Jars Of Clean Copy Novels & Stories

I crossed the car quickly, scanning the overhead compartments until I spotted the red emergency sticker. I snapped it open and pulled out a fat stack of barf bags, crinkly and pale blue. Exactly what I needed. “Here!” I said, tossing a few to the nearest players. “Hold it right under your mouth. Breathe through your nose. Do not lean back.” One of the rookies was trembling so badly he couldn't open the seal. I crouched next to him, peeled the top open for him, and placed it in his hands.

Complaints, insults, excuses, frustration. “That asshole plays dirty.” “The ref was bought.” “We shouldn’t have lost like that.” I clench my jaw as I read, close the chat without thinking too much because I don’t want to stay there, don’t want to keep going over the same thing, don’t want to think about the game or him, so I set my phone aside and take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, even if it’s just for a while. Tonight I’m only going to do one thing, drink enough to not feel anything and leave early before it all becomes unbearable, no drama, no complications, not giving him more space than he already takes.