Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 28

Me:I don’t know about this, Lauren.

Lauren:The outfit is . Men love it when you wear something with their name on it. Makes them feel all primitive and shit.Hot

Me:I’m not trying to make him feel primitive. I’m going to support my friend.

Lauren:Mmmkay.

Me:Don’t say it like that.

Lauren:Fine. If you want to kid yourself that he’s making this effort because you’re just friends, I’ll play along. But I promise . . . this is a man showing you that you’re important to him.

Lauren:I’ll be there in twenty. Just finishing up my makeup now.

I tossed my phone onto my bed and sighed, standing again in front of the mirror in my bedroom. On Lauren’s advice, I tied the jersey off by my hip, a slice of my stomach showing above the waistband of my denim cutoffs. When I turned to the side, the sight of his name on my back sent my pulse sky-high. She’d found me a brand-new Griffin King jersey somewhere in Denver when she was visiting Marcus. It was expected, she told me, that when you go to training camp to support someone in particular, you wear their jersey.

Apparently she knew everything now, even though she and Marcus refused to define their relationship. The man had literally tattooed her name on his ass a couple weeks ago, but they couldn’t call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Their visits were usually limited to once a week, due to his busy schedule heading into the season. But still . . . they’d each made the effort. And all that time, I’d been here, wondering why the less-than-two-hour drive to Griffin’s new place made it seem like he lived on a different planet.

It wasn’t like I didn’t want to see him.

Sometimes fear made for a stronger leash than we were willing to break.

My hands shook while I finished pulling back my hair. I’d braided it off my face, anchoring it to the nape of my neck with a dark-blue ribbon. And no matter how badly I tried to ignore it, my heart had been thrashing erratically all morning.

Anxiety, as it turned out, can do that to ya.

Even knowing it was nothing more than that—anxiety about seeing a man who’d climbed deep under my skin—I sat heavily on the foot of the bed and laid both hands on my chest. The curse of being the type A responsible one was only feeling comfortable in situations where the outcome was known. Where it was expected.

It didn’t really matter if the outcome occasionally changed; it was walking into something and owning a relative degree of confidence. Like Griffin. If I’d known how it would all turn out, would I have indulged even a hint of that relationship?

Staring at my own reflection in the mirror from my seat on the bed, I wanted to say no. I wanted to admit that I never would’ve walked the same path, but I’d be lying to myself.

The thought of never having Griffin in any of the ways I’d had him made my bones ache and my heart hurt in a different way than it had ever hurt before. Sometimes I closed my eyes and pictured his face—his wide smile and bright eyes—and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.

Was this falling in love, then?

Not being able to get them out of your head. Missing them like a limb. Replaying all the bursts of time where they made things better. Where their absence felt like a small sort of death to be mourned.

It was awful.

My phone buzzed on the bed where I’d thrown it, and assuming it was Lauren again, I grabbed it and tapped on the message bubble.

Mom:Look what popped up in my memories today. Glad you’re healthy and strong. Love you, my girl.

After that, she included a broken-heart emoji and a string of pictures that sent my stomach sinking down to my feet. It was my last hospital stay before they found a donor for my transplant. I didn’t even know my mom had taken these pictures, and looking at them had my chest going hard and cold, my throat tight.

She wasn’t doing this to hurt me—my parents were unfailingly pragmatic, just like me—but I felt it like a knife to the gut all the same.

In the first few, I was sleeping in the hospital bed, hooked up to wires and machines, a sickly pallor to my skin, and my arms and legs were painfully thin. Off to the side of my bed, my dad was slumped in a chair, his head resting on his hand as he slept in a cramped position. There were bags under his eyes, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.

A tear spilled over onto my cheek before I knew I was crying, and the slow build of unease crawled up my skin as I looked at the other photos. I’d turned twenty-four not too long before I was in that hospital bed, and I remembered thinking that I likely wouldn’t see twenty-five. Making peace with the fact that I wouldn’t. Telling my mom that I’d prefer to be cremated because the thought of a coffin made me want to scream.

My eyes slammed shut when I imagined having a conversation like that with Griffin. Imagined him sitting where my dad sat. Imagined trying to make peace with any shortened life if he was the one I was saying goodbye to.

My fingers started tingling, and my breath came in choppy, short bursts. I dropped my phone and sank my head into my hands while I struggled to calm my breathing, waiting for the cold, prickly wave of anxiety to pass.

It didn’t.

It built. And built. And soon my legs were trembling, my head staticky and loud and horrible.

Bruiser came into the room, nudging my arms with his nose and emitting a low, distressed whine. I sank onto the floor and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my nose into the sleek fur of his neck, tears coating my face while I told myself over and over that this would pass. It would pass. It would pass.

After a few minutes, the grip on my lungs eased, and I sucked in a deep breath. Bruiser whined again, licking my face.

“I’m okay, buddy.” I scratched behind his ears and kept breathing until my head cleared and my hands stopped tingling. After a few more minutes, when I felt like my legs could hold me, I stood from the floor and went to splash cold water on my face. My makeup was ruined, and I couldn’t find it in me to care. All I wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep until the next day. Or stare at those pictures and remind myself why being alone was so much easier.

Griffin’s face tore through that thought, and I swallowed a sob.

It will pass.

It will pass.

Whatever I was feeling for him, it would pass.

With a hand still on my chest, I let the steady thump of my heart ground me as I sent Lauren a text. Then Griffin. Jaw tight with resolve, I silenced my phone, peeled back the blankets on my bed, toed my shoes off before climbing in, and tugged the covers up over my head.

“Quit looking at the sidelines, asshole. You gonna play or not?”

Liam smacked me on the back of my helmet when I wasn’t listening inside the huddle, and I set my jaw, trying to focus on the play we were lining up.

“Sorry,” I told him. “Just . . . looking for someone.”

He eyed me, the rest of the defense watching our interaction carefully. “Need to sit this one out?”

I raised my chin. “No.”

“Good.” He leaned in. “All right, we’re moving to the Miami 4-3, got it? I need you, you, and you,” he said, pointing to me last. “Crash the left side of that line. Don’t let the tight end get past you.”

We stuck our hands in, and when Liam called, we clapped once before we jogged into position. The atmosphere of training camp always felt a bit like a party, especially on days like this, where the practice fields were filled with spectators with signs, family members dressed in the team colors. Balloons danced in the air, and music played over the speaker system. Media mingled along the sidelines, and even with the massive influx of faces, I couldn’t find the one I was looking for.

I exhaled, anchoring my hand on the grass, grinning at the way Marcus growled at me from his tight-end position.

“Good luck trying to catch me, dick,” he said.

I laughed.

The center snapped the ball into the QB’s hands, and our left side pushed in hard against the O-line. Marcus tried to run a post route but bounced off my chest, and I shoved him back, where he tripped over his own run protection. I spun around an offensive lineman, hands reaching for our quarterback, who danced back and tucked the ball under his arm just before I wrapped my arms around him. In a real game, against a real opponent, his ass would be on the ground, but flooring my own quarterback was generally frowned upon.

“Damn it,” he laughed. “You’re too quick, King.”

I tapped his helmet. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He tossed the ball back to one of the coaches and whistled for the offense to take a water break.

Liam approached, holding his fist out for a tap. “Nice work. You do that every game, and we’ll be just fine.”

“Thanks.” Someone handed me a bottle of Gatorade, and I took a long drink, eyes skating over the different groups of people. But there was no sign of messy blond hair and big gray eyes anywhere to be seen.

“Looking for your girl that’s not your girl?”

I sighed, tossing the Gatorade bottle back to the boy who’d handed it to me. “Yeah.”

“She’s friends with Marcus’s . . .” He paused. “Whatever the fuck he’s calling her. Heard him say something about consensual monogamous sex and cuddling partner, and I kinda wanted to gouge my eyes out.”

“Yeah, Lauren is her friend.” My brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Isn’t that her?” He nodded over to the opposite sideline, and I caught a glimpse of Lauren laughing at something Marcus was saying to her.

My heart jumped into my throat as I jogged over there, but still . . . there was no sign of Ruby.

Lauren saw me and laid a hand on Marcus’s arm. She whispered something by his ear, and he gave her a quick kiss and a smack on the ass and went to talk to the media.

“Hey,” she said. “Good to see you, Griffin.”

Under any other circumstance, I’d attempt polite conversation. “Where is she? Did she come?”

Lauren blew out a slow breath, narrowing her eyes a little as she looked over my shoulder. “I’m guessing you didn’t check your phone?”

“No. I left it in my locker. Why? What’d she say?”

Lauren gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t know what she sent you, exactly. But the gist of my text was that she freaked out. Couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” I asked, feeling more than a touch exasperated. “It’s training camp.”

“Don’t be obtuse; it doesn’t suit you.”

I slicked my tongue over my teeth. “I’m not trying to be. It was just . . . I wanted to see her.”

Her eyebrows arched slowly. “Is that all? You didn’t mean anything by this invitation?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and then let my hand drop. Lauren’s gaze was unflinching, like she was daring me to brush this aside, to make it less than it was. Make Ruby less than she was.

That, I wouldn’t do.

“I meant something by it,” I admitted in a gruff voice. “I don’t know what she’s even open to, or . . . if she’s willing to try. But I fucking miss her. And I’m sick of feeling that way.”

Lauren exhaled quietly. “It’s gratifying to know that I didn’t read you wrong.” She leaned in, angling us away from the crowds of people with a gentle touch of her arm. “Ruby isn’t just cautious, Griffin. She’s terrified to get hurt. To hurt you.”

“How would she hurt me?”

Her smile was sad. “I think this is a conversation you should have with her.”

It was the sadness in that smile that had my chest caving in on itself.

“Her heart. She doesn’t think it makes sense to fall in love with anyone.” I ran a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, my muscles humming with the need to run and find her and kiss her and try to take this away for her. Humming with the need to tell her I was in love with her and I’d never leave her if she let me stay.

Lauren didn’t give me any verbal affirmation. She didn’t need to.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s a hell of a reason not to want a relationship, Lauren—especially for a guy who doesn’t know how the fuck to be in one.”

She gripped my arm. “She’s never had anyone try to push past that. She doesn’t know how it would feel if someone cared enough to work through her fears.” Her eyes were hard, and I had the distinct feeling that if I took one wrong step, Lauren would castrate me with a smile on her face. “You just have to ask yourself if you’re strong enough to be the one to do that for her. Do that with her. And if you’re not, then leave her be, because she doesn’t need someone playing games because they’re bored.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but I’m not the one you need to prove that to,” Lauren warned. “All she knows is what you’ve told her. That you didn’t want serious either. That you wouldn’t fall in love with her. You think you’re scared to admit how you feel? Imagine how it feels for her.”

All it took was conjuring the image of her face, and a pang of love tore through me so strong that it almost knocked the breath from my lungs. Was I still scared? Hell yeah, I was.

But it was nothing—nothing—compared to how I felt about her.

Ruby and I, we could be scared of this together.

“Thank you,” I told her, then kissed her hard on the cheek.

Somehow, I kept my head through one more play, then bolted to the locker room when Coach said we were done with official team activities. Marcus yelled my name. So did Liam. I ignored them both.

The building was quiet when I shoved through the door, so quiet that all I could hear was the blood roaring through my ears. Inside the locker room, I ripped my bag open and found my phone in the side pocket as I tore off my sweaty practice gear with my other hand. As I shucked off my shorts, I tapped the home screen and saw her text come into view, throat clenching when I did.

Ruby:I’m sorry. I can’t come today. It’s . . . too much. It shouldn’t be, but it is, and I don’t know how to change that. Please don’t hate me.

The text from Ruby didn’t make my heart stop. Didn’t make my stomach sink. A smile spread over my face before I could stop it.

She loved me.

She fucking loved me, and it scared the absolute hell out of her.

I took the fastest shower known to man, then yanked on my clothes while my skin was still damp. As I left the locker room, I hit the screen to call her. While the phone rang endlessly in my ear, I jogged toward the exit. Why were the parking lots so fucking far away? The ringing stopped, and I swore under my breath while I waited for her voicemail to pick up.

“Ruby? It’s me. God, I don’t hate you. I could never fucking hate you, birdy.” I sucked in a breath, but it was almost impossible because my heart was racing so fast. “I’m coming to you. I just . . . I need to see you. Please, don’t shut me out because you’re scared, sweetheart. I’m scared too. Just talk to me. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

I love you.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. She deserved so much more than a frantic voicemail to hear them from me for the first time. I hopped into my truck and cranked the engine on, fumbling with my seat belt as I threw the gear into reverse.

I eyed the clock, hoping I could get there in less than ninety minutes. I’d be there before dinner. We’d have all night.

I didn’t care if we didn’t kiss, if we didn’t have sex. I’d sit on that couch and do nothing more than hold her hand and be the happiest man in the universe.

It was that thought that had me distracted as I pulled the truck out onto the road, going too fast.

The blare of a car horn was what I heard first, and then the sickening crash of glass before everything went black.