So, yeah...I pussied out and shot her a text instead. And now, I’m acting like a little bitch by not picking up her calls or responding to her messages. She’s attempted to contact me half a dozen times, asking what the hell is going on. Each one has escalated in both tone and disbelief. I can barely stand to read or listen to them. Her pain is palpable.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and knocks me from those thoughts. Blinking away the melancholy, I glance at Beck as he loiters beside me. He’s already dressed and itching to leave, and here I am, sitting with a towel draped around my hips. I drag a hand over my face and attempt to pull my shit together.
“Everything good?”
The two of us have been friends since elementary school. We played on Pop Warner football teams together, then in high school, and now in college. Beck is one of the most talented quarterbacks in the country. He’s been breaking state and NCAA records for years. Even as a sophomore, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll end up playing in the NFL. If Beck had his way, he would enter the draft next year, but his father has other ideas. And in the Hollingsworth household, Archibald rules the roost.
I shrug off his hand. “Yup.”
My world is only imploding...no biggie. Although, it’s by my own hand, so I’m not sure if that’s something I can complain about.
“Then move your ass, and let’s go. Collins is having a little get-together. I need to chill out for a while.”
A party?
No, thanks. There’s no way I can deal with a large group of people right now. Not with all this emotion ripping me up inside.
“Go on without me,” I mumble, reluctant to reveal what’s really going on. “I’ve got some shit to take care of.”
He smirks. “Is that what we’re calling getting laid nowadays?”
It’s doubtful that will be happening any time soon. Instead of forcing out the words, I rise to my feet and yank a pair of boxers out of my locker before dragging them up my thighs. Joggers and a red Wildcats T-shirt come next. Once dressed, I grab my sweatshirt and athletic bag, ready to take off. All I want to do is go home and lick my wounds in private. Sure, it’s a self-inflicted injury, but that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Beck and I are the last ones to leave as he pushes out through the heavy locker room door. I follow behind, sucked back into the chaotic whirl of my thoughts.
The whole did-I-or-didn’t-I-make-a-mistake is eating me alive. The bitch of it is that I’ll probably never know.
“Oh,” he says, moving into the corridor of the athletic center, “hey, Alyssa.”
My head snaps up so abruptly that I nearly give myself whiplash as my gaze collides with icy-blue eyes. All it takes is one look at the fury vibrating off her in heavy, suffocating waves to know that I won’t escape this confrontation unscathed. I swallow down my growing nausea. This is exactly the kind of altercation I’d been hoping to avoid.
When she remains silent, lips pressed together in a tight line, Beck’s quizzical gaze flicks to mine. Whatever he sees painted across my face is enough of a tipoff for him to abandon this sinking ship post haste. Can’t say I blame him for it. I’d probably do the same if I were in his position. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and takes a swift step in retreat. “So...I’m going to take off.”
Instead of glancing at Beck, Alyssa’s gaze stays pinned to mine.
“I’ll catch you at the dorm,” I mutter, dread pooling at the bottom of my gut.
“Yup.” With pent-up longing, I watch as he disappears down the hallway like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels.
An uncomfortable silence falls over us.
One heartbeat passes.
Then another.
Now that we’re alone, I mentally brace myself for the oncoming explosion. Except Alyssa doesn’t do the expected. Instead, she stares mutely, scouring my face for answers I refuse to give voice to. Hurt seeps into her eyes, mingling with the fury. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me, nearly swallowing me whole. It would be so much easier if she’d just go off the deep end. Then I could mentally shut down and tune out the theatrics while she got everything off her chest.
But this?
The unspoken recriminations aimed in my direction?
The pain that radiates off her as if it’s a living, breathing entity?
That’s impossible to tune out.
How can I when I’m the architect of her agony?
When I’m the one to blame for giving in and allowing this to get out of hand?
Ever since middle school, I’ve yearned for this girl. Longed to reach out and stroke my fingers over her. Be close to her. Make her mine. Although, she would have never guessed it from my behavior. I’ve done everything in my power to ignore Alyssa. To keep her at a distance. To push her to the outer recesses of my brain so I wouldn’t have to think about her. So I’d finally stop wanting her—dreaming about her.