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Her glowing smile is my parting gift and something I’ll be picturing every day until we see each other again. Which will be sooner rather than later if I have my way. Because while she may have said it as a joke, us beingdoneis not even an option I’m considering right now.
Chapter Ten
Lucy
Fallingbackontothebed, clothes in hand, I groan out loud. There is no part of me that wants to leave right now. Which I know is stupid, because I only live about thirty minutes away. But in the last week, I’ve grown accustomed to being close to Wes, and that’s definitely going to change when I’m gone. I won’t be able to meet him in the halls or catch up between our commitments.
Pulling out my phone, I shoot him a text because I seem to have this inability to stop thinking about him.
Lucy: Why didn’t I get a late checkout, or I guess the better question is why didn’t I pack last night?
He replies almost instantly, and I smile.
Wes: You were too busy being romanced
Lucy: I think you mean attacked
Wes: No, I definitely mean romanced
I laugh out loud as I throw my clothes at my bag, watching as half of them hit the floor. Not that I care. My heart is so full and happy that nothing could bring me back down to earth. I didn’t think I had it in me to let someone else in, especially someone I just met. But getting to know Wes has been the best thing that could have happened. I’m not healed by any sense of the word, but I’m getting there, and I know he’s the one that’s going to break down my walls.
The hotel room phone rings, and I jump at the sound. It’s the wakeup call I’d set in case I slept through my phone alarm. Which is always a strong possibility. But this time, I’m up, despite the fact the clock on the bedside table reads seven a.m., and I don’t have to check out until ten. Sleep just isn’t an option right now with the nervous energy running through me.
Staring up at the ceiling, my mind drifts back to Wes as I picture him on his way to practice. He’s probably been up since five and feels fresh as a daisy…or something. I don’t know. Point is…I’m sure he’s not feeling tired and shit like I do.
When my cell vibrates again, I preemptively laugh at whatever he’s about to say. I know it’s going to be seaweed related. I can sense it. There’s no way he’s going to let that one go.
But when I look at the screen, it’s not Wes, and my heart stops as I read the name in front of me.Greg.
My chest tightens, and my stomach churns. I don’t want to read this, but at the same time, I need to know what he’s got to say.
Greg: I saw the photo of you and that football player. Is that why you left? Or are you still playing hard to get?
Fuck! I don’t even know what to process first. What photo? And why won’t he leave me the hell alone? My phone chimes again, and it’s a link to an online news article.
Wes Johnson at it again. Is San Francisco about to lose their new tight end for a girl?
What?
There’s a photo attached of us kissing on the beach. It’s impossible to make out our faces, but in the small accompanying photo, we’re standing side by side, and it’s clear to see it’s the same people. I’m described as Dylan Mathers’s little sister. And while they are wrong about their facts, whoever this writer is has taken the time to look me up.
Sucking in a breath as my heart thuds in my chest, I fight to stop myself from falling apart. Having Greg contact me is bad enough, but this… this makes me feel sick. Not to mention, I have no idea what the headline means.
I scan the first few lines of the article but have to stop when it makes me feel worse. Sources say Wes is arriving late to practice and messing up his game. And apparently, it’s not the first time. I’m so confused, but I’m not about to believe an article when I could just ask Wes myself.
My thoughts swirl as I try to process it all. Lifting my phone to call Wes, I curse when I see another text waiting for me.
Greg: I’m coming over
Oh, God, oh, God. A chill runs through my entire body as moisture fills my eyes.Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I’m okay. I’m not at home. He can’t find me.It’s been over a month since I’ve seen him. He’s been quiet. I thought he was done.Why won’t he leave me alone?I don’t want to go home. But I don’t know where else to go.
Slowly lifting myself up off the bed, I call down to reception and ask to extend my stay. Luckily, it’s midweek, so they offer me an extra day.
Picking up my suitcase, I dump everything onto the bed, searching for my toiletries. I’ve got Tylenol in here somewhere, and fuck, my head is hurting.
I feel uneasy and slightly on edge. My mind is whirring, my hands are shaking, and I’m downright jittery. When I finally locate my toiletry bag, I step back, tripping over something on the floor. My heart just about lodges in my throat as I imagine someone grabbing ahold of my foot. And while I know it’s irrational and over-the-top, I can’t control the way my heart races as I move toward the bathroom, dropping my hands to the sink as I stare at myself in the mirror.I’m strong. I’m capable. I won’t let anyone hurt me.
Mindlessly rustling around in the bag, my eyes lock on my birth control pills and I freeze, with my hand hovering in midair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! No, no, no.”
