“Nova, you’re so full of shit your eyes have turned brown.” He shoves off from the desk and starts to pace. I’m not sure how helpful it is, the space inside the room so minimal he only manages two steps before he has to turn around in the other direction. “Fuck!” Trav slaps his hands against his thighs. “This is me you’re talking to. Why are you lying?”
After about a dozen laps, he resumes his position and levels me with a heated glare. I don’t defend myself against the accusation I see in his eyes because, honestly, I can’t. Things are only going to get worse once he finds out the details.
“I’m an idiot.” I lift my hat off my head and toss it onto the bed, running my own hands through my hair.
Trav, being the asshole he is, laughs. “That isn’t new information. What I really want to know is why did the guy who hasn’t had a single collegiate fumble have two”—he waves two fingers in front of my face—“in today’s game?”
And there it is, the real kick in the jockstrap. The Hawks lost our first game of the season—a conference game, no less. I played like shit. Honestly, I’m shocked Coach Knight didn’t bench me. For the first time ever, my heart wasn’t in the game. Instead, it was somewhere on the floor where it landed after it was ripped out. And, yes, before you get on my ass like my inner coach, I am well aware that the wound was self-inflicted.
“I feel like this is a dumb question because you’re fine at away games, but was it because Kay wasn’t at the game?”
I told you girls were nothing but drama, but NOOO, you didn’t want to listen to me. I bet Brantley has been blowing up your phone. What would your future agent have to say about how shitty you played? *taps chin* No wonder you’re too much of a chickenshit to turn it on.
“I thought she never planned on coming today anyway? Didn’t she have cheerleading shit to do with her friend who’s in town?”
My hands clench into fists and a growl rolls through the back of my throat at the mention of her “friend”.
Don’t you think it’s time to find your balls and tell him what you did? My inner coach is a dick.
“I broke up with Kay.”
“WHAT?!” Trav jumps to his feet. “Why the hell would you do a dumbass thing like that?”
“So what I really want to know, Kayla—if that’s even your real name…”
“Because she’s just like Chrissy!” I shout, taking my frustration out on him because he’s here.
“The fuck she is.” He may have cursed, but his tone is calm and even.
“Look at all the signs.” My fist punching a hole through the drywall echoes through the room. Trav, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch at my loss of control.
“You really had me fooled.”
Secret Instagram profile.
Secrets in general.
Different name in an official capacity.
Claimed by someone who isn’t me on Instagram.
I tick each of these off, the expression on Trav’s face only darkening with each one.
“You know what?” Trav shakes his head, his disappointment dripping off of him. “You’re right.” See? It isn’t just me. “I should have seen this coming. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Not your fault, man. At least this one didn’t try to ruin our friendship.”
I’m barely managing to function as it is. If I had to worry about the strength of our bromance right now, I don’t know what would happen.
Also…
For as bad as the Chrissy/Tina thing was, I didn’t love her. Sure, my dick and my immature teenage heart thought I did, but that’s because I didn’t know how to differentiate lust from love like I do now.
That’s what makes all this that much worse. My love—present tense, not past—for Kay is so strong, it might have ended up being the one thing capable of destroying my lifelong friendship with Trav.
What the fuck does that say about me?
“I’m not talking about Kay. I’m talking about how I should have seen how you”—his finger presses aggressively into my pectoral—“would lump her”—another poke, his finger bending back with the force—“in the same boat as Tina.”
What the what?
“It’s been four years, Mase. Stop letting the bitch fuck with your life. Tina is not worth it.”
“But Kay—”
“Is not fucking Christina Hale. She’s not pretending to be Kay with you and PF with her friend.”
He resumes his earlier pacing, this time with a lot more agitation. He’s muttering under his breath, yanking at his hair, and a few times comes close to punching the wall himself. For as fucked up as I was—am—over the whole Chrissy/Tina thing, it hit Trav twice as hard.
“Did you even stop to think that maybe the reason her gym has her listed as PF is because of her brother? You would think people wouldn’t care, but the Gram is insane with posts about her right now.”
My gut churns, acid pushing its way up my esophagus. “What do you mean?”
“Hashtag Casanova’s Mystery Girl has far surpassed Casanova Watch.”
“They already know who she is—why would they still be using that hashtag?”
Worry prickles along the base of my skull as I recall E talking about bringing in his publicist if needed. Kay laughed it off, like her brother was merely overreacting, but…
Could it have actually been more?
Dammit, Kay! Why did you never go into detail about your bullying?
You were the one who threw the bullying back in her face.
FUCK YOU very much, inner coach.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong…” Trav’s voice breaks me out of my internal argument. “They still wanna know everything about our girl down to the type of toothpaste she uses, but now all the conspiracy nuts are out.”
A part of me I didn’t know still existed sparks to life at my best friend calling my girl ours. Fuck me for jumping to conclusions. I had Trav with me when I was spiraling and yet I
