Page 91 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“We argued. Big deal. People always argue. I need to talk to him, and he won’t answer my calls.”

“And you think that’s because you argued?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. You’ve been living under a rock.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, but either way, Drew’s busy, so you’ll have to arrange another time to speak to him.”

Jacob’s bulky frame blocks any view of the living room, and I pretend to turn away. With his guard down, I make a fake play and quickly look over Jacob’s shoulder. “Oh, hey, Drew,” I say with so much conviction that I surprise myself.

Jacob turns to see who I’m looking at, and I swiftly dunk under him, sneaking into the house. He tries to grab me, but thankfully, with an almost healed leg, I’m harder to catch.

“Bella, wait,” he calls, but I ignore his cries and head down the familiar hall to Drew’s bedroom. “You don’t want to go in there.”

The hell I don’t. Drew and I need to talk, and it’s going to happen today. I don’t bother knocking. I just push Drew’s bedroom door open.

That’s when everything goes in slow motion. I can feel Jacob jogging up behind me as the room comes into full view.

I stop. My mouth is gaped open, and my hands are clenching at my sides. I don’t know what to do because the sight before me feels like a shot through the heart.

Standing feels nearly impossible, and I think the only reason I maintain my balance is because I know I’ll make a scene if I fall.

But, man, do I crumble on the inside.

Is this what real betrayal feels like?

Brianna and Drew are here. Hugging. On Drew’s bed.

Bile works its way up my throat, and I take a tentative step back, feeling Jacob’s hands against my elbows, holding me up for stability.

“What the…”

Is this why he’s been ignoring me? Is he interested in reigniting things with Brianna? She’s a thousand times less complicated than me, after all, and we never officially started dating since I’m the one that put the kibosh on that.

Lord knows that if Drew had asked Brianna the same questions he asked me in the gym, she would have said yes in seconds.

But that’s what I didn’t think he liked about her. She’s the uncomplicated, sunny girl that is so stereotypically perfect; she’s boring. I always thought Drew was interested in stronger stuff than that.

Snowstorms and blizzards.

Me…

“Bella?” Drew’s voice is haggard, and his face isn’t much better. His shocked eyes are bloodshot and red as he takes me in with surprise. Blotched and puffy, I know his state isn’t theresult of too much drinking last night. Drew’s upset, and there’s something so disarming about seeing him like this that I almost forget Brianna’s in the room with us.

It’s not just that a big, hulking piece of muscle like him is upset or that I expect him to be emotionless. It’s that he called Brianna to comfort him, not me. I shouldn’t be surprised by this.

I’m pricklier than a cactus, and Brianna is softer than a down-filled cushion. We weren’t talking, so why wouldn't he call her when making such a huge decision?

“What are you doing here?” Drew asks, and judging by his facial expression, I don’t think it’s the first time he asked it, just the first time I heard it.

I look between Brianna and Drew a few times, unable to appropriately form any sentences.

They look good together. Almost like they were meant to be. A hard truth ferments in my bones. Why shouldn’t they be together? Drew is sweet and kind and better than me in almost every aspect. Brianna is hardworking, gorgeous, and gentle. I may have known Drew longer, but do I actuallyknowhim like she does? She listens to him. I’m sure they have conversations besides sex. They probably want the best for each other. Drew and Me? I’m not so sure, but there’s one thing in this equation that doesn’t add up, and that’s me.

I’m the poison chalice. I’m all that’s wrong in this picture, and if I have any self-respect or dignity, I’ll leave.

“Sorry. Wrong house,” I pipe out, quickly jumping on my heels and bumping into Jacob, who’s standing right behind me. He looks mighty remorseful, but I don’t hang around to talk. I train my focus on the floor and jog down the hallway, pretending my heart hasn’t just been desecrated.

When I’m outside of the house, I start sprinting; my leg be damned.

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