“Bullshit, huh?” My father’s gaze burnt into me like he was trying to see straight into my mind and unlock my deepest darkest secrets. To see the place that James had taken up residence in.
“Yes, don’t ask me to apologize for cursing. I won’t. I have to get back to the library. This was a total waste of time. Please ask your receptionist to mind her own business. If you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving now.” I didn’t wait for either of them to answer. I spun out of the office and practically sprinted to my car, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.
I just had to make it to the privacy of my car before they could be unleashed. If I could manage it, I desperately wanted to make it home before the tears came. I knew that once the sobbing started and the feelings swimming around inside me came to the surface, it wasn’t going to end quickly.
A sob threatened to rise in my throat.
There. I could see my car. Only a few more yards and I’ll have made to through step two. Step one: get the fuck out of there.
Step two: make it to my car without screaming, crying, or collapsing. Possibly all three at the same time.
I dug blindly around in my bag for my keys when James’s voice called out to me. I bit back a fresh sob.
Every fiber in my being wanted to turn around. To face him. To sink into his comforting arms. To let him hold me so tight that my heart wouldn’t be able to shatter in his grasp. To let him explain and let him wash the pain away with soothing words.
Instead, I managed to find the unlock button on my key fob and hurried into the car, locking the doors as soon as I sank into the driver’s seat.
James appeared at my door just as I slammed it shut. It reminded me of the way that he had so casually strolled up to my door on the night of our first date. I had known that night that he was trouble. I just had no idea how deep I was about to get into it.
“Gabbi, wait. Just give me a second to explain. Please. I promise you that I can explain.” I could hear him through the panels of my car. For just a second, I imagined that I saw my own hurt reflected in his eyes. In his voice. Then I remembered his expression back in the office.
No. He felt nothing. He’d made that abundantly fucking clear not five minutes ago. That hadn’t been the expression of a man choosing between his career and family and a woman that he loved. It was the expression of a man who simply did not give a single fuck.
“I think you explained quite enough back there.”
I cranked my radio to drown out whatever he was trying to say. I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to let him feed me some bullshit lines.
On autopilot, I strapped myself in and gripped my steering wheel, and I tore away from the only man that I’d ever loved.
It felt like I was leaving a part of my soul behind. I glanced back in my rearview mirror. James’s shoulders were slightly hunched, and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.
The part of my soul that was permanently glued to his called me back. I ignored it. Even if the pain of doing it was so unbearable that it felt like I was being split in half.
I rounded the corner out of the parking lot, and the first tears sprung free when James disappeared from view. Tears ran down my cheeks, warm and heavy and salty. I wasn’t sobbing yet though. Images from our time together played in my mind.
Our first dinner together. Jet skiing and walking on the beach. Talking until the sun either set or rose, depending on which memory I pulled up.
The way that he knew my body better than I did. Lunch at the Spanish place. His complete support and constant pep talks about law school.
A hundred different moments. A hundred different memories that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Not to mention how much I would miss the feeling of being wrapped up in those sculpted arms. Seeing his eyes light up at a joke. Hearing his voice on the other end of the line.
The more distance that I put between myself and James, the angrier I became. The worst thing was that the anger wasn’t directed at him. I was pissed off at myself.
I channeled the rage instead of the pain. I would deal with the pain when I got home.
Until then, I berated myself for ever letting my heart get involved. For allowing myself to fall for him despite everything that I knew about football players. Players in general. I fucking knew better. I did.
In a cruel twist of fate, perhaps a fitting one, a popular song blared through my speakers about a girl knowing that a guy was trouble when he walked in, but how she fell for him anyway.
She was right about one thing: the blame was on me. I had known that he was trouble the moment he walked into my father’s office on that first day we met. I had known that he wasn’t looking for something serious.
What we had was never even a real relationship.
That pain that threatened to split me open and consume me in a blaze of fire? The pain I would never recover from? It was all my own damn fault for allowing myself to fall so hard for James in the first place.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
James