“And I accepted,” Dillon says in a low voice. “Let me explain—”
The dominoes fall, crashing into each other. “Oh, I’ve heard enough tonight.”
I dart for the kitchen.
Romy meets me as I grab my purse and keys from the hooks in the kitchen. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” Zena rushes over. “The dance is still going. There’s still cleanup in the kitchen, and we’ll need to push the tables aside and clean the floor—”
We’re in a hidden hallway that leads to the back exit when I hear someone bursting into the kitchen. “Serena, wait! Dammit!” A clattering sound reaches our ears, and I imagine Dillon’s stumbled into one of the tables set up by the catering service. Low voices sound as someone asks him what he wants.
Zena sighs. “The football player from yoga?”
Please, my gaze tells her. I can’t let him get close to me. Not right now.
I grab Romy’s hand, seeing she’s already retrieved her backpack. I look back at Zena. “I’m sorry we have to leave you. Just dock us, whatever. I’ll explain it later. ”
“Go.” She motions to the back entrance and we slip away.
26
Dillon bangs on my door. He’s been here for the past ten minutes. I barely had time to get Romy in the house and get into my apartment before I saw the flash of his headlights in the driveway.
“Go away.” My throat is tight, tears itching to fall.
“I know exactly what this seems like, but that isn’t what—we—are.” His voice is coarse. “I’m sorry you had to overhear it like that. Please just talk to me.”
I whip the door open. His hair is a mess, his jacket gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs and rolled up. He makes a move to step inside, but I cut him off. “You’re not coming in. Say what you need to, Dillon.”
His eyes shut then open. He licks his lips, emotions flitting over his face, ones I can’t define. “At the bonfire, Serena…” He inhales a deep breath and scrubs his face.
“What?”
“You were so beautiful.”
“All your women are.” I have to be tough, hard.
His hands clench as if he’s steeling himself. “Stop, please. I’m trying…trying to say this right, and I don’t know what I’m doing.” He exhales. “I saw you at the bonfire and it was more than just how you looked, okay? It was like déjà vu, like I already knew you. I loved how you danced. Your feisty attitude. It sounds crazy, okay, it’s ridiculous, but after I kissed you, I dreamed about you afterward, I couldn’t get you out of my head…”
He dips his head, and when he rises up, his eyes cling to mine. “Serena, I fell in love with you over a kiss.”
There’s a stunned silence. My head tries to process his declaration.
He rushes his words. “I looked for you for months, asked people if they remembered you, searched for you at every party, every class. I didn’t look at another girl for months, hoping to find you. In my head, I had this idea… That I’d find you and we’d be together.”
My chest tightens. Part of me wants to cling to the idea that he’s been carrying a torch, but the other side of me aches at what I overheard. “Then you took something good and made it ugly.”
Agony ripples over his face. “Serena—”
“I’ve heard about your bets.”
Frustration flashes and he rushes his words. “No, the team doesn’t do those. It’s just Sawyer and Troy trying to amp me up. They only know we had sex because I didn’t come back to the hotel room until late at LSU. Sawyer took one look at me and guessed. I haven’t talked about us to them. I’m not like that—”
“You agreed to it.” The thought slices like a knife and I clutch my chest. “I’m not one of your silly contests.”
He winces. A long breath comes from him. “I know you’re not. I’m sorry. The challenge is wrong, it’s demeaning, and it wasn’t the reason I pursued you. Sawyer kept asking, and I agreed to appease him, but it was never in my head.” He fidgets, his jaw popping. “I know what you’re doing. You’re running scenarios in your mind, all the times we’ve been together, all the things I’ve said, but I never faked with you. I was real; we are real. Don’t turn what we have into something sordid—”
“You already did that,” I say, shaking my head. “You promised you’d be good to me. If that was true, then you should have told Sawyer and Troy how you really felt about me. But you didn’t, obviously. You lied to me. You hurt me.” My voice breaks.
His head dips. “You’re right. I should have told them. I just…don’t talk to them about feelings—”
“You let this challenge idea linger, and I became a contest for your friends. Neil had to drop hints and then I find out at the dance—with Ashley standing there.” My hands clench. “Can’t you see how all this looks to me? How it makes me feel?”
He groans and rakes a hand through his hair. “I do, and I’m sorry for all of that, Serena. I tried to tell you about it at the airport after the hotel. Then Vane called and things went haywire between us. After we got back together, I didn’t want to rock the boat.” He pauses, his voice rough as he leans toward me. “Please believe me when I say you were never a challenge to me.”
Seconds tick by as his eyes hold mine. I see the sincerity in the depths, the emotion he’s baring. Do I believe he dated me just for laughs? No. Now that the initial shock is over, I know Dillon wouldn’t set me up as a challenge, not on purpose. I can see him agreeing with Sawyer to placate him. He was scared of my reaction, and I get that, I do. I tend to react and avoid emotional confrontations. I divorced Vane without ever seeing his face.
I swallow thickly. “I believe you didn’t set out to win me for a challenge.”
Relief floods his face. “Thank God.”
I fell in love with you over a kiss.
Maybe Dillon does love me, maybe he does, but Vane loved me in his own way. I said I was ready to take a chance on Dillon, but my trust is like bits of torn paper on the floor.
“But, I’m not sure”—my heart squeezes—“where this leaves us now.” I pause, the words like jagged rocks in my throat. “Over, I guess. I can’t see you again.”
“What’s going on?” comes Julian’s voice. He’s wearing his police uniform as he shoulders past Dillon, pushing him to the side as he comes in and stands next to me. “Romy texted me. Are you okay?” His eyes search my face.
No. My hands clench. I’m barely holding it together.
I look at Dillon, pushing the words out. “You need to go.”
There’s silence, the air thickening with tension.
“No,” he says, eyes glued to my face. “Let’s talk this out. I can’t accept that we’re over.”
“She asked you to leave,” Julian says with a frown, his body tensing.
I grab my brother’s arm. The last thing I want is for my brother to tangle with Dillon. “He’s leaving.”
Dillon shakes his head and looks at me, desperation there. “Please, Serena. I fucked up, I did, okay, I fucked up, but I can’t leave you—”
His words are a fist to my gut. “Stop. You sound like Vane,” I gasp and shake my head.
Julian stiffens and puts an arm around me then turns to Dillon. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but she can’t handle your bullshit right now. You two need space.”
“Don’t run away from this, Serena,” Dillon says, his chest heaving as he holds my eyes.
Oh, Dillon. Running is the only way I know how to survive a broken heart.
I turn away from the door, and Julian slams it closed.
My brother leaves an hour later. He attempts to get me to tell him what happened, but my brain won’t go there. I’m despondent, the tears falling. I want to pack Dillon away, stuff him in a box, and set it in the darkest part of my closet. Like I did with Vane.
How is it possible that the thought of never seeing Dillon again hurts more than Vane cheating on me?
I crawl in bed and try to sleep. My he
ad replays the meadow when Dillon asked to make love to me, and I weep again. I fell for him that night, only realizing it today.
In a bid to distract myself at one in the morning, I get out of bed and pop open my laptop. There’s an email from Warren asking for the article on Dillon. He wanted it midseason and here we are. I grab a bottle of the champagne in the fridge, pop the cork, and turn it up for a long drink. My heart aches as I grab the notes I’ve been taking over these past weeks with him.
* * *
In the words of Dillon McQueen, “My team is my family.” This quarterback arrived on the scene at Waylon and bided his time to start for the Tigers. Under the tutelage of Ryker Voss, he dedicated himself to football, playing running back with stats to rival anyone in the SEC. Year by year, he waited for his chance to lead. Amidst the excitement of new recruits, his leadership and talent have been up for debate. This writer sees the heart of a fighter, fueled by hard work and loyalty to the team…
* * *
By six in the morning, I’ve drained the bottle and sway in my seat. With bleary eyes, I email the piece to Warren along with a brief message that I want to be removed from the football games, reminding him that George is due back. I won’t step into that stadium again.
27
I flip the channels on the TV. I’m not really watching, my head full of cotton from a horrible night of sleep. I rub my temples.
It’s been over a week since the formal, and Serena won’t answer my texts or accept my calls. Meanwhile, we lost to South Carolina, where I threw two interceptions in the last quarter. Sinclair never even got the chance to go in. I fucked it up that fast. At this point, Coach hasn’t said who’s starting this weekend against Alabama.
The front door opens and I stand up. I keep hoping for Serena to show up. I’ve tried with her. I’ve gone to her house. Her car is there, but no one answers. She’s cutting me from her life, and I can’t keep chasing her. I have a little pride left. A lonely feeling crawls over me.
Exhaustion hits me when I see who it is, and my shoulders dip.
“What do you want?” I snap at Ashley in a raspy voice. She’s the last person I want to see.
She smiles brightly. “Just checking in on you. Heard you guys were back from South Carolina. Bad loss, but you’ll bounce back, Babycakes.”
“Don’t act like you care about me. The Theta thing is finished. I played my part for the team. In case you didn’t notice when I left you at the dance, I’m done with you.”
She pauses, her eyes narrowed. “You can’t still be upset over that girl—”
“Shut up, Ashley. I’ve wanted that girl for three years,” I snap. My head throbs and I clutch it. I had her and I screwed it up.
She holds her hands up. “I can see you’re upset. I can grab us dinner—”
“No.”
“Dillon…” she cajoles.
I keep my voice calm though I’m itching to lash out. She acted horribly at the dinner, and I haven’t forgotten it. “Get out.”
“I’m the Theta president. You’re being rude.”
I’m being pretty damn nice considering…
I sit back on the couch, shut my eyes, and say, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Madame President. Oh, and don’t come back.”
She leaves in a huff, and a few minutes later someone else walks in and sits next to me on the couch. “Grand Central,” I mutter as Sinclair fidgets. He’s taken to hanging out in the afternoons after practice.
“Yo, D, put on that LSU game. Tell me where I screwed up.”
Myles used to call me D. I toy with the leather cuff on my wrist, ghosting my fingers over the quartz.
I just…
My chest twists.
Loving a girl, being at her mercy, is new to me.
“Alright, I’ll cue it up. You just talk,” he says when I don’t say anything. “I miss us running. I can beat your ass now. Been going on my own.”
I grunt. I missed every day last week. “Good.”
The TV rolls the game, and I wince when I see me getting tackled, then the fumble.
He elbows me. “Shouldn’t have waited in the pocket so long.”
“Yeah.” My tone is lackluster.
He exhales and stands up in front of me, blocking the TV. “I’m gonna give it to you straight: you suck right now. You’ve thrown some shitty passes, the press is eating you alive, and our rank has dropped five spots. Twitter is calling you the worst quarterback in Waylon history.”
Anger shoots through me and I rear back. “Who said that?”
He gives me a smile. “Me.”
“Dick.” I go back to playing with my cuff.
“I didn’t really say it on Twitter. I’m telling you to your face.”
I huff out a laugh. “It might be true.”
He paces into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and comes back with a Fat Tire. My stomach drops. Serena swiping all the beer then giving it back to me, realizing who she was…
“Make yourself at home,” I murmur.
He shrugs and eases back down beside me.
Sawyer comes out of his room, notes the game on the screen, and plops down in the recliner. I can feel him looking at me, the uneasy weight in his gaze. I talked to him and Troy about what happened. They know everything.
He exhales. “Dillon, dude, I’m sorry, again. I didn’t realize…” how much you loved her. He sighs. “My granny is turning over in her grave over this. What else can I do? I went to her house to apologize, but she didn’t come to the door. I left her a note and said I was sorry. I said that challenges are belittling to women and called myself a pig. I swore I would never run my mouth again about your relationship with her. I said I’d take a class in the women’s studies department next semester. I suck. Have you heard from her?”
My eyes cut to him. “She’s made her mind up.” She doesn’t give second chances.
Just…
Just get me through this season.
Get me out of this town.
“Dude? The game.” Sinclair elbows me.
“Yeah.” I scrub my face and lean in, pointing to the screen as Sinclair takes the field for me at LSU. “Alright, see that defensive guy, he’s reading you like a book. You twitch your right shoulder when you get ready to…”
By Friday afternoon, the week has caught up with me. Between midterms and practice, I’m in a shit mood and can’t fight down the exhaustion that haunts me.
I’m rolling my neck in the lobby of the library, about to go out the door when a flash of copper hair on the second floor catches my eye. My heart drops as I dart for the stairs and take them two at a time.
“Hey!” a guy says as I jostle past him.
“Sorry!” I call out.
It’s Serena, just ahead with her back to me—and she’s with a guy. Anger flashes. Who is she with? They turn the corner into the shelves and I follow, my chest tight.
“Serena!” I say as I make the corner and see them kissing.
She jerks out of his arms and glares at me. “Who?”
“Whoa, sorry.” I reel back. She doesn’t look anything like Serena. Her hair is shorter, the highlights duller. Her eyes aren’t champagne-colored. She’s too tall.
“You mind?” the guy asks.
I feel winded with relief as I flip around. “I thought you were someone else,” I mutter as I walk away.
Monday I thought I saw her outside the stadium after practice, Tuesday it was on the quad, Wednesday it was a car that looked like hers, and Thursday I waited for her to go to yoga but she never showed.
I don’t recall driving home, but I arrive, pulling in behind a white Mercedes sedan I don’t recognize. Sawyer meets me on the porch. “Your dad is here.”
I stop at the bottom of the steps. Now?
“Why?” The car must be a rental.
His eyes search my face, an apologetic look there. “He gave me a call, you know, since you haven’t answered his. Your birthday is coming…” He keeps talking and I zon
e out, a huff leaving my chest. With everything pressing on me, I pushed my birthday to the back burner. I spent my last birthday with the team, not my dad.
I mentally prepare myself, squaring my shoulders as I walk into the house.
He’s sitting next to Brianna on our couch. Marley bounces on her knee as they coo down at her.
“Dillon,” he says in a gruff voice as he stands. Wearing khakis and a dress shirt, he’s not as tall as I am, his frame trim and wiry. His hair is dark brown and styled in a businessman cut. “You look well. I like your place. Much better than the dorms.”
He’s in my house. My eyes run over his face, seeing the extra lines added since February. His expression is hopeful, and I glance away.
“Surprise!” Brianna says rather uncertainly as she stands with Marley. “We flew in on the jet. We would have called, but…” Her eyes dart back to Dad. “Wes wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”
My words are flat. “Guess the baby isn’t teething this weekend?”
“No.” Dad gives me an awkward hug, his fingers grasping my shoulders. He pulls back, looking hesitant. “We’re staying at the Hilton in town, so we won’t crowd your space. Planning on being here when you play tomorrow. We’ve already gotten our seats. Marley’s going to her first football game to see her brother…”
Brother. The word hurts, and I suck in a breath.
Brianna thrusts Marley into my arms, and I blink.
“Aw, she’s smiling at you,” Brianna says.
“Probably gas,” Dad jokes.
She’s adorable, big cheeks and curly brown hair the color of his. I shift around uncomfortably.
“Here, put her on your hip,” Brianna says, moving her around on my frame. “She’s much bigger since you saw her in February.”
“Yeah.”
Marley spits up then giggles as Brianna wipes the milk on her bib. I take in the orange and navy shirt she’s wearing with the Waylon logo on it. They must have ordered it online or made a run to the student center store, I guess.
I Promise You Page 24