And the doubt she created seems even more vast because she mentioned having seen Pax this morning and he told her about our rules and how we were fake dating. Only four people know about this, so he had to have told her because there’s no way Rae or Lincoln would’ve, and I certainly didn’t. Why would he have seen her? Why would he have told her? Has he been seeing her this entire time?
I feel so betrayed. So used.
I release a breath and scrub a hand across my forehead. Rae’s right. I need to talk to Pax. I glance at the clock to check the time, knowing he’ll be leaving for practice soon. It’s four. He has to leave in thirty minutes. I reach for my phone, but my doorbell rings before I can scroll to his number.
I set my journal down and cross through the apartment, my thoughts splintered between the past and present, Candace and other mean girls from my past, and Pax. I pull open the door, and my thoughts collide as Paxton stares at me, his gaze anxious and searching. “Rae called me,” he says.
“She shouldn’t have. I’m fine.”
“She said Candace cornered you.”
“She didn’t corner me…” I don’t know why admitting that she did makes me feel so inferior, but it does. “She…” Thoughts of how long Pax and Candace dated and the reminder of how many times they’ve gotten back together stain my mood. I consider how her picture still takes residence on his desk and how he still has that ugly hat she gave him. I wonder how many other things she gave him that are still in the house—in his room. How it took me months to get over Mike and how Pax has moved on with little to no remorse, grieving, or anything aside from the few punishing kisses at the beginning of our agreement which he delivered with a very specific audience: Candace.
My thoughts are spiraling. I hear my mom’s voice in my head from past radio shows that talked about jealousy and how unhealthy it is, reminders about how communication is key and essential for any relationship. It was difficult for me to understand how so many had failed to just ask clarifying questions and have open dialogue, yet currently, my feelings seem like weaknesses, and words feel like a commodity that I’ve been robbed of.
“Did you see Candace this morning?” I ask him.
His unease and the memory of her confidence create the same burning, stinging sensation that was felt when the Cholla cactus barbs were removed, a process that was even more painful than the initial injury. “It’s not what you’re thinking. She stopped by. I didn’t invite her over.”
“Why’d she come?”
“To pick up the last of her stuff.” Mike and I never experienced this sorting. Once in a while, we’d leave a sweatshirt or textbook in each other’s car by mistake, but I’m realizing now that comparing my relationship with Mike and holding hands and him tucking his fingers into my back pocket and sleeping together in the privacy of my room before my parents got home is like a different dimension to what these two experienced while dating. The reality makes my breaths feel more labored as jealousy seeps into my veins, contorting his words and my interpretations. “Things she needed after four months? Like what?”
He shrugs. “A charger, a coat…” He shrugs. “Just stuff that she’d left.”
“And you decided that was a good time to tell her we were fake dating?”
“No. I didn’t. I mean … I told her that was how it started but how it’s more than that now.”
“You basically armed her with everything she needs to make me look like the biggest idiot on campus.”
“It’s not like that, Poppy.”
“Like what? Like you throwing me under the bus? Or is it not like you breaking the first rule? Or is it more like this isn’t real to you?”
“Of course, it’s real.”
“Then why are you going to see her tomorrow?”
He shakes his head as he gets closer, his eyes intent, working on reading my emotions and the flat tone of my voice, no doubt. “I’m going to that team builder in the morning. The community outreach event that we’re doing alongside the Seahawks.”
“So you’re not going to see her?”
“She’ll be there, but I’m not going for the purpose of seeing her. Candace’s uncle arranged the opportunity for us.”
“A favor,” I say the word like a revelation. She planned this for him, a gift of sorts.
Pax pulls in a breath through his nose and slowly releases it through his mouth. “It’s not to spend time with her. It’s to help families in need, and it’s a great chance for me to meet and talk to their coaches and players and prove to them that I’m more than the rumors they’ve likely been hearing about me. Besides, Candace isn’t my enemy. If she’s doing something or saying shit to you, I want to know and make it stop, but I don’t want what my parents have. I’d like to be her friend.”
Candace’s words replay in my head. “She doesn’t want to be your friend.” My words sound like an accusation.
“She’s not a villain.”
“She’s certainly not a saint.”
Pax stares at me, his eyes dark and narrowed. “Why are we fighting about this?”
“She wants you.”
He shakes his
