Page 46 of Only With You

“I’m just going to get to the point because bullshitting is pointless, unnecessary, and a waste of time.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, but when I blink, it’s gone.

“I’m failing calculus.” My body flames with embarrassment and I shift in my seat. The idea sounds less appealing now that I’ve admitted it out loud. My brain is telling me to abort the mission, but Dad’s face springs to mine. “I didn’t want to come to you, but Gabby and Polly said you’re the person to go to. I really didn’t want to bother you, but I really need a tutor.”

“No.” He says it so fast, I almost don’t catch it.

Okay, no big deal. I saw this coming.Just explain yourself. Maybe he’ll change his mind.

“I know we have our differences.”Differencesis an understatement, but the last thing I need is to get into an argument with him. “And you probably don’t want to be anywhere near me, but I could really use your help. Polly told me you helped her when she had Roberts, and I have Rob?—”

“Don’t you understand what no means? Or ever heard of the word?”

“I know you have a busy schedule, but I can work through it. Whatever works for you, I’ll make it work,” I plead, hoping he can hear the desperation in my voice. “I can also pay you?—”

“The answer is still no,” he says without an ounce of hesitation.

“But I-I’ll pay you and p-please,” I stammer, but my desperation trumps my embarrassment. I hope he can see it, hear it, and take pity on me. “I really need help and?—”

He stands, staring down at me with annoyance. “Sometimes in life we can’t get what we want. My answer is no. I don’t need your money or desperation.”

My heart sinks to a bottomless pit as I watch him walk to the door, slip his shoes on, and without sparing me a glance, he walks away.

I keep myself composed until I’m in my room. I scream into my pillow, then I grab my stuff and begin to study.

14

LANDON

“What are your sleeping habits like?”

I huff, sitting up straighter on the mustard-coloured sofa. “The same as every other college student.”

An amused smile tugs the corner of Reid, my therapist’s mouth, and jots something on his notepad.

I don’t need therapy, but Coach Warren insists that everyone on the team see a psychotherapist. He said it’s important to utilise this resource, because not only do we need to be on top of our game physically, but mentally.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be here, but Coach didn’t give me or anyone a choice. We have to do therapy once a week, at least until the season is over. He did say we’re more than welcome to continue it, but as soon as it’s over, I’m not coming back.

I don’t need someone to dissect my life and try to make me feel better by telling me I’m not alone. Some fail to acknowledge that some people like and thrive on loneliness, and I’m one of them.

I find comfort in solitude, and that’s something I don’t plan to change.

“Do you mind specifying whatyoursleeping habits are like?”

We’ve been going at this for almost an hour. Because this is the first session, he’s been asking me background questions so he can get to know me. Depending on my answer, he’ll ask if I mind specifying and I don’t because I have nothing to hide.

My life is mundane. There isn’t much to say.

“I have two bowls of cereal, work on my music, play on my keyboard or guitar, then I go to bed.”

He hums, nodding with contentment at my response. “How many hours of sleep do you typically get a night?”

“Four to six.”

“Always four to six?”

“Always.”

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