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M ILES

Three days. It’s been three fucking days since I’ve heard from Rowan. I camped out in front of her apartment all afternoon on Sunday, but she never returned. Neither Nash or Walker haven’t mentioned anything about her crashing at their places, which means she’s hiding somewhere, alone.

The last thing I want for her is to be alone. She’s hurting. Because of me. I never should have logged into that app and followed her. I never should have taken things as far as I did. I never should have hidden the truth from her.

But if I’d told her I was Adam86, no doubt she would have blocked me out of her life. Which is no different than what she’s doing now.

We got out of practice a little earlier today, so I’ve been pacing the parking garage by her work, waiting for her to exit. I can see her car, so I know she’s still here. When the garage is almost empty a little after seven, I figure she spotted me and took off on foot.

I hate that even more than her sleeping in some hotel room. I head back to my car and circle the streets near her office, hoping to locate her. After an hour of nothing, I head back to my apartment.

The guys have picked up on the change in my behavior, and I’ve blown it off as anything from having the shits to a toothache. I’ve forced myself to throw in a dirty joke every so often as well.

Trenton’s the only one to see through the facade. He cornered me after practice today and I almost came clean. It would be good to talk this shit out with someone, but that’s not who I am. I don’t put my problems on others. I guess Rowan and I are a lot alike that way, which is why I assume she’s holed up in a cheap hotel somewhere.

Fuck, I need to talk to her.

When I’m back in my apartment, I call her again, and once again, I chuck my phone across the room when she doesn’t answer.

Three more days go by, and as I’m packing for our away game, I send Rowan another text. My four hundred-eighty-sixth. Or something like that.

ME: Rowan. I’m so fucking sorry. You mean the world to me. Please let me explain. I never meant to hurt you. I feel so much for you, more than I want to say in a text or in a voicemail. Please, can we talk? Anywhere. My place. Yours. A coffee shop. The middle of Faneuil Hall. Ten minutes. Please, Row. I miss you.

When I reach the stadium, I put on my headphones and crank my music. I’m not normally the guy who has to shut out the world to get into the zone. My pre-game ritual is razzing the team. Telling stupid jokes. Asking my would-you-rather questions or other meaningless trivia. Anything to take off the game day jitters. Especially for the rooks.

Tennessee is a tough team, and their defensive ends are massive. I should be more focused on recalling each player’s strength and weakness, mentally preparing myself to shut off the outside distractors. But I’m not. I don’t.

Instead, I replay the message Rowan wrote to me—to Adam86—over and over again in my head. That, I have memorized. I trusted you with my innermost thoughts, and you never judged me. Thank you for that.

Trust. It’s the foundation for any relationship, even I know that. Trust and communication. Two things I royally fucked up.

The crowd in Tennessee is loud and rowdy. Normally I love when the opposing team tries to rile us up. I thrive on their taunting. Today, I couldn’t care less.

The first quarter is a bust. I drop three passes. One would have been a top ten on SportsCenter if I made it, the other two were passes a middle schooler could have caught. I was wide open. Dec threw perfect spirals into my hands.

I dropped them.

Dropped the ball on the field.

Dropped the ball in my love life.

“The fuck, Buck?” Dec taps my helmet. “Shake off whatever shit is happening. Keep it off the field. We need you. Block for Walker. Give him a hole.”

I nod and jog to my spot on the line.

I miss the block. Walker gets taken down having only gained a yard.

Coach calls me off the field and I rip off my helmet as I find a seat on the bench. This is where I deserve to be. I’m fucking up everything in my life and I don’t know how to fix it.

Nash takes a seat next to me and rests his elbows on his thighs, lowering his head. A position we all take when we don’t want the cameras to read our lips.

“I’m not gonna pry because I hate talking about shit when I don’t want to talk about shit, but if you’ve got shit going on and need someone to listen to your shit and don’t want stupid dumb ass shit of advice, I’m good at listening. The advice part, not so much.”

“That’s a lot of shit coming out of your mouth for a guy who doesn’t talk shit.” I smile, the first real one in over a week.

“Yeah, and for the record, I’ve caught more balls than you today. You gonna do something about that?” Nash gets up and jogs onto the field.

He’s right. He had an interception and a twenty-three-yard run. I have jack shit.

Coach chews our asses during halftime. We’re down by ten and playing like amateurs. At least it’s not just me who’s off their game. And fuck me for even thinking that. Instead of rooting for the team, I’m a self-centered bitch.

This isn’t me. I’m fucked up in so many ways.

The rest of the game doesn’t go our way, no thanks to me. I know a team doesn’t lose because of one player or one error. It’s a series of fuck ups. And all I’ve done today is fuck up.

I anxiously watch the play clock tick down and am relieved when the game is over. Losing Rowan hurts more than our sixteen-point loss to Tennessee. My heart wasn’t in the game, and I’ve never felt as defeated as I do right now.

The flight home is silent. This is usually when I annoy my teammates with my stupid humor, but for the first time, I understand why some people find me annoying. Fine. Most people. All people from time to time.

If some asshole dumped a truckload of dumbass jokes my way, I’d tell him to fuck off just as my teammates have told me for the past ten years. It never bothered me before because I knew deep down they appreciated me lightening up a dark moment.

Humor is what got me through the worst times in my life, but I didn’t even struggle this much when I lost my mom. Her death was way more serious than a breakup, but I was young and didn’t feel it as deeply as I do now.

I couldn’t comprehend how deeply losing my mom at my dad’s hand would impact me as an adult. Back then, I had my aunt to love me like a son and fill that void.

There’s no one in my life to fill Rowan’s void, and I don’t want anyone else to. I want her. I need her. Even if she doesn’t take me back, we still need to talk. Losing her completely will destroy me. Her friendship and her happiness are the most important things to me.

Somehow, I need to make this right.

***

R owan never returned to her apartment last week, and she didn’t drive to work. Unless she took the week off, but I can’t see her doing that. I didn’t sleep on the plane or when I got home, so instead of wasting time tossing and turning, I cross town to her office building and wait for her to arrive.

I’m still in my travel clothes, sans the tie, and pace the parking garage for forty minutes before I see her car. I make my way to her, opening her door before she realizes I’m here.

“What the—” She freezes when she looks up at me. Color drains from her cheeks and she quickly turns her head, reaching across for her bag on the passenger seat.

I step back and hold out my hand to help her out of the car. She ignores it, pockets her keys, and closes the door.

“I’m going to be late for work.”

She’s fifteen minutes early, but I don’t call her on it.

“Rowan.” My hand reaches for her, and when her eyes grow round with nerves, I drop it to my side. Even with the purple smudges under her eyes, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. “Can we talk? Please?”

“I have to work.” She twists the strap of her purse on her shoulder and avoids my gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to hurt you. When I made an account on the app, it was supposed to be my way of asking you out. But—” Fuck. But then she opened up and told me things she didn’t want me, Miles Buckingham, to know.

“It’s fine, Miles. I just...I’m not in a place where I want to be in a relationship. No hard feelings.” She pats my arm and moves past me.

The fuck? It’s fine? No hard feelings? “Rowan.” I follow her to the street. “Will you let me explain?”

“There’s nothing to explain, Miles.” She shifts her bag on her shoulder and gives me a forced smile. “Have a good day.”

She pushes through the main entrance door and I’m left standing dumbfounded on the street. No hard feelings? She didn’t mean that. If she did, she wouldn’t have been so cold. So stilted. She wouldn’t have panicked when she saw me.

There’s no way in Hell she’s fine. This is what Rowan does. Never wants to offend, avoids conflict. It’s why she opened up to Adam , telling him about her family, her scars. Her sexual needs. I hurt her but she’s too kind to call me on it. That’s not something I’m okay with.

I need to hear her curse me out. I need to hear her tell me how much of an asshole I am. It’s the only way I can heal, and the only way she can too. Whether she wants to or not, we are going to have that conversation.

Most people don’t take me seriously, but that’s because they’ve never seen me care enough about anything to chase after it.

Get ready, Doc, because I’m not stopping the chase until I’ve caught you.