That’s how I fall asleep, wallowing in self-pity like the pathetic loser I’ve apparently turned into.
I’m getting real good at this wallowing shit.
Eight days ago, I walked out on Lennon, and I haven’t had the balls to speak to her since, despite her many attempts to call and text me in the first few days. What could I possibly say to her? You broke my heart, and I can’t bear to face you or hear your voice right now?
I’ve been in a perpetually bad mood ever since. I don’t see it changing anytime soon, either.
I’m scrubbing myself down under the almost-scalding spray of the locker-room shower after a particularly grueling practice when Jonesy struts in, a shit-eating grin on his face as he chats to Fitzy. I ignore them, turning off the water then grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my hips.
I’m almost clear of their bullshit chatter when the sound of her name has my head snapping in their direction.
“Bitch is so fuckin’ hot, but she’s cold as ice,” Jonesy says, continuing their conversation like I’m not even here. “I’d fuck her if I wasn’t afraid she’d freeze my dick off.” He laughs, and I snap.
I’m across the room before I make the conscious decision to move. My hand curls around Jonesy’s throat as I slam him into the wall. “Say that again, fucker,” I seethe, getting in his face.
“Fuck off, Austin!” he spits. “You know it’s fucking true.”
“Wrong thing to say, motherfucker,” I growl, my fist flying into his face. His head snaps back, cracking against the brick. I’m about to land another when I’m yanked away from him. “Get the fuck off me,” I bellow, launching myself at a dazed Jonesy again.
“Stop!” Bates booms, wrapping his arms around my heaving torso from behind, locking my arms at my sides.
I squirm and fight his hold. “Let me go, Bates! The little fuck-stain’s talking shit about Lenny. I’m gunna kill him!”
Bates stiffens, his arms dropping immediately, only to clasp a hand on my forearm as I step toward the gutless wonder leaning against the wall for support. I peer at Bates over my shoulder. His jaw is tight, a vein pulsing in his throat. He tugs me backwards as he propels forward. I stumble a little from the force of the motion.
Bates slams a fist into Jonesy’s stomach, dropping him to the ground where Bates kicks him twice as Fitzy and a couple of other guys try to drag him away. He throws his hands up in surrender, shrugging the guys off as he steps away.
He points at Jonesy before turning in a slow circle, taking the time to make eye contact with every man in the room. “The next one of you fuck-sticks to say one fucking word about my sister is going to be eating through a tube and shitting in a bag for the rest of his life,” he says calmly then stalks from the room, pausing at the doorway to look at me. “You comin’?”
I nod, striding after him. I stop at my locker, throw on a fresh set of clothes, then we head for the parking lot. Bates halts beside my car, training his gaze on me. “What the fuck is going on with you and Lennon?”
I’ve been wondering when this conversation would happen. I’m honestly surprised it took him this long to bring it up. Running a hand through my hair, I sigh and lean against the side of my SUV. “She can’t handle being with me. I love her, man. I really do, but I don’t think she can love me back.”
His brows furrow, and he scratches the side of his neck. “What does that even mean, man?”
I swallow and close my eyes. “It means, I’m fucked.”
Archer doesn’t come back to the apartment or sneak up on me at my office for the next ten days. Ten long freaking days.
I can’t believe I’ve become the girl who actually counts the days since she last laid eyes on her man—yet, here I am.
“Stop scowling. Kins is going to think you don’t like the dress,” Em whisper-hisses as she elbows me in the ribs.
The wedding is two days away, and we’re all gathered for a girls’-day-slash-hens’-party. One of the activities on the list for today is Kins’ final dress fitting. I offered to drink Kins and Em’s share of alcohol if they’d move this thing to an actual bar or something of the like, but nooo. Pregnant chicks take the fun out of everything.
“I wouldn’t be scowling if I had a drink in my hand,” I hiss right back at Em, who rolls her eyes.
“Girl, you need a detox. You’ve been drinking like a fish for days. What’s going on? Arch not putting out?” She chuckles to herself.
Yeah, so I still haven’t told my girls about my freak-out over the photo and, consequently, his disappearing act. I grimace and look away, focusing on the row of bridesmaids’ dresses hung on the wall.
“Len . . .” Em says, her hand coming to rest gently on my forearm.
I remain silent—not that I could talk right now. My throat swells with emotion, and my damn malfunctioning tear ducts well up, making my eyes sting as I try desperately to keep the suckers at bay. Gritting my teeth, I take a few deep breaths through my nose and squeeze my eyes closed.
When I open them again, Emory is standing right in front of me, her brows furrowed so hard that deep creases slash across her forehead. “Start talking,” she demands.
Shaking my head, I glance over my shoulder to make sure Kins hasn’t caught on to my little meltdown. Thankfully, she’s absorbed in conversation with Hannah and the seamstress. Facing Em again, I smile sadly, not wanting her to make a big deal over my problems, especially not so close to Kins’ big day.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to him in nearly two weeks,” I admit softly.
Em’s big, blue eyes widen. “What the hell, Lennon?”
“Shhh.” I slap a hand over her mouth. “I’m not going to rain all over Kins’ parade, got it? So keep your big mouth shut.”
She glares at me, smacking my hand away. “Fine,” she whispers, her gaze darting to Kins then back to me. Wrapping her fingers around my wrist, she tugs me to the far side of the room. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
I shrug. “The focus should be on Kins right now. I wasn’t going to throw my shit into the mix and have it detracting from her happiness.”
“You could have talked to me about it. I wouldn’t have said anything,” Em says, hurt shining in her eyes.
Hating that I’ve upset her, I wrap an arm around her waist, tug her into my side, and rest my head on her shoulder. Me being the one to initiate a hug must surprise her because she stiffens before sighing and curling an arm behind my back, returning the embrace.
I swallow, trying to keep my wayward emotions in check. “I freaked out on him,” I explain. “We went out for dinner, kissed in the bar, and someone took a photo. It went viral on every major sports blog within the hour.”
“So?” Em says. “I don’t see the problem. I thought we talked about all this, and you were cool with going public.”
“I thought so, too,” I mutter.
Em pulls away enough to look me in the eye. “What did you do?”
“I panicked. He asked me what loving him looked like to me, and I said nothing. Not a freaking word, Emmy.” I sigh, the moment replaying in my head for the millionth time in the last ten days. “I really fucked it up this time. I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. He’s gone, and I’m the one who pushed him away.”