“What are you talking about?” I scoff, trying to sound like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said.
“C’mon, bro. I’ve known for years how you feel about Heaven. In fact, I think there are only three people on this planet who don’t know how you feel about her.” He counts off on his fingers. “Dak, Heaven and you.”
I do a quick double take at him. I’ve never shown any feelings for Pippa other than friendship. Except for our Mutual Masturbation Night—which he doesn’t need to know about.
“That’s right, little brother. You’re in love with her. Everyone knows it,” Batt states with smug certainty.
“Get the fuck outta here. You know I don’t do love. I can’t…”
“It’s not that you can’t. Sure. You have commitment phobia. What guy doesn’t until the right woman comes along? The woman they can’t live without. The woman they think about every time they take a breath. Problem is, with you, you think you don’t deserve love, so you push it away. But you do, bro. No one deserves it more than you.” He keeps talking, like everything he’s saying is apparent.
“Did you take a crash course in psychology when I wasn’t looking?” I shake my head.
His psychobabble is laughable. Sure, I love Pippa…as a friend. Even in that capacity love’s a big deal for me. I figure it’s the reason why I think about her as much as I do.
It’s not unusual for a friend to be concerned about a friend. Right? To think about them several times a day: wondering what they’re doing, wondering what they would think about something I’m doing? Like, would Pip like the color I had the condo painted. Or does she like her sheets tucked under in a tight fit the same way I do. Big deal. So what if I lose my concentration when I think about the way she looks up at me with her sweet smile or her sly little grin?
Batt’s ridiculous. Does it mean I’m in love with her just because sometimes when I’m in the middle of a practice drill my mind flashes to her bright-colored eyes and the way they spark with fire when she gets annoyed at me? Or if there are times I have to smile when I think about the way she can eat a whole vegan pizza all by herself? Or if I sometimes have to adjust myself when thinking about her? Not an easy task when wearing goalie gloves and a shit ton of padding. But in love? Me? No way.
Love cuts you open, leaves you vulnerable, results in pain, hurt, betrayal. The only ones I’ve cracked open for—slightly—since I was a kid, are the Battaglias. And even though they gave me nothing but unconditional love and support, it took me a long time to trust them, to believe I deserved them. No. I don’t fall in love.
“It doesn’t take a psychologist to know the things you did when you were a kid weren’t your fault. You did what you had to do to survive. They didn’t make you a bad person: someone unable to love or undeserving of it,” Batt continues his amateur analysis.
I swear to God the guy can read my mind. “And to prove my point, I’m pretty sure Heaven’s in love with you too. She seems to think you deserve to be loved. Not many guys are lucky enough to have a woman like Heaven fall in love with them.” Even without looking over, I can feel the way he’s looking at me like he just recited some truth from the Bhagavatam.
“You know you’re bat-shit crazy, right? Pip isn’t in love with me. It’s just a schoolgirl crush. She’s had one for me for years. And I’m sure as hell not in love with her. She’s just an infatuated kid, for chrissakes, and I feel responsible for her. I look out for her. Nothing more.” Except for when I jerked off while watching her finger fuck herself. Yeah. I’m going straight to hell.
“A kid!” Bat scoffs. “For a computer whiz, you are one dumb motherfucker. Have you looked at Heaven lately? Have you noticed the way she looks at you? There is someone in this car who is bat-shit crazy, but it isn’t me.”
His words blow through my mind with the same force as the wind blowing past us. Sure. I’ve looked at Heaven. I’ve noticed the gorgeous woman she’s become. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about her, why she’s all I see when I close my eyes, why she invades my dreams every night. I thought I was dreaming about her last night when apparently, I was fucking Alison.
I’m not proud, but I’m not the one who made the human male this way. Sometimes, any wet hole will do when we’re desperate. And that’s all this is: I’m desperate because I’m craving a girl who is off-limits.
“So, what’s going on?”
In love. Ha. My smug ass brother thinks he knows everything.
“Hey. Asshole.” Batt punches my arm.
“Ow. What the hell, man?”
“I asked you a question. But you’re off in Heaven Lee Dreamland somewhere. What happened this weekend?”
“I…I don’t know…I…”
“Did you fuck Heaven?” he blurts out.
“Christ, Batt.”
“What? I’d ask if you made love to her. But knowing you and the dramatic way you left the resort—without her—I’m assuming there was no romance involved.”
“I didn’t fu…sleep with her. I was watching her dance with the dickhead. I went a little over the top with the bourbon. I got drunk.”
“You got jealous.” He hits me with the stark comment.
“Jealous? I don’t get…” Wait. I’d never been jealous of anyone or anything in my life. I didn’t even know what it meant to be jealous. Was I jealous?
“Yeah. Okay.” I blow out a breath in resignation. “I suppose I was jealous. I remember getting her away from Dr. Douche and dancing with her. But I don’t remember anything after.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember anything after?”
“Am I speaking a different language? I mean, I. Don’t. Remember. I didn’t even remember how I got back to my room. When I woke up in the morning, I thought I had been dreaming about Pip…um…like I’d done before.”
“You were dreaming about fucking her,” he states flatly.
“Jesus. What is with you and your point-blank comments?”
“That’s what you were doing, right?” I give him a quick, murderous glare. “Well?” My threatening glare doesn’t faze him.
“Yes! Okay? I was dreaming about fucking her!”
“Huh. If that’s how you look out for your friends, I’m glad I’m your brother, not your friend,” he taunts.
“Fuck you.”
“And then what happened?” he persists while wiping a gleeful tear from his eye. Ass. I’m glad I can be his amusing entertainment for the afternoon.
“You want the nitty gritty details about my dream?”
“No, dumbass,” he scoffs. It seems not even my even-tempered, jovial brother can take the level of stupid I’ve managed in the past forty-eight hours. “What happened after the dream?”
“Alison knocked on my door in the morning and explained it was her who had gotten me back to my room and…and…you know.” I push the hair, which has escaped the elastic, off my face.
“Who the hell is Alison?”
“She was a waitress at the reception. The…”
“Oh. Right. The big-titted, friendly blonde. Should’ve known,” he sneers.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m in no mood for one of his lectures on morality and how to treat women.
“Just that you never miss one.” I give him another sideways glare. “Nah, I get it. She was gorgeous and obviously into you. But I saw the way you were glowering at the dude who Heaven was spending time with at the reception. I figured you’d get in there and get your girl. Instead, you let her go, and you go fuck some random chick.” He sucks in a deep breath and blows it out.
“I don’t know what the hell happened. It’s all a blur. And then Pip was all mad at me this morning when she saw me with Alison. I don’t get it. She’s seen me with other chicks a hundred times. Anyway, she’s for sure not in love with me like you claim. She fucked the douchebag last night.” My anger reaches venomous levels at the declaration and thought. Pip fucked someone last night. She gave up her virginity to some random a
sshole.
My neck and head are beginning to feel like they’re being squeezed in a vise. Between the residual bourbon pumping through my blood vessels and trying to figure out what the hell happened last night, I’m wound up like a spring.
“Heaven slept with that guy?” I can hear the skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah, and she had no problem gloating about it when she told me.”
“You really are such a dumbass. No way, dude.”
“No way what?”
“No way would Heaven ever sleep with that guy or anyone else. I told you, bro. She’s in love with you.” Apparently, Mr. Smartass understands women way better than me. At least he seems to think he does. “Been in love with you for years. You may be whorish enough to sleep with another chick to take the place of the woman you’re in love with but Heaven’s not the type to sleep with some random guy when you’re the only one she wants.”
“Thank you so much for the rave reviews of my character.” I shake my head. “But for your information, she told me herself she slept with him. She even described how good it was, how fucking sweet and gentle…”
“Before or after you told her about Alison?”
“What?”
“Keep up here, bro. Did she tell you she slept with him before or after you told her about Alison?” His exasperated tone is getting on my last nerve.
I’d do anything for this guy, have his back every second of every day. But right now? I’m thinking I should’ve had 412 install an eject button under the passenger seat.
“After I told her about Alison. I had to tell her. She saw me with Alison in the lobby.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, you really are one dumb motherfucker when it comes to women.” He laughs.
“You think? When the fuck did you get so smart when it comes to chicks?”
“You just spent the weekend with the girl who’s been in love with you since she was a kid. You were at a wedding, in a romantic setting. Walking down the aisle together, stealing her away from another guy on the dance floor, and saying God knows what to her in your inebriated state. Then when you see her in the morning, the first thing you do is flaunt the random girl you fucked. Throw it right in her face. Dumbass.” He shakes his head. If he thinks I’m a dumbass now, imagine what he would think if I told him what I did with Heaven in her room the night before the wedding. “She didn’t fuck the other guy. She just wants you to think she did.” He waves his hand as if throwing away any possibility of Pippa fucking Dr. Douche.
“Are you saying Pip lied to me?”
“I’m saying she wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt her. End of story.” Evidently, if Batt says it’s so, it is.
I look over at him again for a few more seconds than I should. The driver of the car in the lane next to me lays on his horn, alerting me to the way I’m veering over. Thank fuck for trained goalie reflexes. I swerve to get back in my lane.
Batt reaches for the dashboard again. “Eyes on the road, dipshit.”
“Man.” I grip the steering wheel with both hands and squeeze it with such force, I’m surprised it doesn’t disintegrate in my hands. I wish it was my own stupid brain I was squeezing some sense into. “If that’s true, if Pip lied to me about sleeping with him, she must really be hurting.” My stomach roils in a wave of nausea. I left her there alone. I swallow the bile in my throat and think about Batt’s explanation.
Pip was fuming this morning. And she said goodbye like she was never going to see me again. She couldn’t even look at me. Maybe she is in love with me. I know what you’re thinking. Oh, right. She can’t stand to look at you means she’s in love with you? It’s not as crazy as it sounds.
It’s the only explanation for how angry she is with me for hooking up with Alison. If she weren’t in with love with me, she wouldn’t care. Indifference, not anger, is the opposite of love. I may not be an expert at love, but I am an expert at indifference.
I can’t remember one name of the countless women I’ve hooked up with since college because they were all just a means to an end—the end being a needed release, nothing more. Afterward, if they said they never wanted to see me again, I’d hold myself back from saying thank you—not wanting to be a total dick. If they said they hated me, I’d get dressed and be on my merry way. I couldn’t care less one way or the other.
But with Pip, I care. I care to the point my heart hurts thinking about how I left her with that disappointed, wounded look on her face.
My ping-ponging thoughts and emotions have me so fucking confused my brain feels like it’s on a tilt-a-whirl.
“Relax, bro. You got this,” Batt assures me like he can hear my mixed-up brain spinning. “We’ll figure it all out when we get back to your place. Heaven’s a special woman, and she loves you. You’ll find a way to get her back. You two belong together.”
A memory flashes through my mind. We belong together. I said the exact same words last night. Shit. I grimace. Did I say those words to Alison when I was dreaming about Pippa? I press my index finger into my left temple and move it in massaging circles. Stupid. So stupid. The more I remember about last night, the worse it gets. I should have put the eject button under my own seat.
Chapter Fifteen
Heaven
Asshole. Dickhead. Cocksucker. I was wrong. There is no better way to express hostile emotion than curse words. Especially when some big jerk has ripped your heart out.
After my purging word expulsion, I blew out a huge cleansing breath. Did I feel better? Nope. Which is why, to the uncomfortable concern of Rob, my Uber driver, I continued to sob for the first thirty minutes of our ride back to Long Beach. The poor guy kept asking me if I was okay, offering me tissues and water. At one point he even offered me a Slim Jim. I guess he figured if he could get me to eat or drink something, I’d have to manage normal breathing rather than gasping for air in between sobs.
When I finally settled down, I simmered in various stages of awareness. Heartache. Regret. Shame. Self-loathing. I eventually circled back to roiling, seething anger at D.
I dumped the whole fiasco right in his arrogant lap. How could he have treated me the way he did? How could he have forgotten it was me? How could he have even considered the possibility of having slept with someone else only one night after what we did in my room? And does he remember the things he said when he was savagely deflowering me? Does he think he was saying them to Alison? How could he have treated our friendship so callously? The questions kept tumbling one after the other through my mind. And the only answer I could come up with was, I hated D—or I was trying to—for doing this to me, to us. It was the only way I could alleviate the overwhelming hurt.
I had ridden the emotional roller coaster for the two-hour drive. And by the time Rob pulled up at my bungalow, I was a tossed and turned wreck.
Perhaps it’s the reason why, as the next day’s bright morning sunshine begins to stream through my window, all I want to do is stay curled up in a ball cocooned by my cozy, protective bedcovers never having to deal with another human again. Unfortunately, what I have to do is get up, put on my big girl scrubs, and get my miserable carcass to my new internship at EliteCare Physical Therapy.
To add to the Greek tragedy which has become my life, the gods—aka Dr. Alice Freeman, the university clinic director—have seen fit to place me at the world-class facility which takes care of elite athletes from the pro teams in the LA area.
I should be jumping up and down like I won the million-dollar jackpot. It’s the dream placement facility for most interns, especially if they’re focusing on sports therapy. In my case? It’s the sour icing on the cake to the past week. The culmination to the past four days which were already pretty rotten.
EliteCare is the facility which rehabs the Santa Ana Winds’ players. In other words, I’ll be treating D’s teammates—those on the IR list, anyway. Not a very good start to keeping my distance from D, which is my plan. At least until I can pull myself together and speak adult again, rather than bl
ubbering-broken-hearted girl.
Most of the guys on the team know me and know D and I are good friends. I can’t deal with any jokes, questions, or game highlights concerning D right now. My only hope is that all the Winds’ players remain healthy and uninjured for the next few weeks. I’ll be moved after six weeks to an in-hospital urgent care department for my next round.
Of course, it’s not the only reason I want the guys to remain uninjured. They’re decent guys who eat, sleep, and breathe hockey. And I would never want any athlete on any team to get hurt. But knowing hockey and the way those decent guys love to pummel each other on the ice, and just in case I won’t be granted the wish for every elite athlete in the LA area to be kept injury free? I’m going with self-centered, self-preservation mode and praying for a mere six-week reprieve for Winds’ player injuries.
Before I leave for the clinic, I check my phone for the seventy-billionth time only to be disappointed by my empty message folder. Not one word from D. I don’t want to talk to him, anyway. But I wouldn’t be opposed to a few groveling words on his part. Ugh. I hate men, at least six-three goalies with long beautiful hair and eyes that pulverize my panties.
***
“I have four evals and two humongous offensive tackles here all at the same time,” Dr. Mackenzie Monroe—or Mac, as she prefers to be called—blows out a huge breath and tugs on her drooping ponytail to pull it back up into place. Dr. Mac is the director and current doctor on staff at EliteCare.
“I’ll let you handle a couple of the evals. None of them look like anything too serious: sprains, strains. A frozen shoulder might be the worst of them. Sorry to throw you into this craziness your first week here but we’re short staffed with Tammi out on maternity leave, Dr. Joe traveling with the Ducks, and Dr. Madelyn with the Chargers this week. I didn’t expect the morning to be this busy. I’ve got a few more PTAs coming in this afternoon. For now, though, it’s you, Penny, and me.”
“Evals. No problem.” A week into my internship and I’ve been thrown into the water without a life preserver, so to speak.
Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3) Page 15