Hi, guys!

I was so happy to see the support on chapter 1 and surprised as well. Since this is my first story on , this is a lot for me.

If you saw the first chapter of my story and liked it, I would love to see some comments with feedback and ideas.

Because of the amount of views coming in right now, I've decided to make another chapter today to keep you guys interested.

Please feel free to leave any suggestions for me in the comment section. I would really love feedback and would try to incorporate any ideas of yours into my story.

Till chapter 3,

Graceinspace981

Chapter 2

I wake up the next morning and my breath smells like smoke and alcohol. I groan and turn to my side to check the time. It's eleven in the morning. My tiny bedside table is crowded with bottles of beer and a tall empty wine bottle. No glass or anything. I feel bile coming up my throat. I put my hand over my mouth and sprint to the bathroom, fumbling to reach the toilet. I vomit into the toilet, sweating as I slowly remember how much I drank last night. But why did I...?

"Mercy," I hear myself say out loud.

I throw up again and notice that I'm crying. I flush the toilet and grab a tissue from the bathroom counter, wiping first my eyes, then my mouth. I brush my teeth slowly to get the bitter taste of vomit and alcohol off my teeth. I walk into the doorframe and stare at my room. All four of the beds are empty.

Oh god. Oh no. I must have missed the battle...

But then I remember that there was no battle today. It's Saturday. I sigh with relief and cross the room to the dresser. I grab a gray sweatshirt and an old pair of basketball shorts. I slowly get dressed and head to the kitchen. The kitchen is empty, but there are dirty dishes and silverware in the sink. They're covered in brown gooey substance.

"Pancakes," I mutter and hear a hiccup come out of my mouth.

Tracer makes the best pancakes.

I open the cupboard above the sink and grab a mug that says '#1 Dad' in big red letters. Torbjörn had gotten that mug for me last Christmas as a joke.

"It makes sense because you're our Team Dad," he had offered.

I still laugh at that. What a great dad. A great dad that wakes up at eleven only to be hungover out of his mind. I hiccup again and walk to the coffee machine. I put a filter in the brewing basket, add the grounds, fill the reservoir, switch it on, and wait. I've truly mastered this routine by now. When the mug is full, I turn off the coffee machine and drink quickly. I want to get a head start for the gym this morning. I usually work out at twelve but I feel like I have to now. I scowl at the extra bitter taste in my throat. Alcohol doesn't mix well with coffee. I then head over to the gym, careful while walking down the stairs. I still feel like crap. I enter the gym to find Tracer working on a punching bag. She notices me when I walk in and stops punching.

"You look terrible, Jack," she says, regarding me.

"Don't push me, Lena," I say, but I smile weakly. I can't help it.

She goes back to punching the bag but keeps talking.

"Why are you up so late?" she asks.

I only shrug and groan, finding myself unable to answer her question without going into the details of my drinking binge. She is able to read my mind anyway.

"Have you been drinking again?" she inquires, eyeing me suspiciously.

I don't want to lie so I say nothing. I think she knows anyway because she pauses her workout again and sits on one of the metal benches in the gym. I take her spot at the punching bag she abandoned.

"You have, haven't you?!" she says.

"Maybe," I respond, "Why does it matter anyway?"

"Because you've been acting weird since the battle yesterday," she says.

"Weird? How have I been weird?"

"You've been quiet. Quieter than usual," she answers.

"No I haven't," I say.

I throw a right hook at the bag and it stings without gloves. My knuckles turn red.

"Yes. You have," she insists. She won't give it up.

I shrug and throw a jab with my left hand. That one hurts too.

"You didn't celebrate with us yesterday. We won! Don't you remember?"

I do remember. That was our first win in a month and I didn't even celebrate it with my team. I feel a dark cloud of guilt rise in my stomach and I find myself feeling sick again. I change the subject.

"Have you seen Ziegler?" I ask nervously.

Tracer thinks for a moment.

"Huh," she says, "I guess I haven't. She didn't come to the celebration last night either and I didn't see her in our room. But her bed looked like it had been slept in this morning. Did something happen between you two?"

"No," I say and then pause, "No, nothing happened."

I guess I'm telling the truth, in a way. Nothing happened between us and I don't think anything ever will at this point.

"Are you sure, Jack?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Happy?"

"I don't think you're telling me the truth," she says, crossing her arms.

And then I spill it. I tell Tracer everything that had happened at the battle and everything that hadn't happened. I spill everything and I don't know why but I just start to cry at the end. I've never cried in front of a teammate and it feels awful. When I finish telling her everything, I just sit there on the cold metal next to her, bawling, and she tries to comfort me like I'm a horse that's been spooked by a lawnmower.

"Wow," she says, rubbing my back to try to calm me down, "Jack, I don't know what to say."

I take my face out of my hands and look at her.

"There's nothing to say," I cry, "I fucked up and I hurt her and that's all there is to it."

Then, Tracer ends my sobs with one question:

"Do you love her, Jack?"

I freeze up and then relax my shoulders. Here is one question I know the answer to.

"Yes," I say in a quiet voice, and I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

"Does she love you?" asks Tracer.

"I don't know if she still would," I answer after some hesitation, "After all that shit I said to her, I don't know if she'll even talk to me again."

"Why didn't you let her kiss you?," Tracer says, "What are you so afraid of?"

And the truth is, I don't know. I have no idea why I made her stop.

"I don't know," I say, "I just don't know."

We sit there silently for what feels like thirty minutes but what is probably only thirty seconds until Tracer speaks again.

"Jack...you need to talk to her."

I can't disagree with that so I just nod but then another thought comes to mind.

"What if she doesn't want to talk to me?" I ask.

"We need to be prepared for that possibility," says Tracer.

I look down at my hands, visibly upset. Tracer touches my arm and I look up.

"Look, if she doesn't want to talk to you, I'll make her talk to me," she says.

"Thanks, Lena," I say. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve again and stand up, starting towards the door.

"No problem, Jack," she says, "Anything for a friend."

I look at her and nod. I walk to the doorway where I pause as the sounds of punching start again. I look back one more time.

"Lena?" I say and she looks back at me, "If you have to tell her anything, just say that I'm sorry and I want to meet her at the fountain in Town Square. The one near the shops."

"Okay, Jack. Good Luck."

I nod again and walk out. I figure the most likely place for Mercy to be is in the girls' quarters so that's where I head first. I knock on the door lightly as my heart pounds in my chest. I hold my mouth up to the door.

"Mercy?" I say.

A response comes from inside a few seconds later.

"Who is it?" She says, her voice muffled by the door.

"It's Sol...it's Jack, Mercy. Can I come in?"

There is a moment of silence in which I just want to walk away and not face her. There's an audible sigh from behind the door.

"Jack, you're the last person I want to talk to right now," she says angrily.

"I just want to apologize," I say.

Nothing from inside.

"Look...just...If you don't want to talk now, can you just meet me in the Town Square fountain tonight?"

Her voice doesn't sound angry anymore.

"Jack, I don't know..."

"Please. Just please meet me there," I say.

There's still silence from the room and eventually, after waiting for her voice to break it, I leave feeling angry. I'm angry with myself for walking away from her yesterday. I'm angry that I didn't let her kiss me. God, why didn't I let her kiss me? I'll still go to the fountain tonight. I'll wait as long as it takes.