I don’t want to worry about running into Brayden around every corner, and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. It’s impossible to relax at Western, and it’s throwing off my game on the field. I need to get my head on straight and figure out how I’m going to handle the rest of the year. What I’m doing obviously isn’t working.
My childhood bedroom looks exactly the same as it did before I left for college. It’s like stepping into a time warp, and there’s something infinitely comforting about that.
One entire wall is decorated with photographs of family and friends. There’s not an inch of space to be found. It’s all the people who have come into my life and meant something to me. Like my room at school, there are fairy lights strung around the perimeter, giving it a whimsical quality. A fuzzy white rug covers a portion of the hardwood floor, and there’s a queen-sized bed with fluffy white pillows piled high on top of it. A turquoise chair is arranged near the window where bright sunlight pours in during the early morning hours. Too many times to count, I’ve curled up there with my sketch pad and lost myself in my art. The shelves in the closet on the other side of the room hold dozens of sketch pads. Every single page is filled with doodles and drawings that I’ve been unable to part with. Each one feels like a piece of me that has bled onto the paper.
The wall opposite to the photo collage is covered with framed artwork that I’ve created from elementary on through high school. Every year there was a district art fair, and teachers would select several pieces to be displayed and judged. Afterward, they would end up on my wall or somewhere in the house.
A sigh of relief escapes me as I step inside my room and set the duffle bag on the bed. It’s so tempting to crawl under the comforter and shut out everything that has taken place these past two weeks. Instead of giving in to the urge, I strip out of my clothes and leave them on the floor before walking into the Jack and Jill bathroom I share with Lucus. Since he’s at work, I don’t have to worry about him barging in on me.
Once enclosed within the small room, I lean into the shower and turn the handle. When the water finally warms, I step inside the tiled space and stand beneath the spray, allowing it to run over my body before washing and conditioning my hair. Ten minutes later, the world doesn’t feel quite so grim. What is it about a hot shower that sets everything to rights again?
I grab a plush, navy-colored towel from the rack and dry my hair and body before wrapping it around myself. Then I run a comb through the tangled strands until they’re nice and smooth. With the oversized towel secured over my breasts, I pad into the bedroom and grind to a halt when I find Brayden sitting on my bed with his elbows braced on spread knees. His head is bent as if he’s studying his clasped hands.
What’s he doing here?
When the floorboards creak beneath my feet, his head jerks up until his gaze can collide with mine. That’s all it takes for my heart to jackhammer into overdrive as I remain frozen in place.
“Hey.” There’s a subdued quality to his deep voice. One I’m not used to hearing.
It takes everything I have inside to return the greeting. “Hi.”
A suffocating silence falls over the two of us as Brayden stares until I’m squirming beneath his intense perusal. Unsure what to do, I clutch the towel wrapped around me as if it’s a life preserver. This is so awkward. It’s almost impossible to imagine that two weeks ago, everything had felt near perfect with our relationship.
The stillness continues to stretch and lengthen until it feels like I’m going to jump out of my skin. I clear my throat and rip my gaze away. Staring at Brayden, being this close without being able to touch him, hurts my heart. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to speak with you.” There’s a pause. “And it couldn’t wait.”
I steel myself before refocusing my attention on him. Already I know that whatever he wants to discuss won’t be pleasant. “All right. I’m listening.”
We stare for a painful heartbeat before his gaze drops to his hands. Thick tension radiates off him in heavy waves that nearly choke the life out of me. Even so, I want nothing more than to close the distance between us and offer comfort. I want to snatch away the heartache I’ve inflicted. But I have no idea how that would be received. He might have come here of his own volition, but Brayden wants nothing to do with me. He’s made that perfectly clear this past week. And I can’t blame him for it. I would probably feel the same if our positions were reversed.