Campus Player

I jerk my shoulders and attempt to lock down all the turbulent emotions fighting to break free under the surface. “It doesn’t matter what it looked like. I did what needed to be done.”

She plants her fists on her hips before tilting her head. “And why exactly did you need to hurt her?”

I drag a hand through my hair and shoot Brayden a pleading look. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to Demi’s friend. When Bray cocks a brow as if also waiting for an answer, I realize that he won’t be any help whatsoever.

Fucker.

“It wasn’t going to work out in the long run. Better to pull the plug now than down the road when we’re both invested.”

Disgust fills Sydney’s expression as her upper lip curls. “I can’t believe how wrong I was about you.” She jabs a finger into my chest. “Congratulations, you’re no better than that asshat Justin.”

The comparison stings. As much as I want to reveal the reason it was necessary to cut Demi loose, the truth stays trapped behind my teeth where it belongs.

When I remain silent, she stalks away without another word to either of us.

I stare after her retreating figure for a long moment, torn between ending this charade and letting it die a long slow death. I knew this would be painful, but I never imagined it would hurt this much. It’s almost as if I’ve severed a limb. I get the feeling that the phantom pain will stay with me for the rest of my life.

When Brayden clears his throat, my gaze jerks to him.

“I’ve known you for more than three years, and my guess is that you’ve always had a thing for that girl.” He searches my eyes as if he’s able to inspect everything I’m hiding inside. “I’m not sure why you purposefully jacked up this relationship, but I sure as hell hope for your sake you made the right decision.”

Yeah...that makes two of us.

38

Demi

Dad and I sit quietly at the kitchen table as I use my fork to pick at the chicken divine casserole he whipped up for dinner. It’s something Mom used to make before the divorce, and it’s comforting as hell. Right now, I need as much solace as possible.

After five full minutes of silence, Dad clears his throat, “So...anything new going on?”

As soon as the question erupts from his mouth, he winces. I pause with my fork mid-air, my widened gaze cutting to his. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I meant anything else besides that.”

My utensil falls back to my plate with a clatter. As much as I want to eat, I can’t. My appetite has pulled a vanishing act. My belly has been in knots since Saturday night. Out of all the girls I could have found Rowan with, it had to be her.

Annica.

Ugh.

Honestly, this is the kind of behavior I’ve come to expect from her. The girl has turned out to be a real supervillain. I’m sure she’s hunkered down in her lair somewhere, rubbing her hands together and chuckling malevolently at my expense.

But Rowan?

Not in a million years did I imagine he was capable of inflicting this kind of damage. It makes me wonder if our entire relationship was a lie. Or maybe a game. How do you treat someone you supposedly care about with such cruelty? Someone you claim to have wanted for years?

It doesn’t make sense.

For the first day or so, I’d held out hope that Rowan would show up at my door and demand I give him a chance to explain his side of the story. That never happened. As hurtful as it is, his silence speaks volumes that can’t be ignored.

The second slap in the face was when he walked into stats Monday morning. He didn’t even glance in my direction, but he must have sensed my presence. For the first time since school began in August, he chose to sit as far from me as humanly possible. The girls in the class were thrilled and immediately swarmed him. A few actually sent triumphant looks at me.

If those telltale signs hadn’t been enough of a tip-off, Rowan bailing on Wednesday night dinner with Dad was the final blow. I’d thought maybe...

Maybe he would show up, and we could finally talk. Or, at the very least, he could explain how we ended up at this place. Maybe we’ve moved past the point of trying to pick up the shattered pieces and glue them back together, but we could at least part ways as friends. That would be the mature thing to do considering he’s practically family.

Instead, he chickened out at the last minute and gave Dad some random bullshit story.

For the first time in more than three years, my father and I are dining alone for our weekly dinner. I don’t think Rowan has missed one since freshman year. There were so many times when I wished he would stop coming around, and now that he has, I’m eaten alive by sorrow and grief.