“I did believe you, I just—”
“Refused to admit it,” I say. “I want you both to leave.” I turn my attention to Mike. “You have a girlfriend who moved across the country to be with you. Stop trying to make her fit whatever mold you have in your head of the perfect girlfriend and thinking that I ever fit it because I didn’t. I know that because you were ready to break up before we graduated, and you never looked back.” I shake my head and turn my attention to Pax. “And you need to figure out your feelings for Candace because they’re clearly not over. I’m done being a consolation prize. I’m done competing and pretending. It’s over.” I take a step back and close the front door before either of them can object.
I lean against the smooth surface of the door, my heart in my throat and emotions streaming down my face.
32
Paxton
I get home feeling like I’ve just played the hardest game of football in my life and lost. My entire body aches and my head hurts, and everything seems impossible.
I head to the fridge, where I rifle through the contents, searching for something to drink. A six-pack is on the bottom shelf. I stare at the clear bottles, the yellow liquid that I know would be crisp and citrusy in my mouth and help dull these emotions that are capsizing me.
“Hey, man,” Caleb says, coming into the kitchen, his gaming controller in one hand.
I rub a hand over my hair, trying to recall if I’d walked right by him without even seeing him.
“Everything okay?”
“Do I self-sabotage?” I ask him.
Caleb looks at the fridge, likely seeing the beer, then brings his gaze back to me. “What happened tonight?”
“I don’t even know. I don’t know where to start or how to understand where it all went so wrong. I mean, I was trying to be the good guy, and instead, I ended up being the fucking asshole.”
“To who?”
I meet his stare, my breaths labored as my heart pounds like I’ve been sprinting. “Poppy.” I thread my hands in my hair and drop my head back. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
The front door opens, and Arlo, Lincoln, and Raegan walk into the living room. Arlo looks confused, Raegan looks pissed, and Lincoln looks like a smug asshole—like he knew I’d fuck this up.
“Why would you tell Candace?” Raegan asks.
“She wasn’t lying?” Arlo asks, swinging his gaze from Rae to me. “It was all fake?”
“No,” Rae and I answer at the same time.
Arlo’s eyebrows inch high on his forehead. “I’m confused.”
Rae shakes her head, dismissing him from the conversation. “Why did you tell Candace anything.”
I silently curse myself, and this situation, and Candace, and my sister for getting involved when the last thing I want to do is talk to her right now. I don’t want to see reason or truth or realize how badly I fucked up. But in that same vein, I know that Rae might be my best shot at managing to resolve this mess of a problem. “It wasn’t on purpose. Candace came over to pick up the last of her shit, and she saw the copy of our rules tacked up in my room.”
Rae covers her face with one hand. “Why’d you let her in your room?”
“It wasn’t because I wanted to have sex with her. Jesus, Rae. I’m just trying to be better than Dad and make sure that I don’t end things with Candace and make her hate me like Mom hates him. I was trying to do the right thing.”
Raegan’s shoulders fall, so does her mouth into an expression of pity that makes me more uncomfortable than the anger she was expelling moments ago. “You have to go and talk to her.”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“Mike was there,” I tell her.
Rae groans, dropping her head back. “Fucking Mike. Why did he transfer back here?” She releases a short sigh. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened?” I fire back, my tone dark and my voice loud, prompting Lincoln to take a step forward.
“You need to go talk to her again,” Rae insists.
My attention is still on Lincoln, weighing his intentions and thoughts. I can only think of one other time I’ve wanted to hit my best friend, and that was when I saw him kissing Rae for the first time. The instinct has my hands clenching and my mood darkening, dismissing my sister’s advice.
“Pax,” Rae says my name and takes a measured step forward, drawing my attention.
“It’s over,” I say. “I’m not doing this again. Make up, break up, rumor bullshit. I’m done.”
I head upstairs, my feet pounding each step with a new level of anger that briefly distracts me from the splintering feeling in my chest. I slam my bedroom door and kick the filled laundry basket across the floor, the clothes spilling out like my resolutions.
I cross the room, digging out the bottle of whiskey I haven’t touched since Halloween. Memories of that night play like a movie in my head, recalling Poppy in here, the way the light danced in her eyes, the mischievous grin she flashed when she reached for my glass. Her laughter plays like a soundtrack, and her smile is like a stamp on each thought that I flip through.
I uncork the bottle and bring it to my nose, pulling in a deep breath of the alcohol, appreciating the scent and the warmth it would cast in my mouth.
“This is the last time. You drink again, and I’m out.” Poppy’s words from that night ring through my head, so clear and precise it’s like she’s here, watching me and condemning me for wanting the crutch.
Anger and resentment lift the bottle. I tip my head back, the red flash of my practice jersey catches my eye from where it lies
