“I know it was my mistake that started this. I should have told you about Chrissy sooner, and I take full responsibility for that. Hell…” His free hand grips the back of his neck, and there’s a lengthy pause before he continues. “Who knows, if I had, that whole fight and weirdness we had after all those damn Adam posts hit the Gram may never have happened.”
No, it would have. It wasn’t his past that was the problem in that argument; it was mine.
It’s still mine.
You are your mother’s daughter after all.
“Mason.”
“Please, Kay.” He crushes the black fabric in his hands, holding it to his stomach. “I’ll do whatever it takes for you to trust me again, just please, please give us another chance.”
Fuck!
I hate this.
I. Hate. This.
My sobs become uncontrollable, and I can already picture the newest memes I would inspire should anyone catch sight of me right now.
“I already told you, Mason.” My words are stuffy from the snot clogging my nose thanks to my cry-fest. “I forgive you. This”—I bounce a finger between us—“is on me, not you.”
He deserves the truth, but I still can’t bring myself to tell him the details. I should just tell him what to google so he can see the articles himself. Yes, Jordan and her people helped bury them to the back pages of the search results, but they still exist. The internet lives forever.
“I love you, Kay.”
See? My inner cheerleader tightens her high ponytail and glares at me. He loves you, you love him. Stop being a fucking martyr and tell him. Tell him ev-er-y-thing. Maybe with him by your side, you can finally let it go.
“We have class.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the only one I have.
“Fuck class. We aren’t leaving this room until you’re mine again.” Then without another word, he unfolds what’s in his hands and holds it out to me.
Holy shit! Not him too.
A simple black cotton crewneck t-shirt stares at me. On the back, if you couldn’t have guessed it, NOVA and #87 are stamped in red and white block letters. It’s when he spins it around to show me the front—My boyfriend owns the field, but I own his heart, a red heart with football laces used in place of the word heart—that my knees give out and I fall to the floor.
#Chapter16
Kay’s body crumples in a way I’ve never seen a person who was conscious do before. It’s like she completely collapses in on herself.
Seeing her cry tore at my insides like someone was taking my turf cleats to them.
This though? This unmoors me.
I’m at her side in an instant, ignoring the way my knees slam into the cold tile, and I pull her into my lap, cradling her to me.
Her body vibrates against mine she’s shaking so hard under the weight of her sobs. This was not the type of reaction I expected, and I’m at a loss for how to help her.
I run a hand up and down her back, brushing my fingers through her hair in the way that can soothe her to sleep, but none of it seems to help; she only cries harder.
I did this. The thought whispers through my brain.
I do the only thing I can in the moment: hold her closer, resting my face on top of her head, breathing in the peppermint scent I’ve missed this last week.
“It kills me to see you this way, baby.”
Nothing. No response.
The old me, the campus Casanova, wouldn’t be caught dead with an emotional woman while spewing his own feelings. But the new me, the one who knows he needs Kay, doesn’t give a fuck. She is it for me, and given her love for comical t-shirts, I thought having one made about us was the best way to prove it.
I hate this. I thought it was painful to see how her shoulders would slump and she would tuck her chin to hide her face with each not-so-quiet whisper about us, but seeing her like this and not knowing how to help her…I’ve never felt so powerless in my entire life. Even my inner coach is silent.
“Do you want me to call E?” I doubt I’m her brother’s favorite person right now, but I’ll do anything if it means it will help her.
“I wouldn’t.” She finally speaks, loosening the knots that have formed between my shoulder blades. “I think he’s spent this last week trying to figure out how to kick your ass through the phone.”
“Fuck, baby.” A bark of relieved laughter escapes me.
She still hasn’t pulled away, and I’ll enjoy the feel of her in my arms for as long as she’ll allow it. Then, like she read my mind, she jackknifes in my hold and scrambles off my lap like a crab.
“Skittles.” I reach for her, but she darts around the lecture podium, hiding behind it to keep away from my touch.
“Fucking jockholes.” Her voice is scratchy from her crying jag. “Who are you all to think you can use t-shirts against me?”
Huh?
“Seriously, fuck you both.” She slaps her hands against her thighs.
Both? What is she talking about?
Sure, my friendship with Grayson has cooled in the aftermath of breaking up with his best friend, but he would never try to move in on my girl—I don’t for one second believe the people who have been saying that shit on the Gram.
I’ve never realized how much my actions were tracked. Why do people care what I had for lunch on any particular day? Do people really have nothing better to do with their time than try to stir up drama? I used to live for my status and the notoriety my football stardom afforded me around campus. Now, not so much.
My dogged determination to fix things with Kay has moved Grayson over to the not-fully-hating-me side of the line. He keeps me updated on how Kay
