Wasted Words by Staci Hart

“What? Knock out an NFL player, an alumnus, on camera? The guy who just paid for new uniforms for the entire team?” He laughed, the sound dry and cold. “Who the fuck are you to threaten me? You’re nobody, Knight. You could have been somebody, but look at you now. Washed up, wishing for the glory days, standing on the sidelines while I play. While I make money, get the girls.”

The other players standing near us turned to face him, their jaws set, a wall of us standing against him.

“I already had the girl. That was all I really needed.”

He was flanked by players, including Darryl, who said, “I think you should leave.”

Kyle stepped up to him, bowing out his chest. “Fuck you, you little punk.”

Darryl stood his ground, and Kyle sneered.

“You think you know? This isn’t shit.” He motioned to the field. “This is nothing. It’s a stepping stone to get to the pros,” he met my eyes, “because if you don’t hit pro, you’re nobody.”

I didn’t realize my dad had stepped up to the fray. “What the fuck is going on here? Churchill, get the fuck out of here before I have you thrown out.”

Kyle met my dad’s eyes with rage burning behind them. “Sure, Coach.” And with that, he turned to go.

Dad turned to us, jaw set. “Quit fucking around, everybody. We’ve got a game to play, for chrissake.” Everyone dispersed quickly, and when he looked at me, his face was hard, but his eyes were soft. He nodded at me, and I nodded back.

The back half of the game was a blur, part of my mind on the game, but in every spare second between plays I sifted through what had happened. Cam, poor Cam. Who knew what he’d said, really. It couldn’t have been good, probably worse than what he’d even told me. And she believed him. He’d hit her right where it hurt, knowing what would happen, or at least hoping for what happened. And she didn’t tell me.

But of course she didn’t.

I had to call her, message her. Talk to her. It didn’t change anything, but it changed everything. Because before that, I felt her, knew she was happy and good and ready to be with me. I knew that what he said affected her. And that night, I convinced her again to stay. And the next day, when she tried to talk to me like I’d wanted, I walked away.

We won the game, and I followed the team into the locker room, listened to my dad give a speech to the team. I waited in the wings while he talked to the press, the first moment I’d had to myself, and I pulled out my phone, firing off a text to Cam. I couldn’t wait a minute longer.

Need to talk. You around?

I held my breath, ran a hand over my mouth as I stared at my phone. The bubbles bounced, and my breath stayed still.

Can’t talk. Sorry.

My heart sank. Let me know when you have time.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even start to type — I knew because I stared at the screen through the junket, hoping.

Over an hour later, we pulled out of the stadium in Dad’s car, listening to Willie Nelson croon about blue eyes while I leaned on the door, eyes beyond the window and thoughts a thousand miles away, with Cam.

“What happened with Churchill?” he asked, breaking the silence between us. “A couple of people asked me, but you couldn’t really see what happened. Looked like you popped him.”

“I did.”

“What’d he do?”

“Insulted Cam. Insulted me. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t cause any problems for you, Dad.”

He chuckled. “You didn’t. Players get in fights enough on the sidelines and nobody notices, though it doesn’t usually resort to blows. Neither of you are on the team — I’m sure if he complains I’ll get a talking-to, but I wouldn’t worry about that.”

My fist still ached, and I opened and closed it, glad for the pain. Glad I’d gotten at least one hit on him when he deserved so much more.

“He got in her head, Dad. He told her she didn’t belong with me. He wanted to run her off, and he did. I thought it was just her not being able to decide what to do, but it was Kyle.”

He gripped the wheel. “Well, then I’d say he deserved more than one hit.”

I smiled. “I just thought the same thing. I could have beat the shit out of him. I only stopped because of where we were.”

He shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie. I kinda wish you had.”

“Me too.”

“What does this mean for you and Cam?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I texted her as soon as I could but she won’t talk to me.”

He nodded, eyes on the road. “I hope she comes around, son.”

“Me too,” was all I could say as we pulled onto the highway, and I checked my phone once again only to be disappointed.

LIMBO

Tyler

I WOKE IN MY OLD bed, in my old room, reaching for my phone. Not to check the time.

But my heart sank once I unlocked it. She hadn’t messaged me or called.

I sighed and closed my eyes, settling back into the bed, though I knew I wouldn’t sleep again. The phone was still in my hand, and I squeezed it, thinking about messaging her again.

I replayed our fight, like I had a hundred times. I’d shut her down not knowing Kyle had tried to interfere, but that knowledge changed things, and I wanted to talk to her about it. I wanted to hear what happened from her, wanted to tell her Kyle was wrong.

But she hadn’t messaged me, didn’t want to talk to me. I couldn’t be sure what the silence meant, and if I hadn’t had work to do, I would have left that day. Because I couldn’t stand it, the not knowing. The waiting. I needed to kiss her again and tell her that I loved her, even if it was for the last time.