The Deal (Off-Campus, #1)(107)

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting so weird. I’ve just been doing some thinking…”

Holy shit. She’s breaking up with me. Because nobody starts a sentence with “I’ve just been doing some thinking…” without ending that sentence with, “and I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Hannah lets out a breath. “And I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Even though I’m expecting it, the quiet words stab me in the heart and send a tornado of pain spiraling through me.

She hurries on when she notices my expression. “It’s just…things are moving too fast, Garrett. It’s barely been two months and we’re already at the I-love-you stage, and it’s so super serious all of a sudden, and…” She looks frazzled and sounds upset.

I, on the other hand, am neither frazzled nor upset.

I’m devastated.

I choke back the bitterness lining my throat. “Why don’t you say what you really mean?”

She frowns. “What?”

“You said you didn’t hate me for losing my temper with Delaney, but that’s what all this is about, right? It scared you. It made you see me as some reckless caveman who can’t control his violent urges, right?”

Shock fills her eyes. “No. Of course not.”

The conviction in her voice makes me falter. It’s so easy for me to read this girl, and as I search her eyes, I can’t find even a hint that she might be lying to me. But…f*ck. If she’s not pissed about Delaney, then why the hell is she doing this?

“We’re moving too fast,” she insists. “That’s what this is about.”

“Fine,” I say tersely. “Then let’s slow it down. What is it you want? You want us to see each other only once a week? Stop crashing at each other’s places? What do you want?”

I thought my heart couldn’t throb any worse than this, but then she stabs another sword of agony into it.

“I want us to see other people.”

All I can do is stare at her. I’m afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I try to talk.

“I mean, I’ve only had one serious relationship before you, Garrett. How do I know what love is? What if there’s something more out there…someone else…something…better, I guess.”

Sweet Jesus. She just keeps twisting the knife deeper and deeper.

“College is all about exploring your options, right?” She’s talking so fast now that it’s difficult to keep up. “I’m supposed to be meeting people and going on dates and finding out who I am and all that stuff, or at least that’s what I was hoping to do this year. I didn’t expect you and I to get together, and I really didn’t expect it to get so serious, so fast.” She shrugs helplessly. “I’m confused, okay? And I think what I need right now is some time to…you know…to think,” she finishes feebly.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood in my mouth. Then I draw a long, unstable breath and cross my arms. “All right, so let me get this straight—and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. You fell in love with me and didn’t expect it, so now you want to date other people and f*ck other guys—sorry, you want to explore, just on the off chance that you meet someone who is better than me.”

She averts her gaze.

“Is that what you’re saying?” My voice is cold enough to freeze everything south of the Equator.

After an eternity of silence, she looks up.

Then she nods.

I’m pretty sure she hears the massive crack in my chest as my heart splits open like a watermelon. God knows she’s the one responsible for it.

In the back of my mind, a little voice whispers, This is wrong.

No f*cking kidding, *. There’s nothing right about this.

“I’m going to leave now.” I’m amazed that my paralyzed vocal cords allow me to speak. I’m not amazed by the naked anger in my tone. “Because I honestly can’t look at you right now.”

A tiny breath puffs out of her mouth. She doesn’t say a word.

I stagger to the door, my brain and heart and motor functions eerily close to shutting down on me, but I manage one hoarse parting line as I reach the threshold. “You know what, Wellsy?” Our gazes lock and her lips tremble as if she’s trying not to cry. “For someone who’s so damn strong, you really are a f*cking coward.”


Alcohol. I need some f*cking alcohol.

There’s no alcohol in the fridge.

I barrel up the stairs two at a time and burst into Logan’s bedroom without knocking. Fortunately, he’s not in the middle of boning some nameless puck bunny. I wouldn’t have cared if he was. I’m a man on a mission, and Logan’s closet is the mission.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands as I throw open the closet door and reach for the top shelf.

“Taking your whiskey.”

“Why?”

Why? Why?

Maybe because my chest feels like someone scraped it with a dull razorblade for the past ten years? And then they took that razorblade and shoved it down my throat so it would tear up my windpipe and shred my insides. And then to add insult to injury, they ripped my heart out and threw it on the ice so an entire hockey team could slash it up with their skates.