by Lexi Ryan
I swallow hard. “I have to help out at the high school for a few hours, but after . . .”
Her forehead furrows as she studies me, waiting for me to spit it out.
“Do you have plans for tonight?” I’m so lame. So fucking lame I want to stab myself in the eye with the nearest sharp object. And I can tell just by looking at her that she has plans.
She looks gorgeous. She always looks gorgeous, but tonight she looks like an angel. She’s dressed in white, a little dress that shows more leg than it covers, with a tiny sweater on top that covers her shoulders and her freckles. She’s wearing makeup and her hair is down around her shoulders. My stomach knots. She’s definitely going out tonight, and of course she has plans. Brogan would make sure they had plans for New Year’s Eve.
“Okay, so you obviously already have plans.” I lick my lips, not sure how to go about this.
“I do.”
Since the day I met Mia, she’s had my heart in her hands, and every day that I deny that, it just hurts me more. “Cancel them. Whatever you were going to do with Brogan tonight, don’t do it. Be with me instead.”
Her brow wrinkles with concern. “What’s wrong, Arrow? You look upset.”
I drag my fingers through my hair and tug on it. You deserve so much better than this. “Mia, I’m in love with you.”
My heart. Oh God, my heart. “Don’t say that.”
“What do you want, Mia?” He lifts his arms, palms up. Anguish pulls at his mouth, contorting his attempted smile into a frown. “Do you not see it? Have you really been oblivious all this time to how much you mean to me? How special you are to me?”
“You’re important to me, too.” The understatement is a betrayal to how I really feel. I fell for Arrow that first day. He smoothed that shiny purple leaf in his fingers and offered it to me as a gift, and I was never the same. “Arrow, I want us to be friends.”
He drags a hand through his hair and spins away, as if he can’t handle the sight of my face anymore. “I don’t.”
The night goes quiet. Maybe the frogs and owls are as shocked by his words as I am. “What?”
When he turns back to me, grief twists his features. “I’ve tried, Mia. For over a year now, I’ve tried to be your friend and nothing more. But I don’t want to be your friend. That’s not what you are to me. It’s not enough.”
“Don’t do this,” I whisper. “Don’t look at me like I’m something to you.”
“I’m sick of ignoring this ache in my chest when I see him with you. I’m sick of pretending I don’t need to be more than that guy you fucked up with once. You’re not something to me. You’re everything.”
“Don’t.” My voice cracks to match my heart. “You don’t understand. We can’t be together.”
“Why not?”
“Because our parents—”
“I don’t care if your dad hates me. We’ll work it out. I’ll win him over. Can’t we just—”
“We can’t.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for me. Tell me our night together didn’t mean something to you.”
I hold his gaze and open my mouth, but I can’t force the lie out.
“Why?” he whispers. “What is it that’s keeping you away from me? I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bring it up again. I just want to know why.”
I want to lie to him, but the only way past this is with the truth. “Because my mother had an affair with your father. She left when my dad found out and started making threats.”
His face goes blank—whitening. I did that—I pulled the drain on all his hope. “What? When?”
I swallow hard. “Nic says it went on for at least a year before she left town.” His lips move slowly as he mentally positions the timeline, and I can’t stand here at the edge of this cliff and wait for the end of anything he and I could be, so I help. I push. “It would have been your freshman year in high school, and the summer before your sophomore year.”
His face contorts as he clings to confusion to dodge the pain. “But my mom . . .”
His mom was at home dying that year. The cancer was taking over her body and his father was screwing my mother.
His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow in on me. “How long have you known this?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Fuck it, Mia, you knew?”
I stumble backward. I’ve seen Arrow angry, but he’s never looked at me with anything short of kindness and affection. Until this moment. “I know what your mother means to you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He lets out a puff of air that might have been a laugh if it weren’t filled with so much disgust. “That ship’s sailed, Mia. All you’ve ever done is hurt me.” He shakes his head and backs away. “From day one.”
I drive too fast to Coach’s house. I let my car fly over the hills on the back roads, my stomach pitching into my chest when I go airborne at the crest of each hill. Up and around Deadman’s Curve, I race toward the setting sun, wishing I could disappear into it.
I take the turn onto Coach’s road, my back wheels spinning in the gravel as I over-correct and fly through the dust down the county road to his house.
I tear into his driveway, skid to a stop, and press my forehead against the steering wheel. I open my mouth and make myself breathe as I count the lashes to my heart.
I told her I loved her, and she said she wanted to be my friend.
My father was fucking her mother while my mother was dying, and she knew. She knew.
Throwing my head back against the seat, I smack the steering wheel, and the horn blares into the country silence.
Coach wanders out of his garage, one hand on his hip, the other wrapped around his hunting rifle.
I climb out of the car, and he arches a brow. I know that look. It’s the look he gives players who show up to practice late. It’s the look he gave the QB when he fumbled the ball on the five-yard line. It’s the look that says, “Calm down, figure out what’s wrong, and fix it.”
“He was having an affair,” I whisper. “While Mom was dying, Dad was having an affair.”
“Shit,” he mutters. He leans the gun against the side of the garage and wraps his arms around me. He’s a big guy, taller than me and broader, and I tuck my head into his chest and let myself hide from the world for the count of three ragged breaths before backing out of his arms.
“My world is fucked.” I press my palms against my eyes and wipe away the moisture. I’m not going to cry like a fucking child over my father. He doesn’t deserve it. But Mia . . .
“It’s not,” Coach says. “I know it feels like it, but it’s not. Now who told you this?”
“Mia Mendez.” I draw in a long, slow breath, steadying myself against the pain saying her name brings. I just want to be fucking numb. “Dad was fucking her mom. And Mia knew. She knew, and she didn’t tell me.”
Coach puts his hand on my shoulder. “Is this really about your dad, or is it about Mia?”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “Both.” I rub my palm against my chest. “It hurts so much.”
“Take a breath. You need the car still?” He holds my gaze, his eyes stern. “You take a breath and fulfill your commitments. You can wallow later.”
I swallow hard. “Right. Of course.”
He puts the keys to his SUV in my hand and nods. “Commitments first.”
“Right,” I whisper. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Take your time. And slow down on that road out there. Killing yourself isn’t going to solve a damn thing.”
“God, you’re beautiful.” Brogan grins, as he rakes his gaze down the length of my body.
“Thank you.” I’m still shaken from Arrow’s visit, and suddenly my choice of outfit feels slutty and inappropriate. I don’t want to show myself off for Brogan. I’m not his anymore. I haven’t been since that night at the lake. Brogan’s been trying so hard that I felt like it was my turn to try. But I can’t shake the look on
Arrow’s face when he left.
“All you’ve ever done is hurt me.”
“Are you ready, then?” Brogan asks.
I shrug into my coat and grab my purse off the hook by the door. “Where are we going?” I ask, as I step into the corridor and close the door.
His lips quirk into a smile. “You’ll see.” He holds out his hand, and when I take it, he squeezes and pulls me close. He lowers his mouth to hover over mine and whispers, “Unless you don’t want to go anywhere. We’d have your apartment to ourselves. I could be persuaded to spend the night in.”
I can’t let my conversation with Arrow ruin tonight, so I force a smile. “I want to know what you’ve been planning.”
“Feel like singing tonight?”
I take a breath. “Yeah. That sounds great.”
I close my eyes as Brogan leads me around the dance floor. I want to be present in this moment, and I’m failing.
He put so much thought into tonight. He drove us to Indianapolis and we had dinner downtown, and then he took me to a bar down the street with an open mic and a busy dance floor. We ate, we danced, and I sang—pouring all my heartache from my earlier conversation with Arrow into my favorite ballads. Every detail was planned for my benefit, and I can’t stop thinking about Arrow. Should I call him? Text? Apologize?
What exactly would I be apologizing for? My mother’s decisions? My decision not to tell him when I first found out? Or would I be apologizing for letting him fall in love with me? For wanting it, despite myself?
Brogan pulls back and frowns. “What’s wrong? You’re upset about something.”
I swallow hard. “Arrow came to my apartment earlier. I’m sorry. I won’t—”
“Arrow?” His frown turns into a snarl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I step back. There’s so much anger in his voice and face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. It scares me a little.
“Jesus, Mia. Nothing happened. Arrow’s overreacting.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know Trish. She likes to make a scene. Arrow had the wrong idea.”
I step out of his arms. “Trish?” I don’t have to add the one I caught sucking your dick, because that’s all right there in the way I say her name.
“What did he tell you? Jesus, I swear, I was ending it with her. Cutting it off. I love you, and I couldn’t—”
“I thought you said nothing happened.”
“Nothing that meant anything.” He grimaces. “I’m making a mess of this.”
I stare at him, but all I can think is that this should hurt more than it does. Finding out that my boyfriend cheated on me today should hurt more than Arrow’s anger about our parents. But the ache of this revelation feels a lot more like a bruised ego than a broken heart.
“Say something,” he whispers.
“I want to go home.”
“No, come on. Let’s stay and have a good time. I want to hear you sing again.”
I shake my head, grab my purse from the table, and head to the car. He takes so long to join me that I’m heading back toward the building when he finally emerges from the restaurant and hits the button for the automatic locks. I climb into the car the second the locks click.
“If you aren’t okay to drive, I will,” I say when he gets into the driver’s seat.
“I’m fine.” He jams the key into the ignition, and the silence between us is angry and tense as he drives back to Blackhawk Valley. At first, I think it’s gonna be okay. He’s hurt, and I’m mad, but he’s gonna take me home and this horrible night will be over. But then his driving becomes more erratic, and as we reach the hills at the edge of the city, he swerves every time a car comes toward us in the other lane.
The gray sky opens and sleet covers the windshield, and the next time he swerves, a tire slips off the side of the road, making us fishtail.
“Brogan, pull over,” I say, gripping the dash. “Jesus, are you drunk?” I look over and know it’s true. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are glassy. He only had a couple of glasses of wine at the restaurant. “Is that what you were doing while I was waiting for you to come out to the car?” I ask. “You were in there drinking? Do you want to kill me?”
He yanks the wheel and pulls off the shoulder before throwing the car in park. “No, I don’t want to kill you, Mia. I was having a couple of drinks and trying to calm down so I didn’t have to go back home and beat the shit out of my best friend.”
I want to smack him for putting this on Arrow. “It’s not Arrow’s fault you can’t keep it in your pants.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and smacks the steering wheel. “Can we just slow down and figure this out?”
“There’s nothing to figure out. I’m breaking up with you. This is over.”
“I love you,” he says. “How can you sit there and act like that means nothing? I’ve been so patient for you. Waiting when you weren’t ready.”
“You’re going to make this about sex? Like that excuses you?”
“Not just sex. Arrow.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t bring him into this.”
“But isn’t it? Hasn’t it always been? You think I don’t see the way you look at him?”
I hold out my hand and am shocked to see it so steady when my gut is churning. “Just give me the keys so I can drive us home.” We’re off the side of the road at the top of Deadman’s Curve. The sun is gone, and our headlights cast out into the darkness that seems to go forever.
I reach for the door handle, and he hits the locks. We used to joke about the child locks being activated in this car, but right now it’s not funny.
“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” He reaches behind my seat and pulls out a bottle.
“What are you doing?”
He unscrews the cap and drinks. It smells like rubbing alcohol it’s so strong. “Just having a little fun on New Year’s Eve.”
“Let me drive, Brogan. Please. I don’t want to fight with you while you’re drunk.”
He shakes his head. “You have to make me believe we shouldn’t be together. If I let you go again, I don’t think I’ll ever get you back. Make me believe it, Mia!”
I set my jaw. If he wants a hit in the gut, I’ll give it to him. “I slept with Arrow. The night you and I were broken up.”
His lips curl into a snarl, and he takes another drink.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Brogan.” What a lie. I want to hurt him. I don’t like being trapped in this car. I hate being made to feel like a hostage. This isn’t healthy, and he’s getting drunker by the minute. This isn’t the man I know.
He takes another swig. “I thought you were saving yourself for marriage, but you were only saving yourself for him.” He offers me the bottle, and I shake my head. “But it doesn’t matter. We love each other. We can get through this.”
“No. I don’t want to pretend that we’re this happy couple anymore. If that were true, you wouldn’t be sleeping with her.” I move as fast as I can, reaching across him to hit the button for the automatic locks and then reach for the door.
Before I can open it, he wraps a hand around my arm and squeezes too tight, making the skin throb beneath his fingers.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Don’t go.” He loosens his hold on my arm but doesn’t let me go. “Promise me you’ll stay here until we figure this out.”
I take a breath. He’s not acting like himself. I can’t reason with him. “Okay,” I say, “but we have to stay here. You’re too drunk to drive.”
He looks out the window and nurses the bottle.
I surreptitiously fish my phone from my purse and type a quick text to my brother.
Deadman’s Curve. Brogan’s red Jetta. Come get me. SOS.
Brogan swings around to look at me right as I tuck my phone away. I fold my arms and promise myself Nic is on his way. I’ll sit here and talk to Brogan, and soon enough Nic will be here and ever
ything will be fine. Maybe if I can calm him down, Nic could drive Brogan home, too. He’s in no shape to drive himself and I can’t leave him here.
Everything is gonna be fine.
I whisper the sentence to myself on repeat, but I don’t believe it. It feels like everything is spinning out of control. Like tonight is the beginning of the end.
Two a.m.
“Wake up.”
My eyes are gritty and my head aches like every member of the BHU drum line is in there pounding on me. I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to block out the pain.
“Arrow. Wake up.”
Coach.
Where the fuck am I? I pry my eyes open again, and Coach stands over me, leaning into the car down and shaking my shoulder.
I scan my surroundings, and everything tilts sideways. Everything’s blurry, and I fight through the cobwebs in my brain, trying to remember what happened tonight. The fight with Brogan. Then Mia. There was a party at a house off-campus, and I told Mason I’d swing by before returning Coach’s car. Then Trish grabbed me. She promised she could make me forget Mia, and that sounded so damn good. After that . . . shots. Too many shots. And then . . .?
“Get out of the car and come inside.”
I blink at the steering wheel under my hands, and my stomach pitches. Why am I in the car? “How did I get here?”
“You drove.” He mutters a string of curses after that, curses that feel directed at me and that I probably deserve, and I follow him into the house, fear tapping at my conscience and doing its part to sober me incrementally.
I sink onto the couch, my head spinning as I wait for a lecture. I hear water running in the kitchen. The squeak of the pipes as he turns off the tap, and then he shoves a glass of water into my hand.
“Drink.”
Sitting up, I bring the glass to my lips and take a drink. My stomach rolls when the water hits it, and I put the glass down and close my eyes. I just want to sleep.
Coach shakes his head and presses the glass back into my hand. “Drink the damn water first.”
I drain the glass against the protests of my stomach, and I swear I’m in that horrible drunken limbo where I’m still not sober but the hangover has already started, that half-conscious land of nausea and sleep as Coach leads me up the stairs, down a hall, and to a bed. The world goes black.