Page 143 of With the Assist

Wyatt’s grin falters. “Okay, damn.”

“I don’t need a rebound, I don’t need a drink, and I don’t need to pretend I’m having a good time, just so you guys feel better about me.”

The room goes quiet.

I immediately regret the edge in my voice, but not enough to take it back.

Liam exhales slowly. “We’re trying to help.”

“Then help by leaving,” I snap.

Wyatt mutters, “You were with her to improve your game. It worked. Even with it over, you still crushed it this week. Wasn’t that the whole point?”

He’s not wrong. I should be thrilled. I’d been terrified that she was the only reason my play had improved, but here I was, almost two weeks later, kicking ass and as miserable and alone as ever.

“Yeah, it was.” I click through the TV channels. “Now, go.”

Grayson hasn’t said a word. He’s watching me, head tilted slightly, looking past what I’m saying to the thing underneath it. He always does that. It’s annoying as hell.

He finally speaks. “You guys go.”

Wyatt turns to him. “What?”

“I’ll stay,” Grayson says calmly. “You two go.”

Liam frowns. “You don’t have to babysit him.”

There’s a beat of hesitation. Then Wyatt shrugs. “Suit yourselves. Text us when you decide to stop being an ass.”

Liam looks like he wants to say something else, but Grayson shoots him a look, and he drops it.

The door closes behind them, the hallway noise swallowing them up.

Grayson sits on the edge of the other bed, elbows on his knees. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Fine by me.”

I stare at the takeout bag before pulling out the food inside. The smell hits, and I realize I am hungry after all.

Grayson watches me with real concern.

I ignore it. Suffering alone would be preferable to his hovering, but I don’t tell him to go either.

Once the room smells like fried food and the takeout containers are stacked empty on the desk, he finally pushes.

I should’ve known he would eventually.

I’m propped up against the pillows at the top of the bed, my phone resting loosely in my hand.

“You’ve checked that thing a thousand times.” Grayson points to my phone.

I don’t look at him. “No, I haven’t.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You have.”

Silence settles again with the hum of the mini fridge and the distant traffic outside, slowly driving me insane.