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An empty bed awaits me. In my empty home. I’m pretty sure that, by the morning, I’ll fill it all up with my tears.
46
HARRY
Today’s workout session was brutal. I pushed my body to the max. I went way too far physically. Jace and Knox had to intervene when they thought I was about to kill myself on the bench press machine.
I want to make Liam regret it. I want to make the Paragons see that they were wrong for writing me off and counting me out. That’s why I’m pushing myself so hard. I’m willing to burn myself to the ground to prove my point. To prove that I’m a better footballer than anyone gave me credit for.
But that’s only half of the truth. The other half is, I didn’t want to have to think. I don’t want to think about Nadia. I want to completely block her out of my mind.
My eyes are bleary and tired as I drive down my dark, gloomy street. My muscles are sore. And my heart? My heart hurts the worse.
But my stupid heart is what got me into this mess to begin with. I made my dumb feelings the priority when I should have been using my head. I should have used logic.
That’s what Nadia was trying to tell you from day one, idiot.
I didn’t listen to her and look where it landed us.
Fuck—I’m getting traded. To Los Angeles. To the fucking Boomerangs. Ugh—the Boomerangs are the worst.
I’ll have to leave Honey Hill behind. My teammates. My family. My Grammy.
This is killing me.
I love football so much. I love the Paragons. Playing here in Sin Valley was my dream.
And Nadia—
No, can’t think of Nadia. Can’t do it. Hurts too much.
Each time she comes into my mind—which is approximately every six to eight seconds—I feel my insides crumble all over again.
When I think about her smile…When I think about her voice…Her eyes…Her body…Her touch…Her scent…
Her betrayal.
I should have known that, if push came to shove, she’d end up choosing her job over me.
I think back to the conversation I had with Ziggy when I turned up at her metaphysical shop after the restaurant debacle last night.
“She fucked up, Harry. But you get to choose how you react. Forgiving her is a choice,” the psychic had said sagely.
“I don’t fucking want to forgive her,” I had stubbornly spit out.
“What’s the part you’re really mad about?”
“I’m mad that she didn’t come to me and talk to me. Like her fucking partner. For months she said I was too young for her, likeIwasn’t mature enough for a relationship and at the end of the day,she’sthe one who ran away from having a simple conversation with me.”
I’ve had my phone turned off all day. I haven’t checked my email or my voice messages. Anything to avoid having to face the reminder of her.
But when I pull into my driveway and find her car already parked there, I know there’s no hiding anymore.
My limp, tired heart gives an agonizing thud when I locate her, sitting on the cold concrete step beneath my archway of colorful twinkle lights. In her wool coat and her little ankle boots and her face painted with tears.
God—she must be freezing. How long has she been sitting there? Look how red her nose is, and her cheeks. And her eyes…
Shit. The look in her eyes is enough to crack my chest right open.
