Page 122 of The Wrong Game

I just didn’t know how to.

Dad clapped my knee. “Come on. Let’s eat, boys.” But before he could move up off the bed, the doorbell rang.

We all stared at each other. Doc had already told us he couldn’t make it tonight, he was meeting with a real estate agent to discuss his future plans in paradise. Who would be stopping by at dinner time?

“It might be the neighbors,” Mom said, already heading to the door. “Might need someone to watch the kids for a bit.”

She disappeared, and Micah made another joke about the “stupid kiss” happening on the still-paused screen. I argued with him on the poignant undertones in the movie while Dad watched and smiled from the side.

All of us stopped talking when Mom came back in the room.

Because she wasn’t alone.

I thought the image of Gemma haunting my dreams for the past two weeks was bad, but seeing her in real life, standing in my little brother’s bedroom with my mother by her side? It was like I was a bird being struck down mid-flight, slamming to the cold, hard ground and losing my breath in the process.

She was beautiful.

Even with her eyes puffy and red, dark circles framing the bottom of them, and even with her little shoulders slumped, her hair in a messy bun on her head. She held something in her hand, and whatever it was, she gripped onto it like it was the only thing holding her in that room with me.

For what felt like an eternity, we just stared. I wished I could read her mind. I wished she could read mine.

I wished I knew what I felt in that moment.

I wanted to jump up, pull her into my arms, kiss her. But, I also wanted to tell her to get the hell out of my house. It was strange, the way those thoughts warred with each other, because I couldn’t figure out which one I leaned toward more.

Gemma finally cleared her throat, eyes bouncing around the room as she realized she had my entire family’s attention. “I’m so sorry to bother you during dinner time,” she said, her voice raspy and soft. “I just… I came here to give you something.”

I was still pinned under the covers — Micah on one side of me, Dad on the other — and all I could do was sit and stare as Gemma cautiously crossed the room. She handed me the bent-up-piece of card stock in her hand, immediately stepping back once it was in mine, instead.

It was her other ticket to tomorrow’s game.

“I don’t really have all the words I need to say right now,” she said, eyes on where my hands held the ticket. “I know that I’ve hurt you… that I’ve hurt both of us. I know that there are things I said that I can’t take back, and possibly things you’ll never be able to forget.” Gemma caught my eyes then, brows bending. “And honestly, I’m not sure what I have to offer right now. I’m not sure where we would go from here. But… all I’m asking for right now is for you to take that seat next to me at tomorrow’s game.”

I watched her a moment longer, tearing my eyes from hers to look at the ticket again as my heart thundered in my chest.

“Please don’t say anything right now,” she continued. “Take your time, take the night to think about it. And if you don’t show tomorrow… I completely understand. I do.”

All words were stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. I couldn’t form a single one. I couldn’t thank her for coming by, or find it in me to jump up from the bed and pull her into me. I just stared at that ticket, processing what she’d said, wondering what the hell made her come.

“I’ll let you all get to your dinner,” she said quietly, backing up until she was by Mom again. “Pamela, I’m so sorry I came by without notice. Thank you for letting me in.”

“You’re always welcome, my dear,” she said, and I felt my mom’s eyes on me, though mine were still on the ticket. When I didn’t move, when no one else said a word, Mom spoke again. “I’ll walk you out.”

I wasn’t sure how long they were gone, how long I stared at thesection 124text on that ticket before I realized Gemma had left the room. My eyes shot open wider, and I looked at Micah, then at Dad, and then I scrambled out of the covers.

“She’s already gone, son,” Dad said, placing a firm hand on my arm before I could wrangle my way out of the bed. “She’s gone.”

My chest heaved, eyes wild as I searched the doorway and then looked back down at the ticket. I still couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything but stare, and blink, and stare some more.

Mom came back into the room a few moments later, leaning against the same spot in the doorway. Her sympathetic eyes found mine, and she tried a small smile, but it was weak.

“She brought a pie, too,” Mom said. “For dessert. I put it in the fridge.”

I nodded, but still didn’t say a word.

Everyone was silent for a while, and then Dad cleared his throat. “So… are you going to go?”

The ticket felt like an anvil in my hand, and I twisted it in my fingers, feeling the perforated edges. I stared at it so long that the words went fuzzy, the logo blurred, and finally, I dropped it on the plaid comforter of Micah’s bed.