I shake my head.
I’m so not ready to explain this.
Whatever this is.
The last person I expected at the door was Yasmin. But of course she’d appear when I least expected her. I guess I should have been used to it by now.
I had to go back home to take Mom to a few appointments, so I haven’t been around much. Not that I expected a different reaction.
Just one night.
That’s all she wanted and all I could give her, but I couldn’t deny that there was something in Yasmin that drew me in, making me want more. More than she wanted, and more than I could give her. Because fuck it, we’ve been so good together. More than good, really.
Hayden descends the stairs. “Hey, have you seen…” His eyes fall down to my hands. Or more exactly, the box in them. Has nobody in this house ever seen tampons before? “Do you have something you want to share, Nix?”
“These are for your girlfriend, asshole.”
“W-what?” he chokes out.
“Your girlfriend? The one you were just asking about?”
“Why do you have her tampons?”
“Because Yasmin just delivered them a minute ago.”
“So that was Yasmin at the door?” Zane asks, his brows shooting up.
“Don’t even start,” I warn, not wanting to get into this again with him.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t say what?” Hayden looks between the two of us, frowning.
“Nothing.” I thrust the box into his hands, not giving them a chance to continue this discussion. “Get this to your girlfriend, will ya? I’m going to take a shower.”
A freaking cold one at that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
YASMIN
“So what do you have planned for spring break?”
“Mm-hmm…” I murmur, more interested in playing with the food on my plate than participating in this conversation.
Seriously, what’s the point in keeping up with this charade? I don’t want to be here. I know that, and he knows that. So what gives?
I honestly believed he’d give up by now, but nope, Coach is as stubborn as ever, insisting we keep our weekly dinners.
“Yasmin?”
“Huh?” My head snaps up at the change in his tone. It’s not hard per se, but there is an edge to it that isn’t there usually. Has he finally had enough of me? Will this be the day he’ll tell me to get the hell away and don’t come back? “You asked something?”
He runs his fingers through his dark hair peppered with gray, sighing in exasperation. “I was asking about your plans for spring break.”
“I’ll probably go home.” I shrug, pinching a piece of chicken on my fork. I’ve been so busy with my classes and work that I haven’t had time to even think about it, but home always sounds good. I’d get to see Mom and catch up with Grace. Maybe we can even drive down to the beach. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.
“How about you stay here?”
What is he talking about? I frown as his words settle in my mind. “Here? What would I do here?”
“I was thinking maybe we could do something. Together.”
“What?” My fingers grip the fork so tight the silverware digs into my skin.
“We could go hiking or…”
“And why would we do that?” I grit through clenched teeth. Where is this coming from? I seriously don’t understand him. Why is he pushing this so hard? He didn’t have a problem walking away the first time around. Why be stubborn now?
“I want to get to know you, Yasmin, and you aren’t making it any easier,” he says slowly, rationally, but I can see the vein throbbing on his temple. He isn’t as calm as he tries to project.
“Easier than you ditching Mom when she was pregnant with me, you mean?” I bite out harshly.
Coach’s fork falls out of his hand with a loud thud. He moves back like I slapped him. In a way, I did. I’ve learned long ago that words can sometimes hurt more than actual punches.
His throat bobs as he swallows, thinking over my words. Finally, he nods his head. “Very well.”
Figures. I look away, huffing silently. And that’s the end of it like it always is.
I’m not sure who I’m angrier at, him or myself, but rage is swirling inside of me like a living, breathing thing just waiting to be let loose.
I force it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he affects me.
The rest of dinner passes slowly. Although the coach tries to keep the conversation going, it’s strained on both sides, and as soon as we deem dinner finished, I’m on my feet and getting out of the house without a backward glance.
I’m buzzing with too much pent-up energy, so instead of going back to the dorm, I turn right at the first intersection. I need to get rid of all this adrenaline, all this anger, and there is only one way I can do that.
The gym is buzzing with activity when I get inside. The smell of disinfectant and sweat permeates the air, making my nose furrow.
That’s exactly why I prefer running outside, and I can’t wait for all this snow to melt so I can finally get back to actual running, the hard pavement under my feet, the light breeze cooling my face. But for now, this will have to do.
Finding the first available treadmill, I drop my things to the ground and hop on. Tucking the buds in my ears, I crank the music up until it’s the only thing I can hear and start running, quickly going from a slow pace to a full-on run.
My footsteps are in time with the heavy beat in my eardrums as I push my body to move.
If only getting my mind to empty could be as easy. But of course, it’s anything but. I’m still mulling over my earlier conversation with the coach, replaying every single thing that was said over and over.
How dare he? How dare he think he has any say in what I do with my life? What does he think? That I’ll just change my plans, put my family second because he finally decided to give a damn about me?
Well, too little, too late, old man.
Too little too late.
Get a grip, Yas. He isn’t worth it.
Clenching my hands into fists, I push myself harder. My heartbeat rises, my breathing speeds up, and sweat starts coating my skin. Closing my eyes, I try to push the memories back, but it’s useless.
Nineteen years, and he just realized it now? If I didn’t reach out to him, if I didn’t need him, he wouldn’t have this little part of me either. One fucking day in a week that I spend with him just to keep his mouth shut.
My feet pound against the treadmill, but with my wandering thoughts I lose my footing.
“Fuck,” I mutter, extending my hands to grab the railing so I don’t fall face first.
A hand appears in front of me, pressing the buttons on the machine. The treadmill slows until it comes to a complete stop.
Sighing in relief, I lift my head only to find Nixon standing in front of me. There is a furrow between his brows as he looks at me. His mouth moves, but between the music still playing, and the echo of my heartbeat in my ears, I don’t hear a thing. Standing straight now that the belt’s not moving any longer, I pull the earbuds out.
“You planning to kill yourself today?” Nixon asks dryly.