Page 13 of Catcher

I break away from his hold while ignoring his question, then run the rest of the way to my car. Opening the driver’s side door, I toss my bag across the seat before climbing in. My hands tremble as I fight to get the key into the ignition. From the corner of my eye, I see Riggs striding my way with a look of concern. Thankfully, I get my car started and take off out of the clubhouse parking lot before he has a chance to make his approach. The last thing I want is for everyone to know what happened between Catcher and me, hoping he has enough decency to spare my feelings and keep what happened this morning to himself.

I’m humiliated.

The last thing I need is for my friends to find out that I slept with a man who doesn’t remember anything and also wants nothing to do with me.

5

CATCHER

The door slams. Not hard enough to shake the walls. Still, it’s loud, ringing in my head long after she’s gone, as if the echo refuses to let go.

I don’t move.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t even blink.

I stand there in the middle of my room like a statue, staring at the spot where she’d been seconds ago, and as if I look hard enough, she might still be there, and I can take back what I said. As if I can shove the words back down my throat before they ever make it out.

But she’s gone.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening, pressing in from all sides. Thick and suffocating, it settles into my chest until I can’t get a full breath.

My jaw tightens. I drag a hand down my face, fingers scraping over skin that suddenly feels too damn tight. The image of her won’t leave me—that tear sliding down her cheek or the way her voice cracked when she said she got me.

Jesus Christ.

I swallow hard, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps because I know exactly what I just did.

I hurt her.

Not accidentally.

Not carelessly.

Fucking deliberately.

Every word I said was sharp, meant to cut deep enough so she won’t come back, look at me again, or think for a second there was something worth holding onto here.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

That it was necessary.

That it was for her.

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Because even as the thought forms, I know it’s bullshit.

This wasn’t about protecting her.

It never is.

It’s about me.

I turn from the door and start pacing, as if I can outrun the heaviness in my chest. My eyes catch on the bed, and something in my gut twists so hard I have to look away.

I don’t remember falling asleep last night. It wasn’t the slow drift where your mind eases off the edge. This was a blackout, a hard drop, lights out, no warning.