The old it’s not you, it’s me brush-off. Nice. What every girl wants to hear after she’s been ghosted.
I shrug, desperate to wrap myself in my dispassionate armor again. “Whatever, Rider.” The words are right, but I’m hot and sweaty and ready to crawl out of my skin.
I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, but what am I supposed to do? Admit he broke my heart? Tell him I was devastated? Sure, when hell freezes over in South Texas.
A thick silence descends, and I’m two seconds from leaping out of the Jeep and tracking down Bree so we can get out of here when Rider turns in his seat so that we’re face to face.
“Look, I don’t mean to dredge up the past. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry I hurt you. That it wasn’t my intention. I… I didn’t think we were that serious.”
I’m too incensed to respond. He didn’t think we were serious? Isn’t that every man’s lame excuse when he’s an asshole and blows off some unsuspecting girl?
I wish I were one of those aloof women who could pretend I wasn’t hurt, but I’m sure he can read me. No matter how many Glamour and Cosmo articles I read about playing it cool and being detached, I have yet to master that female skill.
Before I can tell him to go fuck himself, his voice softens. “I also wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened when you were a kid. That had to be tough.”
My jaw tightens, and I blink back the heat in my eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t need your pity.”
I’ve had a lifetime of pity. That’s the new girl. She’s the foster kid. Just look at her clothes. Poor thing. So skinny too. Bet they don’t feed her. She doesn’t have parents, but her aunt finally took her. Someone had to.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I determinedly stare out the window, grateful that dumb wetness in my eyes disappears.
I never tell people I’ve been in foster care because the second you do, they start giving you side-eye, like they’re afraid you’re going to steal the silverware.
Deep down, I always wondered if that’s the real reason Rider ditched me, and he just didn’t have the balls to say it.
I swallow, hating how bitter I feel. Hating that being a foster kid tainted my world view so much.
It’s why I try to never think about that time. Why I’ve busted my ass here. Why I work as many hours as humanly possible. Because I’ll never be that poor again or that dependent on another person. I can do it myself, thank you very much.
The passenger door opens, and I’m so grateful to see Bree, I could cry.
And that’s the biggest problem of all. Being around Rider brings all of my emotions to the surface, but I won’t let myself fall apart. Once was enough.
11
RIDER
Laden with a dozen Target bags, I open my front door and pause.
All of my roommates are on the floor of the living room, playing with Poppy.
And they’re trying to get her to crawl through… an obstacle course of Amazon boxes?
“What the hell is this?” Even I know she shouldn’t roll around on that dirty floor.
I drop the bags, exhausted from being woken at four this morning and that fucked-up conversation with Gabby. But it’s still the early afternoon, and if I hustle, maybe I can be productive. God knows that essay isn’t gonna write itself.
Knox hops up. “You should see her. She kinda scoots on her belly. It’s so fucking funny.”
I’m seriously not in the mood for this today. “What’s that on her butt?”
“We ran out of diapers, so we wrapped her in Tank’s old t-shirt, but we figured that wouldn’t hold in the piss, so we fortified it by wrapping her ass in a plastic grocery bag and duct tape.”
I open my mouth and close it again.
I’m so out of my element, it’s not even funny, but I know Bree and Gabby would not let this shit fly, so I open the Target bags and pull out the diapers. “Please put this on her.” The girls showed us how to change a diaper before we went shopping.
Surveying the room, I consider the hundred people who marched through here last night and cringe. “Let’s get her off that floor.”
Maybe I can keep this kid from needing to bathe in disinfectant.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to think through this. The girls are coming over in a little while, and I’d like to have this situation in hand before I give Gabby another reason to think I’m an idiot.
My stomach rumbles, and I glance at Poppy. I’m guessing her bottle is long gone by now.
I hand off a container of formula to Olly, who seems to understand what I want him to do without me explaining.
After I retrieve the rest of our Target haul and make sure Olly will keep an eye on things, I take a quick shower.
The moment the hot water hits my skin, I groan. I took a nasty hit in the fourth quarter of yesterday’s game, and my muscles aren’t letting me forget it.
Once I’m clean and dressed, I attempt to get some homework done, but all of the words run together on the page. I give in and take a nap. While it helps my aching muscles, my brain is still foggy when my alarm goes off an hour later.
I return to the living room and collapse on one of the sofas. It’s quiet for once, and I’m immediately thinking of that conversation with Gabby.
I scrub my face, wishing I could take back what I said this morning. None of that shit came out right. I wanted to tell Gabby I missed our friendship, that I fucked up three years ago. That I wanted to make amends, but every word out of my mouth was wrong somehow.
I never wanted to hurt her. I wanted to protect both of us. To put some distance there before I did something I couldn’t take back.
What I said was true. What happened was one hundred percent my fault. I was stressed as hell that semester, and I was freaked out by what happened when I went home that weekend. I was desperate to get my head on straight when I got back to campus and made mistakes that I regret, but I’m guessing she’s not interested in the details.
Freshman year feels like a million years ago, and I’m not sure digging up the past will help make things right, but knowing I’ve injured her feels like a lead weight.
What really resonates with me, what’s been sounding in my head like a gong all afternoon, is the hurt expression in her eyes. She’s always so confident and buttoned up. Almost closed off. Today, though, I saw it. Saw that I really wounded her.
Add that to hearing more about what happened to her as a kid, and I feel like the biggest dick on the planet. Knowing I added to her burden kills me. That woman is smart and driven and fucking tough. I respected her before, but now, she’s in a league of her own.
Ben, Knox, and Tank charge in like a herd of wildebeests and settle around the living room as the front door opens and Bree and Gabby stroll in. Gabby has a clipboard in her hands and a pen behind her ear and looks so fucking cute, I wanna bite her stubborn ass.
It hasn’t been long since we parted, but I’m stupidly excited to see her. Except judging by the death glare she sends my way, she hates my guts even more than she did before I tried to clear the air.
When I think of the past, I can’t help but consider that agonizing detail she shared with Bree. That she gave her virginity to some guy she dated sophomore year.