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"Yeah, that one," she confirms. "You came home from that date looking like someone kicked your puppy."
I sigh, remembering the memory well. That guy was a total tool, and all it did was make me miss Jace even more. At least Brad was nice, but in a way that made it worse. Because that means the issue isn't with him, or any other guy, for that matter. It's me.
"I don't know what to do," I cry, not needing to specify what I'm referring to. She already knows. "It's like I can't be with him, but I can't not be with him either."
She runs her hand up and down my back. "You can say it, babe. You're in love with him."
"I can't say it. If I say it, then it's real. If I say it, I can't take it back."
Becca rolls me away from her, wiping some of the tears and mascara from under my eyes. "Even if you don't say it, I think you're well past the point of being able to take it back."
The tears start to come faster and harder as I realize she's right. I'm hopeless. I'll forever be emotionally tied to him, whether he's down the street, in a prison across the country, or six feet under. I don't think I will ever rid myself of him.
Jace London is a permanent fixture in the center of my universe, and there's nothing I can do about it.
"What am I going to do?" I ask
as I start to calm down.
She inhales deeply and sighs. "That depends. What do you want to do?"
It's a loaded question, and one I really don't have the answer to right now. But I do know one thing that might help. I sit up and pull my plastic-feeling hair into a messy bun.
"For starters, I want some ice cream," I tell her.
My best friend chuckles and rolls off my bed. "Let's get you some ice cream then."
And when I'm halfway through a pint of Ben and Jerry's, it hits me so hard that my gasp scares the shit out of Becca.
He was sober.
It's an odd feeling, leaving a place you're not sure if you're ever going to get to come back to. The comfort of my room. The smell of my home. The pictures on the wall. I commit them all to memory, because if this trial doesn't go my way, there's a chance I'll never see this place again.
Carter lies spread across my bed, taking up the whole thing. I swear, sharing a bed with him is damn near impossible. He kicks. He punches. And he will literally try to cuddle with anything, making it hard to get away from him. Lord help the woman he ends up with, that's all I've got to say.
"Fucker!" I yell, but he doesn't even flinch.
Grabbing the football off my shelf—my autographed Randy Moss ball that my dad got me for my thirteenth birthday—I throw a perfectly aimed toss right into his dick. Every part of me mentally thanks my dad for all those football camps he sent me to as Carter's eyes shoot open and he curls into the fetal position.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" he groans, voice sounding a little squeaky. "I want kids one day."
I cringe at his words. "That's a scary thought."
In one quick move, he grabs the football and chucks it back at me, but my dad sticks out a hand to catch it before it breaks something. He shakes his head as he puts it back on the shelf.
"Didn't you two cause enough damage in here?" he teases with a serious tone. "I really don't feel like spending another ten grand. Thanks."
Leaning back in my chair, I shrug. "I was trying to clean it out for you. Mom can change it into a fourth closet when I'm gone."
A hand comes up and smacks me across the back of the head. I hiss at the pain but still laugh at the way my dad gives me a look that dares me to say anything else about it.
"The plane takes off in six hours," he calls as he walks out of my room. "Be ready!"
I rub the spot that still stings, and Carter smirks at me from the bed.
"Karma’s a bitch."
THE TWO OF US spend the day doing the most normal things we can think of. Video games. Drinking beer. Bullshitting about women. And of course, he wouldn't be Carter if he didn't bring up the fact that I ran into Paige the other day.
