The Final Play: A Short Story Read online

  The Final Play

  Copyright © 2019 Liz Lovelock

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Edited by: Lauren Clarke Editing, Heather Bosevski Editing Services and Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreader: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Designer: Ben Ellis from Be Designs

  Formatter: Tami from Integrity Formatting

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Preview: Monday Night Guy (My Guy series, #1)

  Also by Liz Lovelock

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  He’s coming back.

  He left and never contacted me.

  Heck, why would he contact me when he has women knocking on his door daily?

  I lift my hands and swipe them over my face while expelling a puff of air. Kicking the front door to my parents’ place shut, I turn. Mom’s standing there with a somber expression.

  I don’t need to tell her. “Oh honey. Are you okay?” She places the laundry basket in her grasp down. She races to close the distance between us, then wraps her arms tightly around me.

  My body is numb from head to toe. It’s stupid. He never knew how I felt. I shouldn’t be carrying on like this—it’s silly.

  “Spencer’s coming back. I overheard people talking at the office today.” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “Yes, I had heard as well.” Silence falls between us before she speaks again. “Honey, perhaps it’s time to tell him what you left unsaid.”

  Is she serious?

  He’s some big hot-shot football player now. Why would he care how someone as ordinary as me feels?

  Mom holds me at arm’s length. I shake my head. I can’t do it. The mere thought of being shut down is something my weary heart can’t bear. Spencer leaving was painful enough.

  “I don’t want to lay eyes on him, let alone speak to him, Mom. Why is he coming back?”

  “Simone’s wedding, I believe.” She shrugs.

  “The wedding. No, surely, she would have told me, wouldn’t she?”

  A soft look passes over her face. “I’m not sure why she hasn’t. Perhaps it was short notice. Maybe ignore him like he’s done to you.”

  I half-smile at her suggestion. I know she’s right. I shouldn’t give him the time of day, but how do I ignore my childhood best friend and lifetime crush? Nope, can’t do it.

  Stepping back from her embrace, I say, “He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me. He could have a girlfriend for all I know. He’s gone through that many girls I’m sure I’m not even a blip on his radar.” I shrug, throwing my hands in the air. There’s a huge lump of emotions clogging my throat, so I swallow slowly.

  Every day since he’s left, I’ve told myself I had no choice but to let him go. It was the right thing to do. Yet I question my decision each time he plows likes a bulldozer into my thoughts. Pretty pathetic on my behalf. He invades my dreams like a broken record which keeps playing that same song over and over. It never stops.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner? It’s dad’s favorite … roast chicken,” Mom says.

  My mouth salivates at the mention of a roast chicken dinner. I’m not in the best mood for company. “As good as that sounds, Mom, I’m going to pass this time. I want to go home and curl up and drink some wine.”

  She shakes her head. Oh gosh. Here we go again. Is she going to start on my drinking again? There’s nothing like a nice glass to calm my shattered nerves. “Don’t start mom.”

  She raises her hands. “I will say nothing. You know how I feel.” I nod.

  I make my way to the door. I stop, my hand hovering over the knob. I can’t believe he’s coming back. My Spence … although. … I turn. “Perhaps he won’t even remember me, Mom.” My voice shakes.

  A sad smile touches her lips. “You’d be hard to forget. It’s his loss if he has.”

  I smile weakly. “Thanks, Mom. You’ve always got my back.”

  “Always and forever. Bye honey.” She beams.

  “Bye mom.”

  Heading toward my apartment, I make a quick call to my favorite Chinese take-out, Lee Chu’s. It feels like the kind of night to binge on all the bad things. I need to drown the thoughts of Spencer that invade my mind.

  I need to talk to Simone. I pull out my cell phone, speed dial her number, and connect it to the Bluetooth in my car. I want to know if what I’ve heard is true. How could she not tell me he was coming back? What friend wouldn’t inform her maid of honor?

  Simone answers after the second ring. “I’m sorry.”

  She obviously knows what I’m calling about. “Why didn’t you tell m-me?” My voice cracks, but I quickly recover. “Simone, he was my best friend … and crush. You know this. But once college was done, he left. How am I supposed to face him?”

  “I know. I should have told you. In all honesty, we weren’t even a hundred percent sure he would be coming. When Jackson asked him to be a part of the wedding, he never gave a solid answer, until late last week.”

  I want to scream, I’ve done fine without you in my life, Spencer.

  I’m happy.

  I am happy—aren’t I? I mull the question over. My hands grip tighter on the steering wheel. How am I going to deal? What am I going to say? “Simone, my heart broke when he left.”

  “Oh, April, I’m sorry. Do you want me to come over?”

  I release a breath. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got Chinese being delivered, and wine is waiting for me in the fridge.”

  “So long as you’re sure. I want you to be comfortable on my wedding day …” She pauses, but I can tell she has more to say. “Spencer is Jackson’s best man, which means you’ll be partnered with him.”

  Partnered with him.

  Her confession rolls around in my head, her words progressively start to sink in. Then they slam me like a freight train. I need the wine, stat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I cry.

  “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve prepared you. Should have told you it was a possibility he was coming and that he would be a part of the wedding. He wasn’t sure of his schedule until recently.”

  “Yes, you should have. Sorry Simone, I need to go. I need some time to process all this. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye. Again I’m really sorry.”

  I end the call. I know I shouldn’t be mad, but I’m not sure how else to feel right now. After all, it is her wedding, and she can invite whoever she wants.

  I pull to a stop outside my apartment building. It dings and a message from Simone lights up the screen. I open it.

  Simone: Please forgive me. I’m so terribly sorry.

  Of course, I’ll forgive her, but not tonight. She knows all about my past with Spence
r. How it affected me. Gosh, I wanted to leave and just runaway with him. We had so much history—we were friends at ten years old when his family moved into the house next door. He saw me at my best and worst. He wiped away my tears and made me laugh at the same time. If a boy broke my heart, he was right there giving them a black eye if it was deserved.

  We got into trouble—a lot. In high school, we’d sneak out late at night to parties.

  And when he left after college, I desperately wanted to tell him my heart was his, but I couldn’t because I wasn’t going to be the reason he didn’t go on to achieve his one big dream. I wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t stand in his way.

  The vision of his back as he walked away—my heart broke into a million pieces. Whether I want to admit it or not, my heart continues to break every single time I hear someone speak his name, or when I read it splashed throughout the tabloids. And the pictures of him with women hanging off his arm make me want to hurl something at the wall.

  Why do I torture myself watching his games? Is it because I might actually like football? I don’t think it is; I think it’s because I was there right from the first kick he made in his very first game, so I wish I could still be there now to see them all, even if it hurts.

  “Arrhh.” Spencer, why did you have to come back?

  After entering my apartment, I drop my bag on the floor and I race to the fridge. I need wine. After quickly opening it, I press the bottle to my lips and gulp back mouthful after mouthful.

  Who cares about glasses? Just means doing dishes, and the effects are quicker this way.

  Where is Spencer now. Is he in town already? Or on his way?

  A loud knock at the door startles me enough that I nearly drop the bottle. “Chinese,” I whisper.

  My mouth waters as I scramble to grab my wallet from my bag and answer the door.

  “Sorry for the delay.” My head’s down as I dig in my wallet for the correct change. I look up, and my wallet falls to the floor.

  Coins ding as they hit the floorboards

  Holy, crap! Spencer! He’s come back.

  Spencer. He’s all man. Dark hair. Perfectly chiseled face. And those rich deep green eyes, smoldering as they bore into mine.

  He looks the same but with more muscle.

  I frown. Is it really him? Or am I thinking about him so much that I’m imagining this entire situation?

  I take a hesitant step toward him; his eyes never leave mine. Without warning, I bring my hand up and slap him.

  The stinging in my fingers makes it all real. His hand comes up to his cheek. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Crap! You’re real.”

  He’s actually here.

  I step back, and then slam the door in his face.

  I cup my hands over my cheeks. Oh my goodness. Spencer is at my damn door. My legs turn to jelly and collapse beneath me. What the hell is he doing here?

  A sharp knock at the door startles me.

  “April, open the door. Please?” His muffled voice causes a million butterflies to flutter inside my stomach. I can’t bring myself to open the door and face him. My body cements itself to the carpet. “April, please?” he begs, with worry enlaced in his words.

  I open my mouth to respond. I can’t speak. The shock of him being here causes all my words to catch in my throat. I clear my throat and force myself off the floor. In an attempt to settle my erratic heart, I suck in two deep breaths. With a trembling hand, I open the door.

  “Wh-What are you doing here?” I whisper.

  He looks down, shuffling his feet. “I went to your house and your mom told me where you live. Nice place you have.”

  How could she tell him? Mom probably thinks she’s doing me a favor in pushing him my way. She’s supposed to have my back.

  Words evade me. I can’t stop staring at him. I wonder if he’s the same charismatic Spencer I once knew.

  “Are you going to invite me in? I want to catch up with my best friend.” He leans into me, wrapping me in his arms. His musky scent envelops me, and I’m taken right back to the day he left. He releases me and steps back, wiping his hands over his pants nervously.

  “Pfft ... best friend,” I breathe loud enough for him to hear. “Yeah, you can come in.” I move back, and he walks past me.

  His eyes seem to be roaming over my private living area. “Why the cold shoulder, April? I thought you’d be a little more welcoming. The slap across the face wasn’t what I was expecting.” He chuckles.

  Honestly, can he really be that stupid? He ignored me for the last three years. Now he is here. Instead of the hurt I felt earlier, I experience a raw anger churning in my gut. I clench the door handle so tight my knuckles turn a ghostly white.

  “You left me and never reached out again. What am I meant to think? You’re only here because you’re invited to Jackson and Simone’s wedding. Otherwise, we still wouldn’t be talking.”

  Spencer’s mouth hangs open slightly. I snatch the bag of Chinese food from his grip.

  He lowers his head, then brings his eyes up to meet mine. “I’m sorry, April,” he replies with a pained expression across his face.

  “Yep, thanks.” Digging through the bag filled with my dinner, I make sure it’s all there. It is, so I turn and walk back into my apartment, straight into the kitchen, and begin pulling everything out of the bag onto the bench. My entire body trembles. Spencer Cook is here—in my apartment. I can’t get over this.

  Glancing upward through my eyelashes, I watch as Spencer slowly moves around my small living room, stopping at the many photographs I’ve hung on my walls. There are none of him. I put all them out of sight a long time ago, and I wonder if he’s looking for our old memories, or old pictures, from back in the day. Spencer was my past, but apparently, my past has shown up completely unannounced and unwelcomed.

  “Wow! Talk about a flash back,” he mumbles casually. He stands in front of a photograph of Simone and me in high school. A wide smile is on his face. My heart flutters slightly.

  Taking my plate of food to the living room, and my half-drunk bottle of wine that I lift up and gulp another mouthful out of, I wonder when Spencer plans to leave and let me get on with my night. Like, he couldn’t call before he came over. I have a life. I could have had company, male company for all he knew.

  “Whoa… settle down,” Spencer says in a tone reminiscent of a school headmaster. He points to the bottle of wine in my hand.

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “What’s it to you? I’m thirsty.”

  Spencer sits on the opposite end of the couch, and I’m creeped out by the way he keeps his eyes on me as I shove a forkful of food into my mouth. Then he starts laughing. He’s laughing at me now. “Geez, April, settle down. What’s gotten into you? Chew your food and drink from a glass …”

  I swallow. My stomach twists as his stare holds mine. I’ve missed my friend. I’m the one who never told him how I felt. How was he to know? Is this all my fault?

  “You … you’re what’s gotten into me.” Liquid courage steps in, and I blurt out what I’ve been holding onto for all those years since he left. “I ... I started falling for you.” The words spew out. Well it’s better than continually holding on to those emotions that have plagued me. I drop my face into my hands, then look back up at him.

  “What?” He stares at me, his brows furrow.

  I put my plate on the floor and take another drink. This isn’t how I planned to tell him, but the moment has come, and I can’t stop myself. “You’re what happened to me. I had to let you go. To go live your life and succeed at what you’re good at. You left and never looked back. Nothing from you in three damn years, Spencer. Yet, here you are tonight, only because our friends are getting married. So, forgive me if I’m not very welcoming.” I pause, and he sits there still staring at me, like this is news to him, like he’s never heard such a broadcast. I wish I could hear what was going through his mind.

  His focus breaks. He stands and then paces. I watch him, w
atch the cogs ticking over like he’s processing what I just said. “Why are you saying this?” His expression changes to one of anger. Or is it hurt? I’m not sure.

  “I don’t know. I think because I’ve been holding on to my feelings for so long. It seemed like the perfect time tonight, since, you know, you’re here.” I shrug. Plus, the wine has helped with my courage, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have come running back if I had? Given up your chance of becoming the person you wanted to be for me, I didn’t want you to miss your opportunity.” My voice cracks. My heart aches with each word I speak. Damn my friends for getting married.

  “You still should have told me, April.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I would have …” He breathes out a large breath, his hand resting on his chest.

  “What? Given up your chance at the career you wanted? I didn’t want to hold you back. You were my best friend and the love of my life and I wanted you to succeed. Only I never told you that I loved you, because it wouldn’t have changed anything.” Tears sting my eyes. I’ve put myself together before and now I’m going to have to do it all over again.

  He takes one step. My body freezes. There are so many unspoken words between us.

  “I should go.” He says.

  Before I can stop him, or say another word, he turns and walks out, slamming the door behind him. It vibrates through me and rattles the pictures hanging on the wall.

  After walking to my television cabinet, I open the drawer, and my eyes fall on a picture in a dust covered old frame. A younger Spencer grins back at me. He’s a lot slimmer than he is now, but the same cheeky grin plastered on his face. We were in high school. His arm is draped over my shoulders—I loved being close to him. I never had to ask for a hug; he’d always give me one, and I looked forward to them.

  I remember the day this was taken. He’d just punched one of my ex-boyfriends for dumping me because I wouldn’t have sex with him. Yeah, really swell guy he was. The ass decided to take it too far by telling everyone I was frigid. That didn’t go down so well with Spence. Needless to say, no one gave me a hard time after that, but then again, I never really had another boyfriend.