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“Astrid?” Heather’s voice sounds concerned. “Astrid.”
I feel her hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The words come out wrong because my mouth dries. “I’m fine.” If I repeat the words to myself, I might start to believe them. But as the newscasters continue, I feel anything but fine.
“I love you, you know that, right?” She looks at me longer than she usually does, which tells me that she definitely knows everything is not okay.
But how do I explain to her that I’m upset over the things people say about a man I technically have no claim too. Heather, I’m about to cry because I’ve started a relationship with my boss because I’m a big dumb idiot.
I’d sound crazy. Or pathetic. And I’m not sure which is worse.
I groan and sink deeper into the cushions as if that’ll get me further away from the scrutiny. “I think I’m getting sick,” I say. It is true. I feel sick to my stomach. And although I feel cold inside, my body heats beneath the curious looks in the room.
“I’ll be right back.” I jump up.
I try to keep my steps calm as I walk to the bathroom but when I round the corner out of sight, I hurry, desperate to get behind that locked door before the tears come out. And just like that, the second the door lock clicks into place, I slide down the wall and burst into tears.
I can’t stop myself. I take out my phone and type in his name into the search engine. If it’s going to hurt, I want it to cut deep. Article after article comes up. Pictures of him with girls. Tall. Beautiful. Perfect. None of whom look a thing like me.
I’m not his type, the self doubt shouts at me already. This didn’t start because he has feelings for me, it started because I’m convenient.
My finger shakes as I click on the title most recently posted. An interview with him, from a month ago. When did he do this? He never mentioned it. Of course he didn’t. I don’t matter. Why would he tell me?
I read through it quickly, skipping over the parts about hockey and getting to the gossip. What kind of player was he that everyone wants to know about his love life? God, what have I done?
I get to the bottom of the article.
He told them he doesn’t see himself dating anyone seriously.
I reread his quote until my eyes tear over.
I’m so stupid. So stupid. A cry rips through my chest. How could I not see this coming? I’m not special to him. How could I be? He gave this interview after knowing me? Had we kissed already at that point? I try to put the dates together. Fuck. I mean nothing to him.
I click my screen closed but I can’t get the images out of my head. I should have never looked it up. I want to throw my phone against the wall. Instead, I cry into my hands, hoping that everything can come out now so that I never have to feel like this again.
I need to process this alone. Away from my friends. I don’t want them to know how pathetic I am.
I splash cold water over my face until my cheeks are no longer red. The last thing I want to do is go back out there, but I have to.
I gather my strength, clearing my throat, praying that my voice sounds steady as I walk back into the living room.
“Hey,” I say, trying to stand in a way that doesn’t show my face well. “I’m going to take Violet home early. I feel a migraine coming.” I hold my forehead for better effect.
“Okay.” Heather stands to hug me. “If you need anything, you’ll let me know, right?”
I bury my face against her. She knows something is wrong. We both know it, but neither of us says the words.
“I know. I’ll call you if I need anything.” But unless she can turn back time and prevent me from kissing Sean, there is nothing anyone can do to make this better.
“Text me when you’re home, okay.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER 19
SEAN
