Overnight Sensation(92)

And it’s so fucking brave.

I can feel Leo watching me, wondering what my problem is. There’s no denying it. Heidi is incredibly special. She’s probably the coolest person I’ve ever met. And if I’m honest with myself, I love her.

But when I close my eyes tonight, I’m going to see her go down in front of that taxi again. That fear will never leave me alone. Every day is a day when your coach can pull you aside and say, “Come here, son. Sit down. There’s been an accident.”

I know it. And I can’t unknow it. I’m like a burned-out lightbulb in the middle of the row. I can’t be lit up anymore when I’ve already seen the darkness.

Heidi doesn’t deserve that. She needs someone who can love her without reservation. She wouldn’t even want a guy who’s as dark inside as I am right now.

She nails the high note and then finishes the song to applause and also to catcalls. And she doesn’t glance my way as she exits the red carpet.





When I walk into my bedroom four hours later, I know immediately—all of Heidi’s things are gone. The place looks utterly sterile. I open a dresser drawer, even though I already know her lingerie has disappeared. I wander into the bathroom, and it looks completely lifeless without fifty-seven different beauty products on the counter.

It’s all gone. Everything is right back to the way it was last summer. Empty and quiet.

Except those goddamn flowers. When I walk into the living room they’re still centered on the coffee table looking way too bright and cheerful.

Just in case I wasn’t convincingly crazy yet, I seal the deal by lifting a foot and kicking the arrangement—and its glass vase—right off the coffee table, where it shatters on the wood floor.

A Delilah Spark tune abruptly cuts off in Silas’s room. His door opens a second later. I hear him pace toward me and then stop, just taking in the scene. “So we’re not being robbed?”

Slowly, I shake my head. Getting robbed would be less awful than I feel right now.

“Do we have a broom?” He disappears into the hall closet and emerges a moment later to hand me a broom and a dustpan.

I start sweeping up the mess.

Silas appears a second time with a roll of paper towels, a garbage bag, and two beers. Then he watches me clean up the mess, one wet stem at a time. I’m wiping up water and tiny bits of broken glass by the time he says, “Want to talk about it?”

I turn and give him an evil look over my shoulder. “What good would that do?”

He takes a swig of beer and studies me. “See, there are some problems that talking about won’t help. Sometimes you’re in love with the wrong girl, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He takes another drink. “Your thing is different, though. You could have everything, man. You really could.”

I pick up another bit of glass and throw it in the bag. Silas is wrong. Nobody can have everything. They only think they can. And I’m like the guy who already knows the awful truth.

So I don’t spoil it for him. I just clean up my shit and then drink my beer.





“She’s staying at Bayer’s, still,” Silas says as we wait in the charter terminal at LaGuardia a couple days later.

“Awesome. Thank you for checking.” I’m incredibly relieved to hear it. We’re leaving town again, and I was awake in the night wondering if Heidi had finally rented some shithole in a bad neighborhood. I texted her at four a.m. to ask if she was okay, just because I had a bad feeling.

There was no reply. She’s avoiding me. Smart girl. I made a few overtures to apologize to her. I left her a voicemail saying how sorry I was that I flipped out at her. And how sorry I was that she’d left.

I didn’t beg her to come back, though. We both know I’m not in a good place. That means I owe her one more giant apology. I’m sorry that I asked her to be with me when I clearly wasn’t ready. That’s something I want to say in person.

And here I am at the damned airport.

“So you don’t have to worry about her this week, okay?” Silas adds. “And—bonus—you can turn in a shopping list, and she’ll deliver before we touch down on Wednesday.” Silas rubs his chin. “I expect we’ll get billed for her time, though. No more free stocking of the peanut butter, dude.”

“Shit!” I say suddenly.

My roommate’s eyes widen. “Dare I ask what the problem is? You didn’t forget your sandwich, did you?”

I did. Rising from my chair, I squint at the terminal coffee shop. They have bagels, but no regular bread. “What are the odds that they have strawberry jam?”

“Not good,” Silas says. “You can find a deli near the rink and order a sandwich on your phone. Or ask the new girl to help you.”

I glance over at Rebecca’s new assistant, who’s poking at her Katt phone and bopping to a song in her earbuds. I don’t even want to try to explain to her what I need. Nobody ever understands on the first try.

Everything is shittastic. It just is.





Doctor Mulvey is the team psychiatrist. We all have to meet with him once every six weeks or so. It’s routine. Or, rather, it’s supposed to be. After I threw my tantrum on the sidewalk, my appointment got mysteriously moved up.

We’re 30,000 feet over the Midwest, heading to our game in Arizona. And Dr. Mulvey and I are together in the little office at the back of the jet, drinking shitty coffee.