by Lex Martin
“The Heat.”
I look up and give him a small smile. “I’m a huge Celtics fan, but I love Dwayne Wade.”
He laughs. “I’m going to ignore that sacrilege and let you stay in my house.”
The heaviness that bore down on me all day starts to lighten. Two hours later, Nick, his sister Sammy, and I are all yelling at the TV.
“Can you fucking believe that call?” Nick mumbles over a mouth full of food.
“Okay, don’t be a hater,” I say, pausing to look him in the eye, “but Wade was fouled on the way to the basket. I don’t think it should have been a technical, though.”
“Good because I was about to kick you out of my living room.”
I laugh and reach for my soda.
Nick grabs the bowl of queso. “This is the best damn dip I’ve ever had.”
Grinning, I hand him the bag of chips. “It’s an easy recipe. I’ll write it down for you so you can make it any time.”
He nods as he continues to stuff his face.
Sammy nudges me. “I like you.”
“Thanks.” I nudge her back. She looks older than eighteen with thick, chestnut-colored hair and beautiful brown eyes like her brother.
She stares at me. “You’re not like one of Jax’s typical girls.”
Trying not to choke on my soda, I laugh. “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere because I’ve seen the girls Jax dates, and they’re all gorgeous.”
“They’re all bitches. And dumb. He’s an asshole for leaving you.”
My eyes widen.
She shrugs. “My brother told me what happened.”
“Gee, thanks, Nick. I didn’t need to be humiliated any more today or anything.”
He grumbles as he chows down, and I get that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Trying to change the subject, I pick the first thing that comes to mind.
“How was your ski trip?”
Setting the bowl on the coffee table, he turns to me. “It was killer. I have great video of it.” He pulls out his phone, connecting wirelessly to his Apple TV. A moment later, the screen is filled with a GoPro video, making it seem as if I’m living the experience firsthand.
“Wow. This is amazing footage.”
Nick races down the slope, and when he turns his head, the camera shows several guys behind him. I’m guessing they’re all soccer players too like Jax.
“This is nothing,” he says. “Wait until you see the night video.” He cues it up, and I’m completely riveted.
“I had no idea this kind of technology existed to do night footage like this.”
“Jax jerry-rigged it himself. He attached a camera with night vision on the helmet.”
The footage is exhilarating, putting me front and center on the slopes. “So you can’t buy this, the camera and helmet combo?”
Nick shakes his head. “You have to buy them separately and mount the camera.”
Excitement tingles in my chest, a dozen ideas exploding in my head. “Can I see it, the helmet?”
“Sure.” He jumps up and a minute later, he returns with a black ski helmet, which he places in my lap.
My fingers run along the edges of the metal attachment. “But this camera is so small. I thought GoPro cameras were larger.”
“They are. This is a prototype by a different company.”
“This is a great product.” I can imagine a dozen different applications. I’d love to take footage like this, but the idea of having to mount a camera myself or—even once I got it attached—having some huge piece of metal attached on my head is such a turnoff. But this, this has so many possibilities.
I’m still turning over ideas when a knock comes at the door. Before Nick gets off the couch, several guys saunter in. One says, “It’s time to order more pizza, man.”
Nick laughs and introduces me to his friends who are all on the soccer team. They break out a case of beer, and then we’re all back to the Celtics game. Guys are shouting, and it’s loud, and I’m having a great time. We argue about calls and plays. Popcorn gets thrown at me because I groan when Wade misses a shot. We talk trash, and by the end of the game, I’m feeling right at home.
Sammy and I chat the whole time, and she giggles in my ear about how she has a crush on one of the boys. We swap numbers so we can grab lunch together later in the week.
Finally, when the BC-Syracuse game starts, Nick turns to one of his friends and quietly asks, “Have you seen Avery around campus today?” His eyes dart to me, and I look away.
“Yeah, I saw him with that hot-ass blonde at that diner he likes a little while ago. Looks like our man is back in the saddle. What the fuck was up with that dry spell?” The friend laughs, and I feel sick.
And so very stupid.
Jax is such a prick. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking, who I’ve been kidding, but those rumors about him don’t do him justice. I’m not sure why I ignored four days of sexts on his phone from every girl in the Tri-State area. I need to get my head examined.
A text buzzes on my phone. It’s Travis. “I’m downstairs.”
#ThankFuckingGod
I write back that he should come up, and I scramble up to get my stuff together. Sammy comes into Jax’s bedroom while I throw all my shit in my bag.
“Dani, this sucks.”
“Yeah, it does. But whatever. I’m not his problem anymore. You can tell him that.”
She grabs my arm. “I still want to hang out this week.” I nod, too frazzled to think beyond the next few hours.
When I reach the front door, Travis is standing there talking to Nick.
“There’s my girl.” Seeing my best friend makes all the emotion I’ve held back burst to surface, and when he pulls me into a giant hug, I start to cry. It’s been too much. The car accident, my mom, Jax leaving. I just want to hide against Travis’s chest until this horrible week ends.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Travis strokes my head, and I shudder against him.
“Just get me out of here.” I wipe my face with my arm and turn to Nick and his sister. “Thanks for everything, guys. I really appreciate the hospitality.”
Sammy and Nick both give me a hug, sympathy or maybe pity swimming in their eyes, making me feel worse. They’ve been awesome today, but I feel like some science experiment gone wrong.
Travis picks up my stuff with one arm and uses the other one to help me hobble down the stairs. When we’re in his car, I start crying again.
“I hate him,” I whisper as an SUV pulls up, and two scantily clad girls run into the building I just left.
Travis grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I am going to kick his ass from here to Christmas the next time I see him.”
“So not worth it.” Shivering, I reach to over to turn up the heat.
The snow isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The streets are already plowed, and tall snow banks line the sidewalk.
“Can I stay with you for a few days?”
Travis reaches over and pulls me to his chest. “You already know the answer.”
Thirty-Two
- Jax -
The funny thing is that no one needs to tell me I’m an asshole. I’m in touch with that. The fact that I left Dani to hang out with Isabelle, a girl who can barely go two sentences without talking about her hair or makeup, crystalizes everything wrong in my life. It’s fucking diet food and saccharin and light beer when a man only wants something real. But I’m finding that being real is a fleeting pastime for most, an afterthought.
Even now, hours later, Dani’s lie burns in my stomach. Why didn’t she tell me we hooked up on my birthday? Why has she pretended all semester? Pretended this week?
Only one other girl has lied to me like that.
Giselle. And she wrecked me.
I’ve never been so glad to be cockblocked in my entire life. I mean, yeah, I could have fucked Danielle and that would have been that, but something about our time together tells me it would have meant so
much more. And that scares the ever-living shit out of me. Especially if she’s been lying to me this whole time.
I can’t deny she always felt familiar, each interaction wrapping me in the sense of déjà vu. And when I finally remembered, when I realized who she was, it was both euphoric and a knife to my gut. Like Adam in the Garden of Eden wishing he could just… forget.
It was the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder, the way she turned her head slightly and lifted her chin to look at me through hooded eyes. And I knew.
When I remembered, at first I was flooded with lust—I want her, I still do—but then reality crashed into me, reminding me why I don’t do relationships. Reminding me why I don’t go there. Because girls lie. And they rip your fucking heart out and laugh while they do it.
Thank God Nick walked in.
The greater irony is that now he looks pissed. At me. But he doesn’t say anything when I walk in. The guys are all sitting around eating pizza and watching Daren’s game. Damn, I can’t believe I almost forgot about it. When Sammy sees me, she gives me the finger. Nice.
“It’s great to see you too, Sammy.”
“Fuck you, Jax.”
Okay then. I walk into my room, bracing myself for the fallout from this morning, but the room is dark and still. Dani is gone and so is her stuff.
Shit.
When I reach the living room, Nick barely looks up from the game. “She left already. A while ago.”
“She was crying,” Sammy says, glaring at me.
Something in my chest cracks, but I grit my teeth. “You don’t know what happened. Stay out of this.”
Sammy laughs coolly. “What I do know is that you’re a bigger dumbass than I thought. You wouldn’t know a great girl if she kicked you in the balls. Which she should do, by the way. I can’t believe you ditched her to hook up with one of your skanks.”
The rest of my teammates sit with their eyes glued to the TV, dutifully ignoring the fact that a teenager is bitching me out.
“I didn’t hook up with Isabelle.” Not even close. I barely let her hug me. And the whole time I was with her I obsessed over Dani. Warning myself not to get attached. Kicking myself for leaving. Wanting to explain why my head is so fucked up.
Sammy shakes her head at me. “That’s not what it looked like, Jax.”
Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I head into the kitchen for some privacy while I call Dani. Voice mail. I try again with the same result, so I hang up.
She lied. I don’t know why, but she did. And what did I do? Dick her over. Honestly, in the moment, I panicked. My feelings for her already felt out of control, and like a total douchebag, I ditched her.
Running my hands through my hair, I look around, and all I see is Dani, cooking for me, laughing at me when I make a dumb joke, snuggling against me when she’s afraid.
Damn it. I should have just asked her what happened, asked her to explain. But I’m not wired that way. I don’t do heart-to-hearts when it comes to shit like this. Not anymore. I learned that lesson a long time ago. Because if you don’t get close to the fire, you never get a chance to get burned.
Which is why I spent the day with Isabelle. Helping her shovel her drive, taking her to lunch, listening to her yammer on about bullshit. She’s safe. I’m not going to lose my head to that girl. She’d be a great lay, a fun time, and then I could cut and run without a second thought.
But Dani isn’t like that.
Dani makes me remember wanting a relationship. Because I loved spending time with her. And I’m not even talking about the naked parts, although that was all pretty spectacular too. But just hanging out. Talking about school. Shooting the shit about sports. The fuck of it all is that I felt like myself around her. Like when I was around her, I wasn’t some soccer player or rich kid. I didn’t feel like I had to play a part for her.
She made me forget why I can’t let myself trust women.
My eyes fall on a black leather book on the kitchen table. Dani’s journal. I had seen her doodling in that over the last few days. She said it was her art book.
I open it slowly, feeling like I shouldn’t be prying, but I want to get another angle into this girl.
Flipping slowly, I ignore the writing, only letting myself look at the drawings. Color jumps off every page with bold strokes, delicate blends and artful contrasts. She’s so fucking talented. What’s she doing wasting her time with business? Clearly, she’s an artist.
But then I see the money signs, literally, scrawled on more than a dozen pages. Dollar signs and money in different colors and sizes fill page after page.
Every girl has her price. My mother’s words make me want to chuck this book through the window. Was this all some big ploy for cash?
Of course, it’s at this moment that I remember her friend at the club accusing her of stealing her necklace.
Just when I think I’m done, that maybe Dani has had some fucked-up motive all this time, I see the nudes, and my hands shake. The two of us. Together. Entwined.
She must have done them this morning. They’re beautiful and stark. Emotional. The crack in my chest spreads a little more.
Grabbing my keys and her journal, I head for my car. I need to find Danielle. At the very least, I need to hear her out.
After starting the engine, I tune my radio to the BC game before I pull onto the street. It takes me an hour and a half to make the otherwise half-hour drive to her place. Braving rush-hour traffic after a snowstorm is nothing I’d attempt to do under normal circumstances, but I need to talk to her.
Just my luck. No one is home, and my sister won’t be back until tomorrow night, so I can’t even ask her to help me.
Clementine is going to freak the fuck out when she finds out what happened. That’s a headache I don’t need.
My phone buzzes with a text. I grab it, hoping it’s Dani, but it’s my coach.
“Practice tomorrow. I hope you guys have been staying on top of your workouts. Text me tonight to check in.”
He’s been texting the guys every evening over the Thanksgiving Break. He says he wants to keep us focused. I can’t say I blame him. Because right now, focus is one thing I do not have.
After practice on Sunday, I try calling Dani again with the same result, so I text. “I’m so sorry. Let me explain.”
Her response: “No need. I’m fine. Take care.”
I figure she’d be pissed. Curse me out. Tell me I’m a dick. But this? The cool blowoff? The “you don’t mean shit to me, so I’m fine” approach hurts like a motherfucker. Is this how all those girls feel when I don’t call them back?
Goddamn it.
I call again and get her voice mail. Even though I plan to run over to her place tomorrow, I’m slammed with class, practice and the homework I’ve blown off for a week. Finally, on Wednesday, I trek back to BU. I don’t know if I’m more worried about how Dani will react or my sister, but when Clem opens the door, she smiles widely and gives me a hug.
When she doesn’t give me a piece of her mind, I breathe a little more easily. My eyes dart around her apartment, but it’s quiet. We shoot the shit for a few minutes, and I make sure to ask how Clem’s trip home with Gavin went. She’s all mush and gush about their relationship even though she’s trying to seem nonchalant, but I can tell she’s batshit crazy about him.
I clear my throat. “So, uh, how’s Dani? Is her leg better?”
Clem frowns. “I think it is. I don’t really know. I haven’t seen her around, but I haven’t been home much.” Her eyes narrow on me, and her frown deepens. “Why? What happened?”
Ignoring the question I know she’s really asking, I go for the obvious. “Oh, you know, just wondering how the girl I hit with my car is doing.” I shrug my hands into my coat pockets and try to change the subject. “You and Gavin doing winter break together too?”
She can’t help talking about her boyfriend and thankfully shifts gears. But Clem’s easygoing attitude is gone by the end of the week.
&
nbsp; I’m walking to class when I get my sister’s text. “What the fuck happened between you and Dani? She hasn’t been home all week. Jenna saw her and said she looks like shit. Did you fuck her over?”
I’m about to ditch class and speed over to BU and find Danielle if I have to scour each dorm room on campus when my phone rings. I start to pick up, thinking it’s Clementine. But it’s not my sister.
It’s my mother.
Joselyn laughs in my ear. And the only thing she says is, “I told you so.”
Thirty-Three
- Dani -
All week I debate answering Jax’s calls. His text said he wanted to explain. Explain what? That my boobs aren’t big enough? That my hair isn’t bleached the right shade? That my IQ doesn’t match my shoe size? Because I’m sure the girl he ran off with had that in spades.
What a fucking prick.
My anger rages like a black and destructive storm until I think about my mom, and then it feels like my chest might collapse on itself.
How do you live when you know the one person you love more than life itself will die? How do you go on? How do you do the routine shit like go to school and do laundry and concentrate on homework when your mom’s very existence sits like an hourglass running out of sand?
Sometimes it’s too much, and I can’t breath. Some days I go through the motions like an automaton, one step in front of the other, until whatever stupid task is accomplished. Like today.
I sit in class as my professor drones on.
When the lecture ends, I don’t have a clue what he said or what I could have written on three sheets of notebook paper. Because the class might be discussing analytics and responsive design and viral content, but I only hear four words: Your mother is dying.
When the lecture is over, I pack my bag and wander into the hall.
“Ms. Hart?”
I turn to find a man in an expensive suite walking briskly toward me.
He says my name again, and I nod. The man extends his hand toward an alcove off to the side, ushering me out of the path of oncoming students.