I squeeze his hand one more time, swallowing hard to force myself into a state of cool composure. If I can dance on bloody toes, I can make it out of this vehicle without crumbling.
“It’s okay. I understand. But I think you should go back to your place in the city tonight. Make sure you’re ready for your games this week. Take the time and space. We both need it. I’ll call you.”
I’ll call you. I almost laugh at how cliché I sound. What could be worse? It’s not you, it’s me?
When he doesn’t respond, I peek at his face. A familiar frozen expression gracing his features.
“I know you’re crumbling right now. I can see you falling apart right before my eyes, Jas. But I also know you need to be the one to put yourself back together. If it’s me, I’ll constantly be the one mending you when you break. Pulling you back from that ledge. And I can’t be responsible for that for the rest of our lives. That needs to come from you.” My voice cracks. “I can barely put myself back together these days.”
And with that I pat his hand and pull away, leaving the warmth of his vehicle, turning with my head held high to walk to the front door. In an even but forced tempo, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I lean on my years of training, walking gracefully with my shoulders rolled back and head held high.
It’s not until I’ve safely closed the front door that the engine revs and wheels crunch on the snow packed street that I let my composure slip.
Then I crumble too.
35
Sloane
Summer: I think we need to do a boozy brunch.
Willa: I’m. Pregnant.
Summer: It’s not always about you, Willa.
Willa: Who else would it be about?
Summer: Winter just showed up and asked if we could get coffee. I really want to talk to her. But . . . I don’t know what to talk to her about. I need people to run interference.
Willa: You can talk about what a piece of shit her husband is? How cute Theo is?
Summer: Not touching any of that with a ten-foot pole. Also, Sloane might be dead. She’s just lying on the floor of my gym staring at the ceiling.
Willa: Sloane. Pick up your phone. Death isn’t an option. You’re too young and hot. And I still haven’t found out how big Jasper’s dick is.
Sloane: Why don’t you just ask him?
Summer: Lmao. Yeah, Wils. Just drop him a casual line.
Willa: You’ re alive! He’s so tall! His hands are so BIG. Please confirm the size.
Sloane: His feet are big too.
The neon lights above me flicker, and I watch one long bulb burn out entirely. Little spots crop up in front of my eyes from staring at them for so long.
I was hot when I finished dancing, but now the sweat on my skin has cooled and discomfort seeps into my pores. I still don’t move.
Discomfort is my new default.
I’ve been in this studio for hours now, dancing until I can’t think anymore. I don’t want to think. I laid in bed awake all night thinking.
I even thought about responding to Jasper’s text message this morning. And then I didn’t because I don’t know what to say.
Good morning.
Actually, no. It’s not a good morning. It’s a shit morning. And I love him so much I could easily slip into hating him. I could say something cruel. I could make him feel bad.
It might make me feel better for a minute to lash out. To make him hurt as intensely as I am.
But deep down I know he already is. I know him. I know he’s panicking. He’s locked up. Frozen solid like on the steep runaway lane.
I know he’s suffering and that fucking kills me.
What’s worse is I pushed him away. I thought it might be better for him this way. Now I’m not so sure that’s true. I’m not sure of anything—myself included.
For years I wanted to get into Jasper’s head. Until now. Now, I think it’s best to not know what’s going on inside his head.
It hurts less that way.
“Okay, you’ve been lying here far too long. My sister is a doctor, so she’s going to come check on you.”
My head rolls across the floor to peer at Summer in the doorway to the back studio of the gym. She’s leaning against the frame while her equally adorable blonde sister stands beside her, looking notably uncomfortable in her scrubs and puffy down jacket.
She gives me an awkward wave and a tight smile, not nearly as homicidal as the night I first saw her.
I lift a hand back in their direction. “I’m perfectly fine. No cause for alarm. But you do need to replace a light bulb in here.” I gesture up to the ceiling. “Actually, if we’re offering doctor advice . . . is staring at light bulbs bad for my eyes?”
Winter shrugs. “Probably isn’t ideal.”
“Okay.” I sigh. “I’ll close them. Doctor’s orders.”
Winter lets out a dry chuckle, but Summer doesn’t. Her footsteps approach, and when she nudges my foot with the toe of her sneaker, I peek up at her.
“Let’s go,” she says. “I know what you need.”
I nod, letting my eyes drift shut. “Yeah. A time machine.”
“No. A boozy brunch.”
“Summer, it’s a Monday!” Winter sounds alarmed and it makes me laugh.
“So? You just finished a long shift, and I’m done with my clients for the day. Willa is bored and blowing up my phone about penis sizes. And Sloane looks half dead. We all got somewhere to be? Important things to do? You eager to head back to the city?”
Winter’s lips purse tightly as she shakes her head.
I point at her, already feeling a little tipsy. Lack of sleep will do that to a girl. “Girl, same. Let’s just hole up in Chestnut Springs with a hot country boy and never go back to the city. The city fucking sucks, and so does everyone who lives there.”
A small smile plays across Winter’s impassive face, and she shrugs, crossed arms rising and falling as she does. “I suppose I could drink to that.”
“Heck yeah!” Summer whoops. “I’ll give Wils a call, and we can meet her at Le Pamplemousse.”
“Here, have another one.” Willa pushes a mimosa across the table toward me in the charming, sunlit, Parisian-style cafe, drawing my attention off of Rosewood Street, the main thoroughfare in Chestnut Springs.
“I already have one.” I tip my champagne flute at her.
She points to my opposite hand. “Yeah, but that hand is empty. And I’m not going to drink it. I’m pregnant.” She rolls her eyes like I’m dumb and places the glass so it brushes up against the tips of my fingers.
“Why did you order it then?” I don’t fight it. I curl my fingers around the stem of the glass and bring it closer.
Willa shrugs with a light laugh. “I dunno, wanted to be part of the boozy brunch.”
Winter arches a brow from beside her. “You’re literally here. At boozy brunch. What more do you need?”
Willa stares longingly at my double-fisted mimosas. “Booze. Obviously.”
“What about some orange juice in a champagne flute?” Summer offers sweetly.
Willa makes a groaning noise. “That’s just offensive.”
My eyes bounce between the three women, and I realize I’m already feeling more human. Smiling isn’t the Herculean effort it felt like earlier.