Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(34)

“Babe, you know I hated it when you didn’t come to my shows.” His eyes bore into mine. “I needed you there. You were such a muse to me. It was a moment of fucking weakness.”

He looks up at the ceiling as if looking for the right words to explain, but I know he won’t find anything there. You can’t reason your way out of having your dick inside another girl.

I recall the moment I found a lip-smeared phone number in his pocket and called it, and the girl on the other end had no qualms about detailing her make-out session with Bennett at Remi’s Bar, a local music spot where his band plays.

At his next gig, I showed up at Remi’s unannounced and saw for myself, both of them in his Land Cruiser, her straddling him in his seat, her dressed shoved up around her waist.

Part of me wanted to pull a Carrie Underwood and take a Louisville Slugger to that car.

But I didn’t.

I walked away.

And I haven’t stopped.

Maybe it was because of how I watched Mama cry to my father. I watched her beg him every time he left us to go back to his real family. Her tears made me swear I would never be the girl who got her heart broken.

He must read the emotions flitting across my face. “Please. Just give me another chance. Everyone deserves that.”

He made me cry for weeks. He made me think I was less than, like there was something about me that wasn’t good enough.

And I can’t forgive that.

I won’t be the girl who accepts a guy who cheats on her.

I won’t be the girl who accepts a liar.

Taylor and Poppy follow me as we get up and walk out of the Tipsy Moose.





16





Zack





“You’re quiet, Zack. How do you feel about the upcoming game?” The question comes from Dr. Cole, my sports psychologist. A stocky man with a goatee and discerning eyes, he’s leaned back in his leather chair, pen and notebook in hand. He has a long list of elite athletic clients ranging from NBA basketball players to superstar tennis players. We’re in his spacious office in the city, and he’s been talking for the past few minutes about my progress—or lack thereof.

I think back over these past weeks with him. My therapy is a cognitive behavioral treatment where I practice relaxation training and stress reduction.

I’m staring out the window, my mind drifting to Sugar and that kiss last night. She’s consuming me, the way her lips pucker when she’s thinking, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks after I kiss her. This crazy thing we have is mutual, which scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. I guess what Veronica said is true; my bedroom has been a revolving door of girls since freshman year, but I never lied to a girl or cheated while we “dated”. The truth is, hockey is number one with me, and there’s never been a girl worth sharing that spotlight with.

I know, we just met, we just fucking met, but something about her— “Zack?”

I look up at Dr. Cole. He’s giving me a quizzical look, and I realize I’ve been silent too long. I clear my throat. “I’m practicing my breathing, doing self-talk, setting goals, eating right, running, lifting in the gym, writing letters. I’m doing everything…” I stop and stare down at my hands. “But I’m already dreading the next game. I’m terrified I’ll spiral. The dread is always lingering, right there below the surface, and if one little thing sets me off…”

He nods at me. “You’re a topnotch athlete, and you didn’t get that way with just your physical attributes. You have the good mental control, and now you just have to polish your adaptability. You love a challenge, right?”

I rub my jaw. “You make it sound easier than it is.”

He gives me a sympathetic, wry grin. “Life is never easy for a person with anxiety. These feelings may never go away, which is why you need to steel yourself against the dark thoughts, be prepared, and hone your methods of coping like a blade against a stone. Use those things that give you dread. Face them. Accept them. Overcome them.”

I take a deep breath. I can face them, even accept that I have a problem, but overcoming? Yeah, that’s the heart of the issue.

The truth is, part of me has always been anxious; it’s just that lately, it’s winning.

The first time I took the ice my freshman year at HU, I got dizzy and clammy and thought I might pass out, but I hung on and shoved it away. I used the energy, wrestled it, and poured it into my game and I won, I fucking defeated the anxiety. I’ve always been able to beat the darkness—until now.

He must see something in my expression. “How are you feeling about Willow this week? Anything different?”

I level my gaze at him. “She’s dead because of me. She’s never going to college or getting married or having kids…” I halt, my gut churning.

“And you still blame yourself?”

My jaw tightens, anger and grief bubbling. “Therapy isn’t going to fix a mistake I made, sir. I killed her.”

“A car accident killed her.” His reply is swift and sure.

“Because I wasn’t there,” I insist.

He puts his elbow on the desk. “You’re not a mind reader and you can’t control people. Even if you had been at that party, she would have left eventually. She would have taken the same curve in the road. You are not an all-knowing deity who can decide someone’s fate just by showing up at a party.”