Kyrie-
"I messed up, man." I groan both in frustration and under the weight of the dumbbell.
"I warned you not to do it, Ky." Kevin stands above me, spotting my lift. We've been in Park City, Utah with an entourage of personal trainers, managers, and health personal. It was advised that we should practice walking and working out in the higher altitudes to increase our stamina. Truthfully, I don't think a workout has made me this exhausted as quickly as these ones do. And not only am I physically wiped, I'm mentally tired too.
"I know. I know you did," I nestle the weight into the bar, and sit up from the bench. "But I got too excited, I wasn't thinking straight and I should have done it earlier. I wasn't supposed to get drunk." Kevin's trainer switches the weight of the dumbbell to a lighter one for his turn. The rotation in his shoulder is getting progressively better, but he has to slowly build up his strength.
"And then you freaked out at her when she told you she dated Klay?" He asks, grunted as he pushes up the bar.
"I didn't mean to, I was tired and grumpy and-"
"Stop it! I'm serious, Kyrie. Stop with the excuses. Be a man and own up to the fact you made a mistake. I don't care if you were intoxicated or tired or had a headache, go cry a river. If you want her as bad as you make it seem than you need to actually be sorry for your actions. Variables don't matter, what matters is the end game." I ponder over his words, while absently spotting his lifts. It's true, but I don't want it to be. It means, in essence, letting on just how much I messed up on.
Within a few minutes, Alex Moore, our high performance director, has us change to our plank weight-lifting routine.
"Any suggestions as to how to dig myself out of this hole?" I finally ask. Kevin just looks at me blankly.
"If you need help figuring that out, Ky, I'd say you're in more trouble than you think."
____________________________________
We've spent over a week in Utah now, training on water, hiking up mountain trails, and doing our stamina and weight workouts daily. This whole time, surrounded by nature, has forced me to think more about what I need to do and how I need to go about it. Kevin refused to give me any help, saying if this was to be authentic it needed to come from me. It makes sense, but holy crap it's harder than expected.
I haven't done so much as texted Sabrina more than a hello since that morning almost three weeks ago. And everyday that goes by is another heavy mark on my conscious. Her confessions about Klay and how she was afraid that's what this was have only been proven by my absence.
And so, after days of thinking and kicking myself for these stupid mistakes, I finally understand what I need to do.
Sabrina-
Three weeks. Three long weeks since I've talked to Kyrie. I've missed him, I've shed some tears, and I've even screamed once or twice in the shower. But more than anything else, I've tried to tell myself it's what this was set up for. Failure. These things don't work out, they never do. I was a fool to think it would.
I've tried my hardest to fully submerge myself back into a normal routine. Which means taking on an overload of work and even going to the occasional party with Danielle. Danielle. Once again she's had to play the supporting role in my unlucky dating life. This time it's almost as bad as Ryan, though not quite because Ryan was just a douche in general. No matter how much I want to be mad at Kyrie I can't be, he's a truly nice guy. We just didn't work.
I try to shove all of this out of my mind as I slowly sip the glass of red wine that Steve poured for us. He invited me over for dinner again tonight, in addition to our regularly scheduled visits, and it's actually comforting for me.
"Smells great," I say, when he pulls the chicken out of the oven.
"Well, the ole guy's basketball skills are just like his baking skills." He sets the casserole down on the counter with a loud bang that send shudders up my spine.
"So, in other words, the appearance is better than the reality?"
"Shots fired!" He says, laughing.
"Would you like some ice to put on that burn?" I place two fingers on my arm, imitating the hiss of steam.
"Am I paying for the ice?"
"Who else would?"
"I'll deal with the wound." It's our classic lines following a burn joke. It started when Steve said that for some reason he always ends up paying for the useless things I need, like ice and plastic containers- true story, we went shopping together.
I help him serve up the chicken and we settle into the barstools by the counter, not bothering to sit at the real table.
"So, are you finally done celebrating your championship victory?" I ask, mouth full.
"Not even close. I don't think Dray has left the club since that night. Steph somewhere in the Bahamas or France or somewhere like that and everyone else is acting like it was yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one getting ready for next season."
"Maybe you should, uhh, tell them to take it easy."
"I tried, I sent them a text but I think they deleted my number... or changed theirs," He ponders this thoughtfully while I burst out into laughter. "They also unfollowed me on, what's it called? Instasnap? Facetwitter?"
"Steve!" I say, holding my breath to stop the laughter. "You're not even trying anymore!" That's when I feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket. My eyes shoot wide open. Each one of my main contacts has a different text tone. And that one is one I haven't heard in three weeks.
Kyrie.