Kady

 

I’ve been home two weeks now, three weeks since I left Gavin in Rome, and I’ve still not heard a peep from him. I’ve given up any hope. I’m done with men.

It shouldn’t bother me so much. It was just a fling. A romantic affair that had an expiration date stamped on it. It was a short-lived coupling that wouldn’t survive the insurmountable distance between us to make it work.

I was right to leave him and end things. Wasn’t I?

Since returning home to Phoenix, I’ve tried to convince myself that I never had feelings for Gavin. That it’s just my vivid imagination and all the great sex we had. I try to forget about our time together and move on. But I can’t. I’ve wallowed in my misery. And I’ve been extremely lonely.

I’ve been living alone in our family home in Keirland, a suburb of Scottsdale. Although I’ve hung out with Kylah quite a bit at her new apartment near the ASU campus, and a few times with my brother and his girlfriend, Ainsley, I still miss Gavin. This heartache won’t go away.

It doesn’t help that everyone I know is paired up and all cute and cuddly together, and I feel like the third-wheel. The one with a nail in it, slowly deflating.

I’m no longer the fun girl, full of life and spirit. Instead, I’ve become a surly bitch that no one wants to be around.

My lone chuckle echoes in my room, as I laugh at myself for being such a Debbie Downer. I’ve always been the one to depart my famous wisdom to all my girlfriends about how you can’t let a man define you; and never lose yourself over a guy because it’s not worth it. Stay strong and independent. You don’t need a man to make you whole.

And here I am, all by my lonesome. Heartbroken as fuck. Wishing like hell that Gavin would call me.

Serves me right.

I’ve done what I can to keep my mind off things since I’ve been home, including accepting responsibility for my decisions and actions. I got a job within a few days of returning from Madrid and I’ve begun making plans to move to L.A. in the fall.

That’s what I’ve been doing for the last two days – scouring all the job sites for open positions that I’d qualify for in L.A. If I have to send out one more cover letter in a Dear Recruiter email, I’m going to lose it.

It’s Friday night and I’m hunkered down on my unmade bed, scrolling through page after page of jobs and apartment rental sites in Los Angeles. My plan is to work through the end of summer, save up my money and in the fall, pack up the car and move to La-La Land.

A job pops up on my screen as I scroll through. It’s for a cashier job/stock clerk at a West Hollywood sporting goods store. Since my current job is in retail at the Tempe Marketplace, I’m sure this position would work out. The only problem is that sports makes me think about basketball. And basketball makes me think of Gavin.

And how much I miss his stupid-ass.

Fuck it. I’m done with this shit. I pick up my phone from my bed next to my leg and fiddle with it, idlily thumbing through the Contacts list until I land down at the G’s.

Gavin Lancaster.

Patience has never come easy to me. Either has humility. Or apologies.

I groan and throw the phone back down by my feet, avoiding my impulsive desire to call him. Damn him for making me miss him.

For falling for him.

For turning me into a dopey, pitiful, desperate girl.

Instead of calling, I Google his name to see how his games have been going. Maybe I’ll feel better knowing if he’s continued his winning streak. I’d watched basketball my entire life and was never interested in the game before now. But seeing Gavin play so aggressively and with so much fire in Rome turned me into a fan. Well, a fan of Gavin, at least.

Typing in his name into the field, my search engine comes alive with a plethora of links, news articles and Wiki pages with his name. There’s an old Instagram account that he’d told me he hasn’t used in for over a year. Moving past that, I continue to scroll down the page until I see several sports related articles all containing headlines with his name.

My curiosity is piqued. Most are in Italian, which I can’t read. However, I finally see one from the Sports Now webpage and I hear myself gasp aloud as I read it.

Fury waives Lancaster to meet roster deadline

With trembling hands, I click the link to take me to the article. It’s a short piece, with a picture of Gavin wearing the green and gold Fury jersey, putting up a shot in a previous game.

The Firenze Fury, part of the European Basketball Association (EUBO), has waived first-year rookie and American player, Gavin Lancaster. He was one of several second-string shooting guards, the only American player on the team.

According to Fury President, Gio Coppola, Lancaster, along with Mikel Kronowski from Poland, were released from their guaranteed contracts this season. The Fury has seen plummeting ticket sales this past season, requiring a trim in the roster to cut costs.

Lancaster nor his agent could be reached for comment. As an unrestricted free agent, Lancaster could possibly be picked up by an NBA team later this summer when teams start their negotiations with free agents.

Lancaster averaged 5.3 points, 3 rebounds and 1.3 assists per game in the EUBA last season. He’d shown some real promise in his final few games with the Fury.

My mind reels as I finish reading and rereading the article. It was dated nearly three weeks ago. Holy shit, that was just after I left him in Rome.

My heart beats spastically and I feel sick. I close my eyes, rubbing the slow-growing headache that’s building there.

God, I feel awful for him. He must have been blindsided by this news. He loved playing basketball. Maybe that’s the reason he’s been MIA and hasn’t called me like he promised.

Without a moment to second-guess myself, I pick up my phone from where it landed by my toes a minute ago. Now I’m certain I need to get ahold of him. He must be freaking the fuck out.

The phone rings a few times as I hold my breath and wait. On the fourth ring, it goes to voicemail.

In an uncharacteristic move on my part, I actually leave a message.

“Hey Gavin, it’s me. Kady. I was…um, well, I just read something online about your team. And, I wanted to see how you were doing. What you’ve been up to,” I practically stammer with a lack of finesse. “I’m back in the U.S. again. It’s a long story, but my dad found me and dragged my ass back home. Well…I just wanted to say hi. I’d love to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Ciao.”

Geez, that was pathetic.

I stare at the phone mindlessly, wondering if it was the right thing to do. An inchworm of worry wiggles its way into my head as I consider that he might not call me back. What if he decided I was too much trouble? That with everything going on in his life, I was just another nuisance that he didn’t have time for. Or that our time wasn’t as special to him as it was to me.

Goddammit, why didn’t I tell him how I felt before I left him in Rome?

I had no regrets about what happened between us. But now I do regret not telling him how much he meant to me when I had the chance.

Why was I such a coward?

My heart thumps wildly and erratically knowing the real reason I ran like a scared kitten.

Because I fell hopelessly in love with him.

And now I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to tell him how I really feel.