More often than I wanted to admit, under the spray of my shower or in the dark of my bedroom, I closed my eyes and imagined it was her hand. Imagined it was her mouth. Imagined all the things we hadn’t been able to explore with each other yet. And every single time, with my chest thundering, as I came down from the high, I felt an increasing emptiness.
Because it wasn’t her.
It was such a cheap simulation, a Band-Aid over a gaping wound that I couldn’t quite close.
That was why I was in the weight room first every single day.
If I worked my body to the point of exhaustion, maybe I’d fall asleep easily every night instead of thinking about all the things I wanted.
Waking up with her tangled hair everywhere so I could tease her about it.
End the day with my head in her lap on the couch, feel her hands over my arms and shoulders.
Watch her eat all the sugary crap that I would never touch, but I’d keep on hand, just because she loved it.
That was what I’d missed all those years ago. It wasn’t the flashy moments that built a relationship. Maybe if I’d looked at love—the construction of a relationship—like a truss system, I would’ve seen just how perfectly balanced she and I were. There was equilibrium when I was with Adaline. A counterpart that made me feel like I could hold any weight and carry any load.
From where I was standing, I still wasn’t entirely sure what I could do about it. If I pursued her in the way I wanted, I’d put her in the exact same position that Nick had her in for so many years. Carrying extra weight so that I could have the best of both worlds.
The best way I could take care of Adaline right now was to bear the brunt of missing her.
With a loaded sigh, I shoved the doors open and felt the blast of heat.
The air was so humid, so thick, that sweat beaded along my back as soon as I cleared the building.
I clicked the unlock button on my key fob, and as I slid into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed. My sister Isabel.
Isabel: You have lost your mind.
Me: Be more specific.
Isabel: You bought me a BUILDING for my birthday. What is WRONG WITH YOU?
Me: You’re welcome. Add it to the gym empire you and Aiden have. He told me it’s a fixer-upper, so I wouldn’t get too excited.
Me: You are turning forty. Mom reminded me ten times so I wouldn’t forget.
Isabel: Yeah, she’s making a whole thing of it. I hate parties. And I really hate parties when everyone is staring at me.
Me: You could always skip it. What are they going to do? Kick you out of the family?
Isabel: If they haven’t kicked you out yet for how little you come home, then I think I’m safe.
Me: Funny.
I wasn’t smiling, though. None of them knew why I didn’t come home for my normal pre-training camp visit. Mom and Dad came for five days at the end of March before Dad got busy with the draft. Iz and her husband, Aiden, were able to squeeze in a long weekend in April with their two youngest girls—Violet and Willa.
Claire and her husband, Bauer, came in May, their two boys and I crafting epic sandcastles at the beach.
Molly hadn’t been able to make it and neither had Lia. Their husbands traveled so much, so I understood.
And if any of them had wanted to ask why I didn’t come home, they didn’t. This was the closest anyone had come, and it didn’t surprise me at all that Isabel was the one calling me to the carpet on my shit.
Isabel: We miss you. Even if you buy obnoxious presents.
Isabel: But I guess if I made forty million dollars a year, I’d spoil my favorite sister too.