Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

Take my heart, Devon. Take it, even if you aren’t there with me yet; use it and hold it and nurture it, and always, always wait for me.

Devon stirs next to me in the bed, tightening his arm around me, as if he senses my turmoil. I can’t sleep. I can’t tell him.

Moving as stealthily as possible, inching away, I ease his arm off of me, slip out of bed, grab my phone on the nightstand, and tiptoe out into the kitchen, my fingers dialing.

“Giselle?” comes my sister’s sleepy voice. “Honey . . . it’s midnight.”

I walk farther, putting as much distance between me and the man I love as I can. “Elena . . .” Tears fall, and I swipe them away. “Something terrible is going to happen,” I choke out.

Rustling sounds come over the phone, and I picture her sitting up and getting out of bed. “What’s going to happen?”

I shake my head, as if she can see me, and cling to the phone. “Susan . . . Dr. Benson—I got the fellowship, and I can’t tell Devon.”

“Oh, sweetie.”

I put my hand on the window in the den and gaze out at the city lights of Nashville. “I’m going to leave, and he’s going to break up with me. Everyone leaves him, Elena. His dad just left. His mama abandoned him years ago. Hannah . . . I . . . she left him for someone else. What am I going to do?” A fresh wave of remorse washes over me, and I sink to the floor. “Am I doing the right thing? Do I go?”

There’s a long silence on the phone as I hear her breathing and picture her thinking. “How long have you wanted to go to CERN?”

“Since I was ten years old . . .” My voice cracks.

“How long have you been dating Devon?”

My spine straightens. “That’s not fair—it feels like more, like he’s always been mine. I’ve known him for months.”

“A few weeks versus years, sweetie; don’t you think the answer is obvious?” She sounds confident, and I want to bang the phone on the floor to shake some sense into her.

“No, it isn’t,” I cry out. “I’m in love with him, Elena, so deep that I won’t ever forget him, but he’ll forget me—he will; he’ll push me away like he used to. He’ll go on with his life as if I never existed.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she croons. “Preston hurt you just a few months ago, and maybe things are moving too fast with Devon for you to really consider what your true feelings are—”

“No, this is nothing like Preston,” I grind out, falling into more regret for the sweet relationship with my sister. “Elena, God, forgive me for thinking I wanted him, please. I didn’t know what I was doing then; I let myself get sucked into his vortex, and I didn’t love him, not like this—”

“Shh, Giselle, please . . .” I hear her breath hitching. “I have forgiven you. You can’t forgive yourself. He manipulated both of us, used you to get to me, and when it didn’t go like he wanted, he took advantage of you, and none of it is your fault—”

“We lost part of what we have,” I cry into the phone. “And I missed you so much those months; I couldn’t focus, and it bled out into everything I touched: my grades, my life.” My chest crumples, and I lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“And we got us back, baby sister; we got us back,” she murmurs. “I can’t be without you, okay, and you can’t be without me, and he tried to rip it apart, but it didn’t work. You’re my friend, my mirror opposite, my confidante, my smart little sister who gives and gives. Sweetie, I should have talked to you and made things right with us from the beginning of that bastard. You’re part of the fabric of my life, Giselle, and our quilt is stronger now. You have to see that. Forgive yourself, and things will be clearer, your heart open, major decisions easier.”

My free hand balls at her words as I rub my eyes, surrendering to the thought, letting myself finally release those leftover feelings of regret that have hovered over me like a storm cloud. I made bad decisions that cost me, but I’m only human and fallible—and so is she. “I love you,” I whisper. “Daisy Lady Gang forever.”

“Ditto,” she replies.

A half-garbled huff comes from my throat. “I called you for advice, and we ended up talking about us.”

I can hear the smile in her voice. “We’ve been fine for months; you’ve just needed to find who you are and what you want. You have wonderful options: teaching, researching, writing novels . . . Devon.”