Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(63)

Taisha stops in front of me, frowning. “Table ten is still waiting for water.”

“Shit.” I close my eyes and jump forward to get a pitcher. “I forgot.”

“You okay, hon?” Taisha eyes me, her forehead wrinkled. “You don’t look so good, actually. Late night last night?”

It was a late night, by the time Jacob and I fell asleep after trying out numerous positions and I had three orgasms. But that’s not what the problem is. “Sort of.” I rush over to pour ice water into glasses, once more apologizing.

I seriously need to focus here. I’m being paid to do a job, and screwing up isn’t good for my tips or for the diner. I dig deep for the strength I need to shut my mind off to my problems and concentrate on work.

By the end of my shift, I’m drained. I walk slowly to my car. The cold air chills my face and the pale sky looks like it’s ready to release snowflakes.

I start the engine and let it idle for a minute. Now I have to admit I’m afraid to go home. Because Ella will be there.

She said she’s done with me, and I’m dead to her. I rub my chest where it burns. She can’t mean that. We’ve been best friends since middle school. Yes, there’s been this divide between us since Brendan died, and it’s only now becoming clear to me why that is. I thought it was her behavior that was driving the wedge between us, but now I can see it’s more than that. It’s the huge secret I’ve been keeping from her.

I don’t know how to fix this.

I lean my head on the steering wheel, my eyes burning, my throat aching. Then I pull in a shaky breath and lift my head. I have to try to talk to Ella.

In the house, I knock on her closed bedroom door. I lean my forehead against it and wait, but there’s no answer. She doesn’t usually keep her door closed if she’s not in there. Paranoia grabs hold of me. She was really upset this morning, and after what happened with Brendan…I open the door and peek in.

Nope. The room is empty.

I quietly close the door and walk into my own room. I can hear music from behind Natalie’s closed bedroom door, but it doesn’t seem likely Ella’s in there with her. Looks like Brooklyn is out too. In my room I sink down onto my unmade bed and stare at the floor, not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that Ella’s not here to talk things out.

Ella doesn’t come home all night. That’s not exactly unusual for her lately.

I don’t hear from Jacob either. That is unusual for a Saturday night. He almost always has games Saturday nights, and he likes when I go to them, but tonight I have no one to go with and I’m not going alone. And Jacob hasn’t texted to see if I’ll be there. I kind of thought I might hear from him, even if only to see if I was okay after that scene this morning. Whatever.

I don’t sleep well, listening for Ella to come home. I guess I’m still affected by what happened with Brendan and it’s making me worry about her. I keep telling myself she’s not going to do anything extreme.

I’m in the kitchen Sunday morning making myself coffee when she arrives home. She passes by the kitchen door on her way upstairs. Her makeup is smudged, her hair a mess, and she’s still wearing a tight, short red dress. My stomach tightens, but I call out, “Ella!”

She ignores me.

I move to the bottom of the stairs. “Ella, we need to talk.”

“Nope. We really don’t.”

She doesn’t even look at me and disappears into her room.

Great. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of the school year? It’s only November.

I haven’t felt such a sense of bleak desolation since Brendan died. With heavy steps I climb the stairs to my room and shut myself in there.

I have lots to do. I have homework and some research, and tasks for the pizza fundraiser, as well as the frat chat we’re planning for January.

But I find myself lying on my bed staring at the ceiling.

I roll off my bed and sit at my desk in front of my computer. I check the hockey team website to see how the game went last night. They lost, five-three. Ugh.

I send Jacob a text message. Hey, sorry about the loss.

It takes him a while to reply. Yeah, it sucks, but oh well.

I wait awhile longer, debating what else to say to him. Should I ask him what he’s doing today? Or is that weird? We’ve been spending a lot of time together and I’ve been thinking that things are changing between us. We keep talking about our deal and how this isn’t anything real, but I have to admit, it feels real to me.

I care about him.

I might even…love him.

Then he messages, How are you? Doing okay?

I stare at my phone, smoothing my thumb across the screen as I again deliberate over how to respond. In the end, I lie. Yeah, I’m okay.

Good.

And that’s the end of our conversation.

I sit there for a long time holding the phone. Then I rise and walk over to the dresser to plug it in to charge. I stand there with my hands gripping the edge of the dresser, staring at myself in the mirror.

My eyes are still bloodshot and swollen, my nose is still pink. My hair’s in a lank ponytail from work.

I feel so alone. Tears spring to my eyes again.

How did my world get so f*cked-up in the space of a day? And what do I do about it?

This week is Thanksgiving and I’ve planned to go home for the long weekend. I don’t know whether this is fortuitous or crappy timing.