What I Should Have Done ✓

Chapter 15

Our argument had been for naught after all, because the season was over. The guys lost. The game had been fair and square, but that didn't make it better, of course. Aidan had scored creatively for the team in the second half, but the Jumbos had eventually counted another solid goal on their score and vanquished the Panthers.

As the final whistle sounded, I excused myself and speedwalked to the side of the field. John's slumped posture and forceful kicks against the astroturf announced to the world that his frustration ran bone-deep. If only I could keep him from spiraling.

"Hey, good game."

He chuckled humorlessly, fisting his sweaty, tousled hair. "We lost."

"But you all put up one hell of a fight. It was nerve-wracking to watch."

"I tripped over my own fucking feet."

"That happened one time. Tufts made some gross mistakes, too." Please, let me help.

John exhaled loudly. "No, they didn't. Please drop it. We weren't good enough, period. Look, I gotta go, but I'll see you later."

Without so much as awaiting my response, he followed the men to the locker room. Well, this went fantastically.

"Wow," said Liam, who stepped up from behind me. I didn't know how much he had heard and suddenly I was embarrassed. I had sounded clingy and needy.

"Don't start, Liam." But of course he did.

"Is he always like this?"

"Of course not. They lost, in case you missed that. He's upset."

"I'm sure his friends will build him back up." Despite the thick padding of my coat, I felt every one of his pats on my forearm as if they were whippings.

My blood heated up, but I willed my exterior to project cold. "I am his friend. And I'm going to the party tonight to make sure he's okay."

I was provoking him, but didn't I have at least some right to go? Liam closed his eyes for one second, two, three—my heartbeat in my throat.

When he opened them again, his face was serene. "You're right. You should go and check on him. He's lucky to have you as a friend."

Umm... what?

It appeared I had said that out loud, because Liam said: "Yeah, I was out of line. I'm sorry. Of course you'll go see your friends."

I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly, cocking my head. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"

He sent me the dazzling smile that never failed to warm my belly. I loved how it made me feel like I was the center of his attention. Then he gently pulled me in for a hug and pressed his lips to my temple. I melted into him, slinging my arms around his waist, and my eyes flew shut. Just like that, all of the messy fighting from earlier was forgotten.

"Positive. Call me if you need me to pick you up and walk you home later."

"Okay," I whispered, "thank you."

***

I had expected the party tonight to resemble a collective licking of wounds more than a celebration of anything. However, John's crankiness had misled me. People were actually having fun for the most part, and though there was only low music and now dance tonight, at least no one was moping around and killing the mood. The losing parties, it seemed, turned into a hangout more than into a fiesta.

Hopefully that also meant I'd catch John at a better stage of his grieving process. The significance he attributed to a ball game seemed exaggerated to me, but it clearly held symbolic importance for him. The psychologist-in-training in me presumed from his utterings that it had to do with a deep frustration with failure, a fear of not being worthy. Not that he would ever explicitly say so, and I knew better than to analyze him to his face.