The End Zone

Chapter 14

This is how wild my Friday night gets:

I end up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and chocolate chips, huddled in a blanket that smells like it needs to be washed, and watching some reality TV show about rich people who like to cheat on each other.

And crying. That also seems to be a common pastime of mine.

I've finished the popcorn by the time 11:30 hits and move on to a tub of ice cream.

On the TV, Bonnie, has just found out that Justin is cheating on her with her step sister when the apartment door swings open. I flinch at the sound, turning to see Zack stumble through the door.

"You're back early," I say. My neck strains in an effort to see if anyone came back with him but no one is there.

He shrugs, his moments a bit too slow for someone fully in control of their actions. There's a long sigh as he tosses off his shoes and collapses onto the couch beside me.

Immediately, the scent of alcohol hits me.

"Fucking hell, Zack," I mutter, trying to lift him up. "Sit up."

I stand up and start to walk away when he grabs my wrist.

"Don't," he whispers. "Just stay here."

His eyes are like a doe's. My voice softens as I say, "I'm just going to get you water. I'll be right back, okay?"

He stays awake as I fill a tall glass of water, which is better than I was expecting. As soon as I hand it over, he chugs the entire cup.

I shake my head at him, holding back a smirk. My hand reaches for the remote, turning the TV off, and I tuck him into the blanket.

"Go to sleep," I say.

"I'm not tired," he says. His voice is noticeably clearer but there's no way he's sobered up so quickly.

"Then watch TV or something," I say, smirking slightly, "since you partied too hard."

He doesn't match my laughter, instead reaching for my wrist again. He stares at our hands as his thumb traces over my skin mindlessly. I will myself to pull away but my hand stays in place as he breathes.

"Tonight was my night," he says quietly. "I was at a huge party with everyone cheering for me, offering me drinks..." He looks up at me. "And all I could think about was how much I wanted to come back here."

I turn away to shield my expression. "You're drunk," I whisper.

He doesn't deny it. His gaze remains focused on me. "Why did you cry at the game?"

"I like seeing you happy."

"Are you happy?" he asks. His thumb has stopped moving and I can't help feeling like what he's asking is really are you happy without me.

I push the thought away. He's drunk.

"I am," I say. "I have my internship, great friends, a nice apartment..."

He looks down and I watch his chest heave as he breathes.

"I don't know if I am..." he says finally, so quietly it's barely audible. "I have moments when I feel good but it's like the second I'm off the field, it all hits me again. I'm in a room full of people and I've never felt more alone."

It's like being stabbed in the heart. All of his pain has become my own.

"I'm still here for you," I say. "Always."

He gives me a sad smile. "Always?" It drops and his eyes turn cloudy.

I can't think of a response to that. He's silent for so long, I think he's fallen asleep but then he speaks. So quietly it's almost inaudible.

"If in 20 years, I see you married or with someone else," he starts, "I don't know if I'll ever be okay with that."

I lift my eyes to match his and we sit in silence, both waiting for the other to say something.

"We have to move on," I let out, bolting up before I can see his face. "You wouldn't be saying any of this if you were sober. Get some sleep."

I make a beeline for my room, shutting the door behind me and trying to ignore the painful race of my heart as I hug myself to sleep.