The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(93)

“You haven’t, Troy, please don’t go. Stay. We can fix this.” Clutching my chest, I try to breathe through the pain.

“I can’t,” he drops his stare to the ground as he speaks. “And I can’t have anything real with anyone else until I get over you. And I can’t do that if I see you every damned day.”

“Troy, please hear me, I love you, I trust you. I’m so sorry I was so selfish, so fucking blind. Please don’t go. I’ll do anything.”

The shake of his head says it all. It’s too late.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to step back, okay?”

I nod as tears slide down my cheeks. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I’m exhausted. I’m so fucking exhausted.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and makes his way down the steps as a white Taurus pulls up. Halfway to the car, he turns back to me, his eyes pleading. “Just don’t let him think less of me, okay? I will get it together, Clarissa, I swear. I will.”

“I know you will.”

“Please just tell him I’m coming back. Promise me you’ll tell him I’m coming back.”

“I promise,” I manage to get out before he climbs into the back of the car, and the driver pulls away. Just inside the door, I collapse into Parker’s waiting arms.





Alta’s Chicken Enchiladas

Cheerleader, Texas



Makes 10 servings





1 hour and 30 minutes


6–8 Chicken Breasts **Time saver—use 2 cooked rotisserie chickens





10 Flour Tortillas


1 Medium Onion – Chopped

12 Oz. Grated Cheddar Cheese





4 Cans Cream of Chicken Soup


4 Oz. Can Chopped Green Chilies

1/2 Cup Water



Boil chicken for about 45 minutes after water starts to boil.



Remove meat and cut into bite size pieces.



Heat soup, green chilies, and water in saucepan.



*TIP-Spread a large spoonful of soup mixture into the bottom of the pan to keep the enchiladas from sticking.



Place chicken, onion, cheese, and a spoonful of sauce in a tortilla and roll up. Put rolled up tortilla in baking dish. Repeat until the desired number of enchiladas are made.



Pour remaining sauce over enchiladas. Sprinkle any remaining cheese over top.



Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.



These are very good served with sour cream and a dash of hot sauce.





Clarissa

The next morning, I made an excuse for Troy at breakfast and Dante sulked for the rest of the day and through the night. It’s only been a few days, the house eerily empty despite the racket Dante makes, but I know it’s the ache I’m battling inside.

I lost him.

I’ve lost him and ruined any chance of the future we’d been dreaming up together. Parker had to leave early this morning for a short trip, and I only managed to go through the motions, every movement a chore, while trying to remind myself to breathe. I broke my own heart because of my inability to trust what I knew to be the truth. My biggest mistake is that I wanted concrete answers, conviction. But love is not concrete, it’s fragile, unforgivingly so. I wanted to love Troy without the risk, but in the end, I realized the only way I could have proved my love was by taking one.

And I failed.

I’m a coward.

A fucking fool.

I self-sabotaged because of my issues.

Dante knows something’s amiss. Every morning when I exit my bedroom, I do my best to put on a brave face, assuring him Troy will be back soon. Days are bearable due to my workload, but the nights are too much to take. All I do is replay every second of our time together, of what we had—every kiss, every look, every touch, every word. His smile, his laugh, the way he loved me, doted on me. The way he fathered his son with the utmost care. The things he noticed that I didn’t.

Every night after putting Dante down, I gaze over at Troy’s empty bedroom, thinking of how much time I wasted with my hesitance.

I spoon more green beans on Dante’s plate, and he pushes it away.

“I don’t need anymore.”

“Okay, then brownies?”

“No. I’m full. I don’t want to eat my feelings.”

“What? Where did you learn that?”

“I’m not supposed to tell.”

Parker.

Instantly, I’m on alert. When she’s down, sometimes she’s way down. Have I missed something? She seemed fine when she called to check on me.

“Did you hear someone having an adult conversation?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, son.”

“I’m not! I’m not supposed to tell!”

He walks into his bathroom in an attempt to evade me, and I follow as he grabs his toothbrush.

“Dante. I want you to tell me where you heard that.”

“It’s a secret.”

“Dante,” I warn.

“He’ll be mad at me.”

“Who?”

“Troy.”