Page 138 of The Substitute

This is how I get myself in trouble. I’m so fucking desperate to be loved that I wave away or ignore any red flags. He paid attention to me and said he cared, so my brain latched on to it. I can’t believe Ambrose stayed around the whole time just being nice while I was splitting my time. And now he has to put up with me grieving the loss.

I want to shake myself and scream to do better.

Ambrose has been so sweet, so attentive. Checking in all the time, making sure I’ve eaten, and snuggling me so I sleep. I’m sure Savage is annoying him with texts, too. He glares at his phone sometimes, angrily types out a message, then tosses it away.

But a part of me is missing.

It aches right in the center of my chest. Like a chamber of my heart is dying.

When Ambrose is around, I can pretend I’m okay by focusing on him. But tonight I’m alone in the stands. No distracting away from the hurt. Everyone I know is doing hockey shit, and for some reason, so am I.

I can’t stop myself from checking the score of the Gods game too. Looks like they didn’t do well. That hurts my heart. Since I know how personally Teddy takes losses as a goalie, I assume Savage does too. Is he not playing well because of me?

Guilt eats at me.

I’m mad at him, but I don’t want him to hurt.

My phone pings again. Speak of the devil and he will appear.

Savage: Can we talk?

I shut my screen off and shove my phone in my pocket. I don’t know how to do this.How do you deal with being upset with someone and forgive them, too?

Not to mention Savage and Ambrose still hate each other. I don’t know how to hide the emotions I’m struggling with over Savage when I’m with Ambrose. My insecurities are fighting for control, telling me I mean nothing to Savage, despite what feels like proof of the opposite. He’s still checking in, still shows up when he gets home from a game.

Misery wraps around my heart and squeezes. I don’t know what to do anymore.

The lights darken some over the stands to make the rink shine, and the announcer starts talking. I’m not listening to whatever he’s saying, just watching the crowd and the feed on the video monitors hanging over the ice. The players are introduced, the national anthem is sung, and the game begins.

I’ve never understood how anyone can follow this game. People are coming on and off the ice constantly, the puck is so small you can barely see it, and everyone is moving constantly. It’s giving me a headache.

I’m dying of boredom, so I text the only person I know will respond.

Tobi: Why does anyone enjoy this sport?

Rhys: What sport?

Tobi: Are you really that dense?

Tobi: Hockey! No one is on the ice longer than 12 seconds, the puck is so small you can barely see it. What is the point?

Rhys: You’re watching hockey?

Rhys: Are you okay? Is someone holding you captive? Do I need to call the police?

Tobi: Fuck off.

Tobi: I’m at a game. Focus.

Rhys: I’m trying to focus! Why are you at a hockey game?!

Tobi: I was coerced!

Rhys: Right…well since the hockey player I know you’re involved with is currently with me, I’m going to need more details.

Fuck.I didn’t think that all the way through. But then something occurs to me.

Tobi: Wait how did you know he’s on your team?