Broken Juliet(30)

“Ethan, I’ve just spent the past eight weeks teaching myself not to care every single time I see you. I’m getting pretty good at it by now.”

He nods and gives me a bitter smile. “Good for you.”




The campus gym.

I’ve been at this school for over eight months, and this is the first time I’ve stepped inside. It’s big. Just like everything else at this school.

The main floor is filled with cardio equipment and weight machines, and on the second level, there’s a free-weights area and various specialized rooms for things like yoga, Pilates, and boxing. There’s even a racquetball court.

It seems Eva Bonetti, whose name is plastered over the door, was a generous patron of the arts.

Ruby said I should try out the boxing room. Relieve some stress, she’d said. Stop being a mopey bitch, she’d said. Pretend the punching bag is Holt’s stupidly handsome face, she’d said.

I figure it can’t hurt. So here I am, brand-new boxing gloves in hand, resolve firmly in place. Determined to purge some of the emotional pressure that’s been building inside me for the past few months.

It’s Friday night, so the place is practically empty. Of course, most college students have more exciting things to do on the weekend than punch out their frustrations. I’m not one of them.

As I approach the boxing room, I hear grunts coming from inside.

Dammit. I hadn’t considered someone else would be using it.

I reach the door and peer in through the glass panel.

My breath catches.

It’s him.

Broad shoulders in a wifebeater, his arms pumping as he pummels the bag. Jabs and uppercuts blend into thumping roundhouses. His riotous hair drips with sweat.

Every time he hits the bag, he grunts, his face intense and angry. Time and again the gloves thump and smack. I can nearly feel the force of it through the door.

A cold shiver runs up my spine.

He looks desperate. Like he’s fighting for his life. Hitting and hitting and hitting, and seemingly getting no satisfaction from it. It should make me happy to see him suffering so much, but it doesn’t. It makes my throat tighten with emotions I don’t want to feel.

He continues punishing the bag, arms flying, body pivoting to give him more power. Then he kicks it, knees it. Uses so much force, I feel the vibration through the floor. He gets faster and faster, and his noises become more frustrated, until at last he stops and grips the bag as he gasps for breath. His face morphs into an expression of total defeat.

“Fuck it,” he groans as he presses his forehead into the Everlast logo. “Fuck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.”

I’m desperate to know what’s going through his mind. I long to tell him he’s making it too hard. That it could be so easy and right between us if he’d just give in.

But I know he wouldn’t believe me.

It’s too late for that anyway. The damage has been done.

At this point, we’re beyond repair.

When he rips off his gloves and throws them at the wall, I sling my gym bag over my shoulder and walk away. Every part of me complains. Begs me to go back.

I don’t.

Each step away from him is like dragging my feet though quicksand.

By the time I reach the stairs, the grunting has started again.




“He misses you, you know.”

I didn’t think anyone knew about my secret reading corner at the far edge of the drama block, but I should have realized Elissa is part bloodhound.

I close my book, not sure what to say. She helps by flopping down next to me and filling the silence. “I know you think he’s an * or whatever, but … I’ve never seen my brother so ruined over anyone before. He’s like a ghost of who he was when he was with you.”

Bitter laughter bubbles out of me. “Maybe he shouldn’t have dumped me, then.”

She picks at the grass next to her. “He thinks he’s protecting you.”

“Well, he’s wrong.”

“What if he’s not?” She holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. “What if he’d stayed and all his issues forced you to be the one who walked away? Would that have been less or more painful?”

I shrug. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“Guess not.”

She’s quiet for a moment then says, “He’s not a bad person, Cassie. He’s just … damaged. Scared.”

I blink and pick at the grass, trying to calm the heat that’s rising up my neck. “I know. And now, thanks to him, I know what that’s like.”

She doesn’t reply to that. I don’t expect her to. It’s a conversation killer, and we both know it.

She stands. “Do you at least miss him?”

More than I’ve missed anything or anyone in my short and unremarkable life.

“I’m trying really hard not to.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Miserably.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Elissa, you have nothing to apologize for. Your brother, on the other hand…”

She nods. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

It’s the truth. I’d like to think I could get past all of this, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.