Game All Night

by Helms, Lauren

  “I kicked you out because I wanted to be alone. The only way to make you leave was to be a bitch,” she says, licking icing off her finger and I fight back a moan of a different origin.

  “You admit it, you were being a bitch.” And wrong thing to say.

  Her eyes narrow at me now. “What I’m saying is I needed to be alone and couldn’t take one more person asking me if I was fucking okay. Drop it, all right?” she snaps.

  Now, I know I was coming here to apologize, but fuck me, I can’t handle this nastiness.

  “Do you hear yourself right now?” I ask.

  “Yeah, let me guess, I’m being a bitch, right?”

  “I don’t understand why you are being so mean. To me. I’m here to be your support and you’re treating me like shit.”

  “Well sorry,” she drawls out the word, “that I hurt your feelings.”

  I close the box of rolls, shove them to the side and stand.

  “I’m confused, we are in this together —” I start but she cuts me off.

  “No, we aren’t. This happened to me, I’m the one who was pregnant. I’m the one who had the surgery. I’m the one recovering. Not you. Not us. Me!” she shouts.

  “Not us? Ruby, we were having a baby. It was my baby too.”

  “It might have been yours. We didn’t know for sure, and now we will never know.” She says this so nonchalantly.

  “Really? I told you, I didn’t care whose baby it was, I was going to be there for you and it no matter what. So, I’d already committed to being a dad.”

  She has the audacity to roll her eyes.

  “You are being so fucking selfish right now, Ruby.” She snaps her head toward me and opens her mouth to say something, but I keep talking. “Not once have you stopped to think about how this might be affecting me. That I was ready to be a dad. That I was ready to have a baby with you. Then, in a matter of hours, my girlfriend was in an emergency surgery because the baby I thought we were having didn’t have a shot and if it wasn’t removed, you were at risk.

  “That’s scary shit, Ruby. You didn’t talk to me about how you were feeling. You shut down. You wouldn’t talk to me. We’ve always been able to talk to each other. Always. I read the vibe you were throwing out real fast and tried to give you space, to not hover. But it wasn’t enough.

  “And now, instead of getting through this together, you’re pushing me away. You’re being hurtful and selfish. We are a team, Ruby.” I heave, I’m out of breath and I’m fired up.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be a team anymore.” Her tone is ice-cold.

  “What?”

  “I want to break up. We’re over,” she says with complete confidence, but I call bullshit. I shove my hands in my pockets to not give away the shake in my hands.

  “No.” I throw the same tone back at her.

  “What do you mean, no?” Her voice wavers then.

  “I mean, no. I don’t accept that.”

  “That’s not how it works, when someone breaks up with you, it’s done. Over with. Final,” she argues.

  “Not this time. I’m not done with us, and I won’t give up on us,” I reply.

  Struck speechless, she just looks at me.

  “I’ll give you the space you so desperately want, Rubes. I don’t think it’s what you truly need. I’ll give it to you though. But we aren’t done, not even close. So, work through whatever,” I make a circular motion with my hand in her direction, “this is on your own, or give me a call. But we’re not done.”

  I’ve apparently rendered her mute, as nothing comes out of her mouth when I turn and leave her still sitting there on the couch. I close the apartment door just as host Drew Carey announces the contestant has won the grand prize.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ruby

  Sunday morning rolls around and I’m pretty much tired of my room. Of this apartment. I get to go back to work on Monday, thank god. I’m still in bed and it’s past ten in the morning. Here’s the thing though, I could have left this freaking apartment any time I wanted. I could have taken a walk. I probably could have picked up my comic books myself today if Bernie hadn’t already brought them to me.

  But I didn’t. No, I chose to just stay in bed, or on the couch for the past four days. Just like now, I want to scream about the fact that I’m still in bed, yet I refuse to get out of it.

  I’m still reeling from my fight with Link. I’d call it my breakup with Link, but he’d argue that it wasn’t a breakup. The ass. Who doesn’t accept a breakup?

  Idiot.

  I haven’t so much as talked to the girls about anything either. I doubt Link has mentioned the fight, so I guess that’s the good thing, no inquisition from the friend patrol. That’s fine with me. I haven’t felt like talking about much of anything with anyone, so I welcome the silence in the girl talk department.

  I wallow a bit longer before I pull myself out of bed. I’m finally getting my appetite back, so logically, it’s time to forage in the kitchen. I tie my dirty, ratty hair up in a messy bun, and head out there. I get halfway through the living room before I realize that there are three, rather pissed-off looking ladies scattered around the living room, all glaring at me.

  I return a look of disdain right back and continue to the kitchen.

  “You tried to break up with Link?” Morgan asks. She’s the sweet, innocent one of the group but she’s also overly emotional. She sounds more sad than mad.

  “Yeah, like two days ago. You’re just now bringing it up?” I mutter.

  “So, you did try to break up with him?” she asks again.

  “The key word is tried. He didn’t accept it,” I mutter, pulling out a pack of cherry Pop-Tarts and shoving them in the toaster.

  “Good for him. Glad only one of you is being an idiot right now,” Gia replies.

  “Excuse me?” I shift so I’m staring out into the living room through the cut-out in the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. I stare her down, I’m not in the mood for her attitude.

  “You heard me.” Gia shrugs. Clearly, she’s the bitchy one today.

  “What she means to say is that we are glad he didn’t accept it. You two are made for each other.” This comes from Bernie. Clearly, she’s trying to play the level-headed card today.

  I ignore them all and finish getting my food. After pouring a glass of milk and snagging my breakfast from the toaster, I walk out to the table and sit down. I act like they aren’t there and dunk a Pop-Tart into my milk.

  “Rube, what’s going on with you?” Morgan asks carefully.

  I take my time swallowing. Then wipe my napkin across my lips. “What do you mean?” I ask, not looking at them.

  “We are really worried about you. What you went through, it’s a big deal. And you’re showing, like, no emotion. You won’t even talk to us, or anyone about it,” Bernie clarifies.

  “Basically, you’re being a bitch,” Gia snaps, then schools her anger when she adds, “to everyone, especially Link, and that’s not who you are.”

  You would think her calling me a bitch would have the same effect on me as when Link did it. But it doesn’t. Which honestly, makes it clear I’m in the wrong. But I’m holding on tightly to the ball of fury that is inside of me and I’m not ready to let it go.

  I chuckle. “So, is this an intervention?”

  “Unbelievable,” Gia grumbles.

  “Ruby, we are worried about you. All of us, talk to us,” Morgan pleads, standing up from the couch and walking over to the table. She sits down next to me. She looks like she’s ready to cry.

  I sigh, because I hate it when this girl cries. She’s like Bambi, no one wants to see her upset.

  “Mo, chill out. I’m —”

  “Fine, yeah, we know, that’s all you give us,” she cuts me off.

  I just look at her. Snappy-Morgan is even less fun than crying-Morgan.

  “Well, it’s the truth.” I shrug.

  “No, it’s not, and you know it,” Gia says.


  “Ruby,” I look over as Bernie addresses me. “Please just talk to us when you are ready. And if you don’t want to talk to us, or Link, talk to someone. Please.” She’s nearly begging me.

  “You guys —” I start.

  “No, don’t spout bullshit. We are here for you, always, we love you. We also are not going to sit here and watch you be mean to everyone while you lie to not only us but also to yourself. You’re not okay, work your shit out. Let us know how we can help,” Gia says.

  “My god you guys, it’s been four days.” I’m starting to get tired of this conversation.

  “Exactly. If you were crying, or mopey, or showing any kind of emotion, we wouldn’t be worried. But you’re not,” Bernie replies.

  “So, y’all would rather me be a blubbering mess than okay with what happened?” I ask, pushing up out of the chair, clearing my trash and cup.

  “You lost a baby, Ruby,” Morgan whispers. And it’s the first time any of them have spoken those words.

  I stop, turn back to her and tell her one last time, “I know, I was there. I’m fine. So, just drop this.” I make it a point to look at all three of them before turning back around and walk into the kitchen. I drop my cup in the sink and grind my teeth as I walk past them back into my room.

  Why can’t they all accept that I’m fine?

  Why does everyone think I should be upset?

  It’s like they expect me to just cry all day long and talk about how sad I am.

  I wasn’t ready to be a mom. I had only been pregnant for eight weeks and four days.

  I wasn’t ready.

  Link wasn’t really prepared to take on a family. He’s lying if he says he was. He wasn’t ready.

  My body wasn’t ready to grow a baby, so it failed. Maybe my body fucked things up before I could by being an unprepared, unmarried, mother.

  The tears start to fall for the first time as I realize that I’m not fine at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Link

  I’m living the famous quote What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I know it’s been around for a while, but the mantra in my head is always the Kanye West version, from his song, “Stronger”. Which makes it even more badass.

  Truth is, Ruby’s attempted breakup was more than a week ago. And while it’s nearly killing me, it truly is making me stronger. Superman has nothing on me. I haven’t seen her since I walked out of her apartment, giving her the space she desperately wanted. I haven’t talked to her either. Not for the lack of trying, of course. I’ve talked at her plenty of times, she just isn’t talking back.

  I text her every morning. I call her every night and leave her a message.

  She never replies, she never answers. And I have no idea if she listens to my messages.

  I do it all anyway. Every day.

  Don’t call me a hopeless romantic. There nothing hopeless about it. This is me showing my girl that I’m here for her, when she’s ready to let me back in.

  Dex thinks what I’m doing is admirable, but I can see it in his expression that he’s slightly worried about me. Simon thinks I’m crazy. He doesn’t think I’m going to know when it’s time to admit defeat. He doesn’t think I’m going to accept the big, black Game Over screen when it tells me I should throw in the towel.

  I’ll know when it’s time, but it’s not now. I can feel it in my bones — in my soul —that Ruby and I aren’t done. She’s going through something, something she doesn’t want me around for. While it pains me to let her go down the road alone, I’m doing it because that’s what she thinks she needs. I’m going to have the patience to give her the space she needs to figure things out.

  And I’ll try like hell to not trip over my own feet, rushing to her side, when she finally needs my help. If she needs my help. Because let’s face it, she might decide she doesn’t. I have to prepare myself for worst case scenario. But, I’m not dwelling on that.

  No, what I’m doing is waiting. It’s now Friday night and I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment by myself. I’m waiting for an acceptable time that I can pass out for the night and not have to face any possible shit from the guys for it. Granted, they aren’t here, so the only way they would know is if they texted me. They’re out of town at a tournament, and it’s not unlike them to text about the game. Normally I would be with them.

  I opted earlier this week to cancel my hotel and flight. When Morgan told me that Ruby was not planning on making the trip due to taking too much time off already, I canceled my plans. Morgan was relieved, I could tell even though she didn’t say it out loud. She and Gia were both traveling with the team. The idea of leaving Ruby alone in Chicago gives me anxiety.

  Morgan said she was going to mention it to Ruby, just so she knew she wasn’t alone. I didn’t ask how that conversation went.

  But it’s past ten and I’m restless. I’ve thrown myself into work this past week. And now, I’m binge watching a Netflix Original about magic. I’ve always found magic — you know, the illusion and trickery kind — interesting. The show kept my attention for about two episodes, now I’m tuning it out. I’m following the tournament stream on my phone, and Team Nomad is kicking butt, like always.

  So, when the text alert shows up on my phone, I stare at it for more than a few seconds trying to decide what to think.

  Ruby: Yoooouuuuuu.

  Ruby: I know you are there, you live in your phone.

  Is she drunk?

  Me: Um, I’m here.

  There is no reply for more than twenty minutes. I’m getting concerned because those two texts didn’t sound normal. If she is drunk, hopefully she’s at home. But then, I don’t love the idea of her getting that trashed alone.

  Me: Hey, where’d you go?

  Finally, the little dots show up.

  Ruby: I meant what I said when I broke up with you.

  I roll my eyes. When she finally reached out, I was hoping it wouldn’t be about breaking up.

  Me: Yeah? And what was that?

  Ruby: THAT!

  Me: You’re not making any sense, Rubes.

  Ruby: Don’t call me that. Rubes. You’re the only one who calls me thattt.

  Ruby: Okay, Mom … don’t be so worried. I’m a big girl.

  Okay, she’s clearly drunk. That last text makes no sense whatsoever.

  Me: What are you doing right now?

  Another five minutes go by with no reply. At this point I’m pacing. I stop when my phone dings in my hand.

  Ruby: Aren’t you supposed to ask what I’m wearing?

  I snort, because it’s such a Ruby comment, but she’s all over the place with these texts.

  Me: Maybe after you tell me what you’re doing.

  Ruby: None of your business. You’re not my boyfriend anymore.

  That hurts, but I brush it off. Well, I try to.

  The little dots populate again, so I wait for her reply. They stick around for several minutes then disappear. I’m going to give her some space right now. The last thing I want is to get into a text fight. It’s really easy to hide behind a screen, typing things that are easier to text than to say.

  Thirty minutes later, I decide there is no use in staying up, staring at my phone for more mean, possibly drunk Ruby texts. So, I head to my room and strip down to my boxer briefs, then I collapse into bed. I’m keyed up, so I attempt some more TV. I opt for one of those late-night shows staring a Jimmy as a host.

  My phone has other ideas when it starts to ring. I snag it up. While I’m disappointed as I read the name on the screen, I’m also concerned.

  “Hey Morgan, what’s up?”

  “Hi Link, are you busy?”

  “Nope. What can I do for you?” Still wondering why she’s calling me.

  “Well, it’s about Ruby. She’s drunk. Like really drunk. And she’s out at a club, with some girls from work, who … well, they party too much, and end up doing stupid things. They somehow talked Ruby into going out with them, and um, I was hoping you can go an
d get her.”

  I kick the covers off and start to move to the end of my bed.

  “Yeah, of course,” I tell her.

  I hear her sigh of relief. “She’s probably going to be really pissed when you show up, but I need her safe.”

  “Yeah, not a prob. This is what I’m here for,” I tell her as I find my recently discarded jeans and pull them back on.

  “How do you know she’s out? Oh, and I’ll need to know where she is,” I tell her.

  “She’s at Club Red, on Grand Ave and she called me. She was texting me, and her texts seemed almost erratic and some didn’t even make sense, like they were part of a different conversation.”

  Okay, so the mom text now makes sense, it was probably meant for Morgan. Now I wonder what texts Morgan got and if any of those were meant for me.

  “So, I called her,” Morgan continues, “and it was so loud. Then she told me she was out with Jess and Kate. It totally surprised me because she can’t stand those two.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about them,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, so she’s drunk and I don’t want her to do anything she will regret in the morning.”

  That statement stops me in my tracks. Morgan, realizing what she said scrambles, “No, not that, just drinking way too much. I don’t want her to drink anymore.” But it’s too late. The thought is already planted in my mind and now I’m mad.

  “I’m leaving now, I’ll text you when I find her.” I do a quick pat-down to make sure I’m completely dressed. Wallet and shoes, check. Keys, check. Phone in my hand.

  “Thank you so much, Link,” she says.

  “Yup,” I reply, and I hang up.

  My drive to Club Red feels entirely too long, even though it takes exactly the amount of time it should have taken to get there. Whatever. I park in a nearby parking garage. I don’t care about the twenty-dollar fee. It’s annoying, but it would have taken too long to wait for a Lyft or Uber. Time wasn’t on my side. A hundred different scenarios of what could be happening go through my head in the handful of minutes it takes me to get to her.