in the ribs. “Hockey schmockey. Your friend Emma is right. We play for the Pilots. You don’t watch basketball, Ally?”
She giggles. “Nah, I’m a hockey fan. But I don’t mind sports where guys have to play with their balls.”
I groan at her ridiculous come on and decide I’m calling it a night.
Clasping a hand around his neck, I give Trenton a squeeze and lean in to whisper in his ear. “They’re all yours, stud. I’m heading home.”
I throw a fifty down on the table to cover my tab and turn to say goodbye to Jaeger, who is clearly already sucked into the web of seduction. I give him a bro-shake before weaving through the crowd toward the door.
As I walk out of the club and down the quiet Seattle street, the rain begins to drizzle over my head, coating the pavement. It feels good though. Fresh and clean and I suck in a lungful of crisp fall air. Fall is upon us and we’re quickly approaching the holiday season. It seems like a lifetime already when I was walking this same street together with Kendall.
A sharp pain hits me under the ribs and between my pecs. I know exactly what it is and stop in my tracks, pressing a firm hand against the brick building to catch my breath and breathe through the panic as it rolls through me.
Fuck me, this sucks.
Even with the strides I’ve made with my mental health and the cocktail of anti-depressants I take daily, these unexpected attacks can come out of the blue and for any reason. Unfortunately, there is no quick cure-all for anxiety. It doesn’t go away overnight. It’s something I’ll live with forever. At least now I’ve learned to recognize the symptoms and power through them so I don’t end up lying flat on my back in the middle of a televised game.
I check the date of my next appointment on my phone and the calendar pops up with a date of next Saturday. But it’s not for my appointment with Dr. Yu, it’s for the Pilots’ recognition banquet Marek is hosting. Shit, I’d forgotten about that.
I rub a brisk hand over my heart to rid myself of the dull ache and continue walking home. I’ll see Kendall at the banquet for the first time in over a month. Since I returned from our overseas trip when we met up for coffee to have our break-up chat.
It was a struggle to give her space, especially when I didn’t agree that moving on and ending our relationship was the best thing for both of us. I didn’t want to give her up. I also didn’t want to be a controlling asshole like my father. So I swallowed my pride and let her go.
Shit, the pain I experienced from that conversation nearly set me back fifteen years. I kept hearing my dad’s voice in my head. “You’re not good enough for this game. You’ll never be good enough.”
What I’ve worked out through therapy has helped me see that my father’s bitterness and failures were his own, and his way of coping was making me feel small and worthless. His tyranny and cruelty were what led me to push so hard to become great at basketball. My dad never thought I would amount to anything or had what it took to become a professional player.
So, I proved him wrong. I pushed hard and worked harder. I tried to use the game and my achievements as a crutch to alleviate my depression and anxiety. To replace the pain I felt from my dad’s verbal insults with the love and adoration of fans. But it didn’t work.
Deep inside, I still dealt with the negative self-worth and imposter syndrome. I never felt good enough.
It’s impossible to achieve your way out of something like depression.
And even more difficult to live through a broken heart.
I’ve learned that the hard way.
The only way to deal with a broken heart is to push through it and avoid tearing yourself apart in the process.