“Just fucking go!”
I can almost hear his sigh through the door. “Okay. But this is not me leaving, Jett. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.” His voice is unwavering, determined.
“There’s nothing to talk about. This was a mistake.”
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.”
The sound of soft footsteps retreating seeps through the door, and soon it closes. Stillness surrounds me, the silence deafening, yet the beat of my heart is impossibly loud in my head. Then something builds, emerging from far away—a familiar voice, my father’s voice.
‘Why are you crying?’
I brush my fingers along my cheeks, and they come back wet.
‘You think you have it hard? Do you?’
No.
‘You’d better put that self-pity away because I can assure you that the best never feel pity for themselves.’
I know. But I’m not the best, am I?
‘So suck it up, Jared. Suck it up.’
I suck in a breath, my father’s words echoing through me.Suck it up.I don’t know if I can.
‘Now do it again, and this time like you damn well mean it. Run, Jared. No one else is gonna do it for you.’
Run.I dig my fingers into the tiles, the image of the hurt in Wes’ eyes burned into my retinas, the sound of his soft, imploring voice reverberating in my head.
‘There’s no one else, Jared. Only you.’
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the quiet. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 27
Wes
Ileanagainsttheback of the door to my apartment and lift my hand. It’s shaking like fuck. My heart is hammering against my chest so hard it hurts. I slide to the floor, stunned, processing, trying to grasp the fact that I went from having one of the best nights of my life to being dumped so epically that it made my head spin.
My beautiful fucking‘Whiplash.’
My hands rush to my face as a sob tries to escape me. How can this be over already? It hurts unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I’m struggling to believe that we’re over, just like that. Even breathing is fucking hard.
I still don’t know what the hell just happened.
No, I do. Or I think so.
Jett was clearly triggered by the meds in my hand. That was the source of his freak-out, and hefuckingfreaked. A panic attack, I’m assuming. It has to be related to what happened to him at the Olympics. I don’t know his story at all. I can onlyassume, but it explains why he’s been so tight-lipped about it. It must’ve been really bad, and it’s clearly still affecting him.
It could be something else entirely, but I don’t think so. I understand well enough the stress that athletes go through and how they can struggle with mental health. But if you combine that with his strained relationship with his father, he could’ve been the one to exacerbate that stress. Then there’s the secrecy behind his disappearance from the spotlight. I’m only putting two and two together. I could be totally off base, but I don’t think so. Maybe I should’ve pushed him harder to tell me about his past. Maybe he would’ve even felt better after. Or he could’ve pulled away from me, like this morning.
I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and stand. Jett needs time. That’s all. I’ll give him a little time to calm down, then reach out to him to talk this out. I’m not about to fucking give up on him. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my family, it’s that you don’t give up on the people you care about and love.
Oh, fuck.
He at least needs to know that, so I pull my phone out of my back pocket and shoot him a text.
Me:I love you.
