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That she thought I wasn’t good enough for her.
That she was humiliated when she realized who I was, because I was so far beneath her.
Shewashumiliated. But for an entirely different reason. Because she thought I played her. That my name and number on that note were a taunt.
Ever since she’d told me so, I should’ve been fighting to prove to her that she was wrong. That I’d never set out to hurt her that way.
But my pride wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t let the chip on my shoulder towards her go that easily. Not until she came around first.
I’d come on strong, yes.
But I’d never fought for her.
If anything, I made her fight for me. I’d orchestrated everything. Had her playing the game my way. Taking advantage of her submissive nature to keep control.
I’d screwed her at my dad’s place, within an inch of getting caught, to make her prove to us both how much she wanted me, how much she’d be willing to do for me. And how much control I had over her.
It was bullshit.
She had all the control. If she called me right now, in the dead of night, I’d be there like a salivating dog.
All she had to do was saycoldto stop me cold. If she utteredCalifornia, my whole world would’ve stopped.
But she didn’t even have to say California, did she.
California was the iceberg looming in the dark and my heart was the Titanic. I could see it coming, but it didn’t matter.
I was about to sink.
My whole life had felt like a battle to survive. It was engrained in me. Because all my life, it felt like the life I’d been given could be taken away again. I hadn’t really earned it. I hadn’t even been born into it. It wasn’t mine.
It was given to me, with love, by a man who didn’t have to love me. A man who still loved me, despite all the ways I’d fucked up, let him down.
Maybe I felt like I’d finally earned that life when I got so good at hockey. When I got drafted, had my chance to go pro.
But then I’d lost it.
So, I just kept fighting. Fighting everyone and everything around me.
Maybe I was afraid that if I ever gave up the fight, it would all be over. I’d have nothing left. I wasn’t a hockey player. What would I be now if I wasn’t a fighter, either?
The problem was, when you kept looking for a fight, no matter how long it took, you’d always get a fight. If you threw up your fists enough, eventually someone would fight you back.
And Dane was right. When you realized that it was just a mirror you were looking into, that you were only fighting yourself, how could you ever win?
You couldn’t outfight the perfect opponent. You couldn’t submit him. You couldn’t possibly knock him out.
And so you just kept swinging, round after round, year after year… Until maybe you finally got wise to the fact that the fight really should’ve been over long ago. And mercifully, graciously… you finally tapped the fuck out.
Maybe it was just time for me to give up the fight.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Jolie
It was the evening of my mom’s wedding.
And Shane still wasn’t here.
