“Doesn’t want to or can’t?” Coop shrugs. “Talk’s cheap. Especially if you’ve already given her a reason to doubt you.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I hate that he’s right. Hell, Kennedy said as much when she broke things off.
“Dude, I’m just saying you need to take care of your shit. Whatever’s going on with you two can’t affect the team. We’ve worked too hard to piss it all away now. We barely pulled out the win today.” He frowns. It’s a look I’ve rarely seen on his face in the four years I’ve known him. Coop’s the kind of guy that let’s everything roll off his back. “We got lucky today.”
“I know.” And I know I need to fix things with Kennedy. Not just for the team, but for myself. I can’t let her go. I won’t. Not without a fight.
In just a few short months, she’s become my world. I want to wake up to her beautiful smile every day. And worship her gorgeous body every night. I want to be the one to hold her tight when things go wrong and kiss her senseless when everything goes right. She’s the only one who gets me—really gets me—and appreciates me for more than my washboard abs and ability to throw a ball. I don’t want to go another day without her sexy, STEM-loving nerd power in my life.
Problem is, I don’t have a clue how to make things right if she’s not willing to accept my apology or even talk to me. “I just…” I trail off, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”
“Nope.” I must sound as miserable as I feel, because he laughs, the sound echoing down the tunnel, like my imploding love life is a fucking comedy. “Thanks a lot, asshole. I’m glad you’re amused by my pain.”
“Dude. This isn’t that complicated. You hurt her.” He slaps me on the chest, but I barely feel it through my pads. “Now you’ve got to sacrifice if you want to win her back. Women love that shit.”
“And how would you know?” Coop’s never had a girlfriend that I’m aware of, so there’s a good chance he’s getting his advice from talk shows or reality shows or whatever crap he watches on TV. But I have to admit, it kind of makes sense. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from Cooper One-night-stand Virgins-need-not-apply DeLaurentis. “Never mind. More importantly, what would you suggest? What exactly do I have to sacrifice to make this right?”
“How the hell should I know?” Coop smirks and starts for the locker room. “But I suggest starting with your dignity.”
Kennedy
“Ready to go, sweetie?” Mom pokes her head in the bedroom door, and I nearly stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand. I don’t usually put much effort into my makeup—thus the near blinding—but since I look like a puffy, spent-the-night-crying-into-my-pillow zombie, it’s probably best if I give it the old college try today. I check my reflection.
Definitely can’t get any worse.
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Total lie. It’ll take more than a few minutes for me to mentally prepare to leave the apartment. After Friday’s fight with Austin and last night’s sobfest, I’m tapped. Completely and emotionally drained. And I have no interest in hearing I told you so from my mom, which is why I can’t let her see I’ve been crying.
I swipe on another coat of mascara like it’s war paint.
True to form, Mom doesn’t wait for an invitation and makes herself at home on the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay? You were awfully quiet at dinner last night.”
“Everything’s great. Just nervous about the ACME competition.” That’s true enough. Our timed trial was good enough to advance to the head-to-head round, so we’ll be in direct competition during this morning’s finals. Which means we still have a shot at winning. What more could I ask for?
How about a boyfriend who keeps his promises?
Mom’s silent so long I turn to look at her. Regret kicks in immediately. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line and her eyes are pinched at the corners. She knows I’m holding out. Should’ve known she’d see right through me. She always does.
She pats the spot next to her on the bed. I slink over, dropping down with a sigh. Because, yes, apparently I am that dramatic. At least when it comes to Austin.
I still can’t believe he was a no-show for the competition. And if I’m being honest, I’m more pissed at myself for trusting him to keep his word than anything. For letting myself fall for a guy who will always put football first.
Just like my dad.
Mom takes my hands in hers and tilts my chin so I’m forced to look her in the eye. “Spill.”
It’s not exactly a request, but I hesitate. Mom’s been doing so well, cutting back her hours, dating, having an honest-to-God life. I don’t want to drag her down with talk of unreliable football players and shattered hearts.
Because my heart is shattered. I let myself believe in Austin—in us—and he let me down. Hard. I don’t think we can come back from this, because forgiving him means setting myself up for more of the same in the future. I’ve seen this pattern before.
Hell, I’ve lived it for twenty-one years.
Whether he means to or not, he’ll trample my heart, leaving it a bitter husk with no room for love or hope. I refuse to spend my life wondering if I’ll ever come before the game. And I refuse to stand by and watch Austin walk away from his own hopes and dreams just to make his father happy.
“Kennedy Lane Carter. You tell me what’s wrong this instant or I’m going to assume the worst.” She pauses, eyes going wide in panic. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
I snort and my
