The Friend Zone

by Kristen Callihan

  But I know it’s a lie.

  Thirty-Three

  Gray

  Fourth quarter, third-and-ten with a minute on the clock, and my blood is pumping. There is a sharp, metallic scent in my nose. The crowded stadium buzzes around me, a dull hum at this point compared to the ringing in my ears. Every inch of me hurts, my bones aching, my joints throbbing. I’ve a gash on my knee that stings. Sweat runs into my eyes. And I wouldn’t change it. My entire body is alive and working to accomplish one thing: win this fucking game. One touchdown and we have it.

  I head back to the huddle, and a defensive lineman shoulder-checks me as he passes, taking the moment to taunt, “Gonna bring you down, pussy boy.”

  “I do love pussy,” I say, facing him while walking backward, my arms wide. “But yours smells a little off. Better get that checked.”

  Mr. No Humor points at me. “You’re going down.”

  “Gotta catch me first. So far you’ve been tasting my cleats.” At that I jog off and join my guys, ignoring whatever else the dumbass has to say.

  “Please tell me I get to smoke Ninety-Two’s ass,” I say to Cal as we gather at the forty.

  Behind the grill of his face-mask, Cal grins wide. “Funny you should say that, Grayson. Time to become the Gray Ghost.”

  Gray Ghost. Because stopping me is as impossible as catching a ghost. Which is both apt and awesome. “Gray Ghost it is then, Frost,” I tell Cal, giving him a nickname, as well. Because damn if he didn’t earn one today.

  He simply nods. “Let’s put this game to bed, boys.”

  Cal gives us the play, and I smile with teeth. For me, it’s a simple hook play, with a lot of intricate subterfuge on my teammates’ part to throw the defense off the scent. My body hums with anticipation.

  At the line Mr. No Humor is glaring. “You ready for me, Blondie?”

  I put my toe on the line, hunkering down low enough to let him think that I’ll charge him at the snap. “Now, I’m gonna block your ass,” I tell him nice and conversational-like. “But that don’t mean I want your pussy, ’kay?”

  The dumb ones fall the hardest. It’s almost too easy. He practically vibrates with fury. “Gonna run right over your pretty face.”

  I blow him a kiss, pretending I’m paying attention to him, when really I’m breathing hard and deep, drawing in more oxygen to enrich my blood, moving my weight to the balls of my feet so I can take off. My body draws tight, like a crossbow about to be launched.

  Cal’s voice rings out. “Hut!”

  The world explodes into motion. Thinking I’m going to block, the lineman steps left, roaring with aggression. I step right. He blows right past me as I sprint down the open lane my guys have made for me. Blood rushes through my veins; everything is muffled grunts, bodies smashing into each other, and my pounding feet. Ten yards out, I cut right, pivot, body angled toward Cal, and the ball sails into my waiting hands.

  That’s all I need. Another burst of energy surges. Spinning, I sprint down the field, a lineman on my ass. In my periphery, a safety is barreling toward me. They don’t know what I know. Now it’s all about physics. Velocity, mass, momentum.

  The lineman hooks his arms around me, intent on dragging me to the ground. But I’m bigger, stronger. Holding the ball low and tight, I hunker down, dropping my center of gravity. I drag him with me, the bulk of his body colliding into mine actually increasing my momentum. And when the safety hits us, he’s useless because he’s coming at the combined weight of me and the lineman. It’s too much mass for a guy his size to handle.

  Their dead weight works against them, dragging them down my moving body. I break free. One, two, three tip-toe steps along the edge of the sideline, then I’m off again, maximum velocity toward the end zone. Footsteps pound behind me. Hot breath on my neck.

  Fuck that noise. I run full out. My lungs burn, my muscles scream, but I don’t stop. Another safety comes at me from the left.

  Still running, I reach back and strong-arm him, my hand at his collar. We’re barreling down the field, almost at the end zone. He falls in front of me, and I leap, my foot clipping his helmet.

  I’m tumbling, ball clenched tight, my body flipping head over ass. Don’t lose sight of that little orange cone, though. It’s right there. Just get the ball over.

  With a grunt, I twist, fall toward it, body extended and arm outstretched, my hand holding on tight to the ball. Bodies slam into mine with explosions of pain and deep grunts.

  We crash into the turf with bone-shaking force. I see stars. But I’ve done it. Touchdown. Whistles blow, refs’ arms in the air. And the roar of the crowd rushes over the field.

  * * *

  Winning a huge game is like nothing on earth. The noise of the crowd is deafening. A roar that vibrates my bones and rings in my ears. Confetti flies, and the energy of eighty-thousand shouting spectators surges across the field on a wave that gives me a hard-on. I’m so high on it that I’m literally bouncing, screaming and whooping as I go.

  My team is bouncing with me. Hard slaps of victory hit my back, my pads, my head. I thrust my fist toward the sky. We fucking did it. We fucking won. We’re going to the National Championship. My skin prickles with pride.

  Pandemonium is the name of the game now. I barely remember giving interviews. I know I said the standard lines, of being grateful for my team, of being happy to win, and the need to buckle down for the championship game. It’s all true, but my attention is diverted.

  Around me, my teammates, coaches, and staff are celebrating. Confetti sticks to my hair, a big chunk of it tickling my neck where it’s stuck under my collar. I move past friends and well-wishers. Ivy. Where is Ivy? I need to see her like I need my next breath.

  Through the sea of faces, I spy Drew making his way toward me. I let out another whoop and run to him. “Fucking hell, man,” I shout happily when I reach him. “We did it! Can you believe it?” I give him a bear hug, hauling him off his feet.

  Drew chokes out a laugh, and I let him go so he can breathe. His smile is wide, but oddly forced. “You guys rocked, Gray-Gray.”

  He sounds off. Shit, is he upset he didn’t get to play? I feel like an ass. Running my hand through my damp hair, I try to think of something to say, that he’ll soon be playing again. His leg will heal. But Drew steps in close, his expression suddenly tense. “Gray… Shit. Ivy’s been taken to back to the hotel.”

  Sharp pricks of dread stab my face as my body goes rock hard. “What? Taken? What does that mean?”

  People bump into us. The dark shape of a TV camera is in my periphery. But I focus on Drew.

  He leans close. “Ivy had a miscarriage. I’m so sorry, man.”

  It comes at me like a hard hit, shattering something deep in my chest. I can’t make myself move. A metallic taste fills my mouth, the ground beneath me tilting. “Is she okay?” Please God. All the blood seems to be draining from my head down to my toes.

  “Rakin is with her.”

  Rakin is one of our team physicians. I expel a breath, feeling a little better, then pin Drew with a look. “When?”

  Drew just shakes his head. “Sometime during the game.”

  I explode. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me sooner?”

  “You were playing—” His fist pushes against my chest when I charge him. “And I didn’t know until five minutes ago. Anna just texted me.”

  “Aw, yeah,” shouts a voice behind me. A second later, Rolondo slams into us, sending my shoulder pads into my jaw. “That’s what I’m talking about! Whoo!” His grin fades as he looks at me and Drew. “What’s going on?”

  Drew gives a tight shake of his head. “Ivy.”

  That’s all he says, but it’s enough. Fear surges once more. I sway, dizzy and sick to my stomach. We’re surrounded now, reporters moving in. Maybe they smell blood in the water, or maybe they just want a sound bite.

  Rolondo puts his hand on my shoulder. “Go to your girl. We got this.” He turns, cutting the crowd off from me. “Who’s got a q
uestion?”

  I take off running, cutting through the crowd like a hot blade. My head is pounding by the time I reach the locker room. My gear falls where I toss it. I’m hauling up my jeans when my dad walks in. I’ve managed to avoid him all day, and now he shows.

  Time and hard living have left my dad wrinkled and paunchy. I don’t really look anything like him. He’s wiry and dark-haired, his frame a good four inches shorter than mine. I look a lot like my mom—something I know pisses him off. The only feature we share is the color of our eyes. Doesn’t matter that he’s responsible for giving me life; every time we’re in the same room, I instantly want out.

  “Gray—”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I grind out, jamming on my sneakers. My fingers shake as I try to tie them.

  Dad takes a hard step forward, his face red. “You’re going to talk to me, goddammit.”

  “No,” I snap. “I’m really not.”

  “Listen up, young man—”

  “My girl needs me.” I head past him.

  He grabs my arm. “You’re walking out to see a piece of—”

  I wrench free. “She is the woman I love. So show her some respect. She’s pregnant.” An ugly, raw sound breaks free. “Or was. She lost it. While I was on that field—”

  Cursing, I turn away, head for the door. It takes me a second to see that my dad is following me. “I’ll drive you,” he says grimly.

  “I don’t need you to drive.” But it hits me that I don’t have a ride.

  Something my dad knows, as well. Even so, he can’t help but get a dig in. “Don’t give a shit what you think you need, son. I’m doing it.” He sighs, as he holds the exit door open. “I’m going to see that you get to your girl safely. Now let’s go.”

  Thirty-Four

  Gray

  Stuck in the passenger seat of Dad’s cushy rental sedan, I can barely sit still. My knee bounces, and I’m rocking back and forth as if the motion can somehow make the damn car go faster. I should stop, but I can’t. This traffic to get clear of the Super Dome is killing me. Not being with Ivy is killing me. Is she okay?

  In my haste, I’d left my phone behind. I’m cursing myself now.

  Pressing my fingers against my aching eyes, I try to focus on breathing. I need to calm before I totally lose it and end up kicking a hole through the floorboards.

  “So it’s true?” My father’s gravelly voice cuts through the silence. “You’re with Sean Mackenzie’s oldest?”

  “Ivy,” I croak out. “Yeah.” I don’t ask how he knows. Gossip is a disease in football.

  “Nice kid.”

  I glance at him, incredulous. But then shake my head. Of course Dad has met Ivy. She seems to know everyone in professional sports. He catches my look and shrugs. “Haven’t seen her since she was a teenager. But she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Pretty too, in a subtle way.”

  I snort and grind my clenched fist against my mouth.

  “And you love her?”

  “I want to marry her.” Not that he needs to know. But it feels good to say. Because nothing will change that truth.

  Finally, traffic breaks, and he turns the car onto the main road. For some reason, I find myself looking at his hands. Those big hands that always felt like a hammer crashing into my skull when he’d cuff my head for some minor infraction. They look old now, the knuckles swollen, the skin spotted with age. A sick lurch goes through me.

  I lean back, stare out the windows.

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve been home,” Dad says in a low voice.

  “I am home,” I say. When he doesn’t answer me, I glare at him. “Did you really think I’d ever come back?”

  His profile is like granite. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  My laugh is bitter and short. “Here’s a tip. You want your child to visit? You don’t fucking beat his ass when he’s a defenseless kid. You don’t let his older fuckhead brothers beat his ass.” I’m yelling now, my voice ringing in the space between us. “And you don’t fucking leave him alone to take care of his dying mother.”

  Dad had been stoic until the mention of my mom. But his gaze slices to mine. Red flushes over his weathered cheeks. “First off, I never beat you. I pushed you to excel.” At my ripe curse, he glares. “And look at you now. The best in your position. Hell if you won’t be the number-one pick. That discipline helped forge you into a champion.”

  “I excelled due to innate talent and hard work. Not because you and Jonas and Leif whaled on me when I did something wrong.”

  His lips press together. For a long moment, he doesn’t say a word. Which is fine by me.

  “I didn’t know how bad they’d gotten,” he says finally, quietly. “I was just trying to do right by you. Make you tough.”

  “Well, brilliant. Only don’t expect me to care.” I lean my head against the window. Will this ride ever end? My chest is so tight it hurts to breathe. I refuse to think about Ivy right now. Not in this car.

  Again, my dad speaks. “I shouldn’t have left you to deal with Liv.”

  Grinding my teeth to keep from shouting, I force a calm tone. “I didn’t ‘deal’ with Mom. I was there for her. I wanted to be. I just didn’t want to be the only one to do it.” Something sticks in my throat, and I struggle to clear it. “I needed help. She needed her whole family, Dad.”

  He nods, concentrating on the road. “I know. I was wrong.” His knuckles turn white. “I couldn’t… I wasn’t strong enough. But you were. You’re the best of us, Gray.”

  His words sit like a stone on my chest. I say nothing.

  “I’m proud of you, son.”

  “Because I win games.” It’s not even a question.

  “No. I’m proud of my son. Of the man you’ve become.” He turns a corner and we’re pulling into the hotel’s drive. Dad eased the car into a spot before looking at me. “And I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”

  My throat convulses, and I can barely nod. Ivy is in a room upstairs. Likely devastated. I am too, yet my legs are like lead. I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle.

  “Gray,” Dad says as I move to get out. His blue eyes, the exact color of mine, are rimmed in red. “I’ll try to do better.”

  I don’t really know what to say. That he cares ought to make me feel better. But I’m numb now. So I answer the only way I can. “Okay. Bye.”

  And then my thoughts turn to the person I love more than anything on earth.

  * * *

  My fingers are ice as I let myself into Ivy’s room. I just want to get to her, but I’m a wreck, shaking and nauseous. My heart is thumping so hard, my breath so short, I’m afraid I might topple.

  As soon as I enter, Mackenzie and Dr. Rakin stand and face me.

  “Where is she?” I get out.

  “Resting in the bedroom,” Dr. Rakin says in a low voice. “I gave her some acetaminophen for the pain.”

  “How is she?” God, just let her be okay.

  “As well as can be expected, Grayson,” Dr. Rakin says. “Sporadic miscarriages during early pregnancy are not uncommon, and Ivy is young and healthy.” Words I want to hear, but I know there’s a huge difference between physically fine and mentally.

  “Shouldn’t she be in the hospital?” I press.

  He doesn’t meet my eyes. “There really isn’t anything they can do for her.”

  It’s a punch to my heart to hear that. But I nod.

  “Just keep a look out for a fever or undue bleeding. I’ve said this to Miss Mackenzie, as well.”

  “Right.” Stuffing my shaking hands as hard down into my jeans pockets as they’ll go, I make myself ask the question I fear most. “Is it… Was it because—?” My throat closes in on me as my vision blurs. I blink rapidly. “We had sex. Today. And—” Shit. I’m going to lose it. Ivy’s dad is right here. He must fucking hate me. I hate me.

  But Rakin shakes his head, his expression almost pitying. “No, son. Put that out of your mind. When a pregnancy ab
orts like this it’s usually due to a chromosomal abnormality in the fetus.”

  Logically I know this. But I can’t stop myself from thinking of how I slammed into Ivy. Taking her hard and fast, like a rutting bastard. My eye burn hot, prickling. I draw in a shaking breath. “Okay. Right.” I don’t know where to look. “Thanks. For being there for her.”

  “Not a problem,” Dr. Rakin answers. “I heard about the win. Excellent job, Gray.”

  I could give a shit about the win right now. Ivy is in the other room. Waiting. I’m fucking weak-kneed and ready to bawl. The sense of loss guts me. I don’t know what to do with that emotion now, or how to even handle it. Rakin is saying something about Ivy seeing her OB when she gets home. I nod, but my gaze turns to Mackenzie. He’s been silent this whole time.

  He’s looking at me now, those thick black brows of his slanting over his eyes. I want to apologize to him. But he speaks first. “I’m sorry, son.” He comes closer to me, and I suck in a sharp breath through my nostrils. His big hand lands on my shoulder. “I really am.”

  “Yeah,” I croak. “Me too.”

  I turn my attention to the closed bedroom door, and move toward it but stop and look at Mackenzie. “I know you’re Ivy’s father, but don’t ever keep something like this from me again.”

  He knows I mean it. I let him see the rage and fear I felt when I’d learned Ivy was hurting and I wasn’t there for her.

  Mackenzie gives me a tight nod. “Never again.”

  Thirty-Five

  Gray

  Opening the door is hard. I don’t want her to see me cry. I need to be strong for her. Yet my throat is working like a bellows, opening and closing. I take another breath and go inside.

  She’s in the center of the bed, curled up against the pillows, and wearing one of my team shirts. She looks fragile, defeated, her brown eyes huge in the oval of her pale face. My heart bleeds for her, a physical ache that has me leaning against the doorframe.