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“I didn’t say that. So much has happened, Zale, I just…” I let my head fall back against the couch cushions. I can’t stand the thought of not having her in my life, but at the same time, how can I go back to being friends with her now that I know how she tastes? Now that I’ve spent two nights with her in my arms? “I need to think it all through. I need to get my head on straight.”
Azalea’s expression shifts, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I once wondered what it would be like to see her angry. Not irritated, not grumpy—truly pissed. I’ve gone this long without seeing it, but the jig is up.
She’s furious.
“I have never run from you,” she says in a low, dangerous tone that I’ve never heard come out of her mouth before. It actually chills me. “I’ve never been scared off by anything you were going through.”
“I know that.”
“I’m sitting here, ready and willing to help you through this, too, and you’re acting like I’d be another burden.”
I sigh, frustrated that my words won’t come out correctly, that she’s not hearing what I’m trying to say. “That’s not what I meant.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she stares down at her crossed arms. Her eyelashes flutter rapidly, and I know she’s fighting back tears. I’ve seen her cry many times before, but not because of me.Neverbecause of me. Where did things go so wrong that I’m the one causing Azalea’s pain?
Azalea takes a deep breath in, then lets her shoulders drop in an exhale. She raises her head, and there is a definite sheen to her eyes. Even so, her voice is steady and sharp when she speaks. “So you lied to me.”
I feel my face twist in confusion. “What?”
“You told me you’d stay here if I wanted you to. That you’d drop out of the draft, give up on baseball, and stay with me. You said that afew daysago.” She gestures vaguely at my leg. “And here we are—you’re out of the draft, you’re staying home—but you’re not going to staywith me.”
“This is completely different,” I snap, feeling my own irritation rise. “Having my leg destroyed by some drunk asshole is not the same thing as making achoiceto stay because I’m in lo—”
I cut myself off abruptly, but not quick enough. Azalea’s eyes pop wide open, her chest rising and falling rapidly. For one long, tense moment, we stare at each other. “Don’t say that,” she says so quietly that I have to lean in to hear her. “Don’t youdaresay that to me when you just told me you can’t even handle being friends.”
“I didn’tsay—”
“Not in so many words.”
Emotion bubbles inside of me and spills over, and I explode. “Could you have a little more fucking empathy?” Shock crosses her face, and she visibly recoils. Immediately,immediately,I'm filled with shame and regret. But I barrel forward with my words, inexplicably unable to do the smart thing and shut my mouth. “The only future I ever planned for myself was one where I was playing baseball and my mom was alive. Jesus Christ, give me a chance to breathe, Azalea. I don’t have anything left here.”
As if it couldn’t get any worse, my dumbass had to add that last part. Devastation crosses her face, and myGod, I hate myself. She pushes herself to her feet. “I’m leaving.”
All the bite is gone from my voice, replaced with desperation as I call out to her turned back. “Azalea, wait.”
“I’m leaving,” she repeats. I watch helplessly as she reaches for the doorknob, then pauses and turns back around. The spark of hope in my chest is quickly extinguished by her flat expression. She’s retreated into herself, shutting me out. “For the record, though, you could have had me,” she says simply, matter-of-factly, and then steps out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Azalea
Thursday, June 16, at 4:12 pm
Hey. I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I’m really sorry about yesterday. I never should have spoken to you like that. I think the fact that I did kind of reinforces that I’m not in a good place and should take some time to sort things out on my own.
I agree. Take care of yourself.
“Areyoureadinghistexts again?” barks Callie, storming across the living room of our apartment to snatch my phone from my hand. She glares at it, then at me. “I’m going to change your passcode if you don’t cut it out.”
“Well, I’m not telling you my current passcode.”
“It’s your name. 292532.”
With a scowl, I take my phone back and go into my settings to change it. “Not anymore.”
Callie sighs and collapses on the couch beside me. She rests her chin on my raised knees, wrapping her arms loosely around my thighs in a gesture I find comforting. “He’s a wreck, Zale.”
It’s been a week since I spoke to Maverick, about three days since I came back to our apartment to get some space, but I’m still sulking around like I’m fresh off a breakup. Which, I guess, I kind of am. Callie has been here with me, but I know she’s been talking to Maverick too. As upset as I am with him, I’m glad he has her. “Yeah. He is.”
