Page 202 of On the Breakaway

All I want is for him to look at me.

But instead, I stare out the windshield while my pulse pounds wildly against my ribs.

This is fucking ridiculous.

I sat outside the locker room for nearly two hours thinking about exactly what I needed to say. Now that we’re alone, though, the words feel stuck somewhere behind my lungs.

His car rolls out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, the city glowing around us.

My hands twist together in my lap.

Say something, Avery.

Anything.

Every time I open my mouth, I’m haunted by the look on his face outside the locker room when he looked at me like I was already gone.

“How bad is it?” The question slips out quietly.

Grayson’s fingers twitch on the steering wheel, but his eyes stay on the road.

“The suspension?”

“Yeah.”

His jaw flexes. “Won’t know for sure until tomorrow, but Coach thinks three games.”

My stomach sinks. Three playoff games could change everything. Three games because of Damon. Because of me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” His grip tightens on the wheel.

The single word lands like a brick.

“What?”

“Don’t apologize to me. You literally warned me against this exact thing.” His voice is flat and empty.

My chest aches because I’d prepared for frustration or anger, but I hadn’t prepared myself for complete resignation.

The silence returns thicker this time. The city keeps passing by, and if I let this continue, he’s going to drop me off at home still believing I’m not in this.

Still believing I might not want him anymore.

The thought makes my pulse spike, something frantic clawing up my throat.

“Grayson.”

“Hm.” The noise hardly sounds human.

I shift in my seat, staring at his profile and taking in the exhaustion dragging down every feature.

I watch the man I love. The same one who thinks he’s already lost me, and seeing him like this hurts more than anything else that’s happened tonight.

“I need you to talk to me.”

He snorts, a low, humorless laugh slipping from deep in his throat. “What more is there to talk about?”