slept most of the day away, hung-over from a
really rough night.
I cringed a little thinking
about a pissed off Reed doing shots at some bar in Tucson, cursing my name. I
knew I had driven him to it, and I knew what he was like when he was drunk. The
fact that he had slept an entire day away in recovery led me to believe he’d
probably had a lot to drink, and that made me nervous. His texts were
very formal, almost as if he was apologizing for missing some tutoring
appointment we’d had. And they were without any mention of love or X or O. I
was probably reading into things, but with the vague way I’d left things with
him in front of my parents’ house, I couldn’t block my imagination from pairing
him with some strange woman.
I knew it was late, nearly 1
a.m. But I took a chance and sent him a text back.
Sorry, I was upstairs working on
a project all night. It was a mess and it’s worth most of our grade. I miss
you.
I put that last bit in hoping
he’d bite, and when my phone rang seconds later, my eyes teared up again, this
time with relief. I answered almost immediately.
“You’re awake!” I was a little
too excited.
“Yeah, Noles. I’m awake,” Reed’s
tone was less happy to hear me. We both sat there listening to silence for more
than a few seconds when finally he spoke, first letting out a huge sigh that
put my mind on edge. “Nolan, I did something stupid.”
Oh my god. This is the second
time my body went into shock in less than two weeks. I shut my eyes tightly,
trying to battle the images of Reed and some girl he met at the bar last night
rolling around with one another. It was impossible, though, since in the
nanoseconds after he uttered that single sentence I had already visualized his
hands touching someone else’s face, his lips biting at some stranger’s shoulder
and his bare chest pressed up against hers, whoever she was—hoping
she wasn’t Dylan. Unable to speak, I let my mouth fall open and somehow
squeaked out a pained “Oh.”
“Shit, no,” Reed yelled into the
phone, almost angry and frustrated. “God, Nolan, no! Not that…shit. I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean anything that you’re thinking. I swear…I would never.
Ever!”
I was still frozen. I was having
a hard time bringing my mind back from the dark place it was. I was able to
muster an “Okay,” just so he could continue.
“Noles, it’s the draft. I made a
verbal commitment to work with Dylan and her dad,” he waited a minute, letting
me take this much in.
“Can you even do that, Reed?” I
was new to a lot of this draft business, but I was pretty sure committing to an
agent took away Reed’s amateur status.
He just let out another huge
sigh. “Noles, I fucked up. Thankfully the Nichols are family friends, and they
are keeping a tight lid on everything.”
“How did you get to this?” I
asked, a little taken aback from his instant decision and the fact that he did
something he knew better than to do.
“I was fucking drunk, Nolan,” he
exasperated. “I was so pissed after I dropped you off. I know, I know. But I
haven’t done anything like that in a really long time, so spare me the lecture,
okay?”
He sounded pissed, and I was
still trying to sort through everything in my mind, so I just kept an even
tone. “I’m not lecturing, Reed. Just trying to understand what this all means,”
I said.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he
continued. “I was drinking with Trig and got worked up about not being able to
make a decision, not understanding our fight and then everything just got all
crossed and messed up. I called Brent, and Dylan answered the line. She put me
on speaker, and then the next thing I know I was making a verbal commitment to
work with them. They told me some shit about me missing out on important
opportunities, tying their hands when every other quarterback looking at
the market was already working with someone. It was all a little fuzzy, but
Dylan brought over a file with
really rough night.
I cringed a little thinking
about a pissed off Reed doing shots at some bar in Tucson, cursing my name. I
knew I had driven him to it, and I knew what he was like when he was drunk. The
fact that he had slept an entire day away in recovery led me to believe he’d
probably had a lot to drink, and that made me nervous. His texts were
very formal, almost as if he was apologizing for missing some tutoring
appointment we’d had. And they were without any mention of love or X or O. I
was probably reading into things, but with the vague way I’d left things with
him in front of my parents’ house, I couldn’t block my imagination from pairing
him with some strange woman.
I knew it was late, nearly 1
a.m. But I took a chance and sent him a text back.
Sorry, I was upstairs working on
a project all night. It was a mess and it’s worth most of our grade. I miss
you.
I put that last bit in hoping
he’d bite, and when my phone rang seconds later, my eyes teared up again, this
time with relief. I answered almost immediately.
“You’re awake!” I was a little
too excited.
“Yeah, Noles. I’m awake,” Reed’s
tone was less happy to hear me. We both sat there listening to silence for more
than a few seconds when finally he spoke, first letting out a huge sigh that
put my mind on edge. “Nolan, I did something stupid.”
Oh my god. This is the second
time my body went into shock in less than two weeks. I shut my eyes tightly,
trying to battle the images of Reed and some girl he met at the bar last night
rolling around with one another. It was impossible, though, since in the
nanoseconds after he uttered that single sentence I had already visualized his
hands touching someone else’s face, his lips biting at some stranger’s shoulder
and his bare chest pressed up against hers, whoever she was—hoping
she wasn’t Dylan. Unable to speak, I let my mouth fall open and somehow
squeaked out a pained “Oh.”
“Shit, no,” Reed yelled into the
phone, almost angry and frustrated. “God, Nolan, no! Not that…shit. I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean anything that you’re thinking. I swear…I would never.
Ever!”
I was still frozen. I was having
a hard time bringing my mind back from the dark place it was. I was able to
muster an “Okay,” just so he could continue.
“Noles, it’s the draft. I made a
verbal commitment to work with Dylan and her dad,” he waited a minute, letting
me take this much in.
“Can you even do that, Reed?” I
was new to a lot of this draft business, but I was pretty sure committing to an
agent took away Reed’s amateur status.
He just let out another huge
sigh. “Noles, I fucked up. Thankfully the Nichols are family friends, and they
are keeping a tight lid on everything.”
“How did you get to this?” I
asked, a little taken aback from his instant decision and the fact that he did
something he knew better than to do.
“I was fucking drunk, Nolan,” he
exasperated. “I was so pissed after I dropped you off. I know, I know. But I
haven’t done anything like that in a really long time, so spare me the lecture,
okay?”
He sounded pissed, and I was
still trying to sort through everything in my mind, so I just kept an even
tone. “I’m not lecturing, Reed. Just trying to understand what this all means,”
I said.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he
continued. “I was drinking with Trig and got worked up about not being able to
make a decision, not understanding our fight and then everything just got all
crossed and messed up. I called Brent, and Dylan answered the line. She put me
on speaker, and then the next thing I know I was making a verbal commitment to
work with them. They told me some shit about me missing out on important
opportunities, tying their hands when every other quarterback looking at
the market was already working with someone. It was all a little fuzzy, but
Dylan brought over a file with
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