Page 131 of A Little Complicated

This sucks. Everything sucks. After sending a quick text to Jaxon, telling him I had the flu so he wouldn’t wonder why I wasn’t coming to the team’s four-mile run today, I curled up into a ball and tunneled under my covers, only slipping out of bed to grab food from the kitchen or to use the restroom.

Right now, I want nothing more than to disappear. I want to not exist for a little while. I want to go back to the way things were before prom. Before Tatum caught us on the roof. Before I let boys and bad decisions take over my life and turn me into a shell of the person I know I am. I feel like I’m a stranger. A stranger who betrayed one of my best friends. A stranger who led two brothers on and pushed the future she wants more than anything aside so she could justify hooking up with one of them when she knew he wasn’t ready for anything serious. I feel like I’m a stranger who’s even avoiding hockey, which is so unlike me it’s not even funny.

It’s almost noon. I should be out of bed. I should’ve already attended practice. I should be showered. I should be getting ready for my friends to arrive since Dylan and Finley are moving in today. But instead of doing any of these things, I’m a pathetic lump on my mattress, and I don’t know how to find the will to make it better.

As I lie awake in bed, I stare at the ceiling while recounting the last few weeks when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s a text from Mystery Man.

The name brings another fresh wave of tears to my eyes, and I change the name in my contact directory and read the message.

Maverick

We’re not done, Opie.

And I think about the future all the time. About you and me. About everything I want. What I’d give up to have what I want.

My phone buzzes again.

Maverick

You have no idea how much not tracking you down is killing me.

I want to, just to clarify. But I already punched my brother twice this weekend, and I’m not sure either of us is ready for round three.

My chest squeezes as memories of their fight on the ice assault me. It’s all my fault. I wipe the moisture from the corner of my eye, too weak and curious to keep myself from responding.

Me

Why’d you punch Archer the second time?

Maverick

Because he said you were his.

A tear skims down my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut when my phone buzzes again.

Maverick

You were right. I’m so sorry I’ve put you in the middle, Ophelia. I know I’ve messed up more times than I can count, and I want to tell you everything. But doing it over the phone doesn’t feel right, and tracking you down when I know my brother’s hurting in the room next to mine doesn’t feel fair, either.

Me

None of this feels very fair.

Maverick

You’re right. It doesn’t. But sitting here makes me feel fucking helpless, Goose. I don’t know what to do.

I grab another tissue from the box on my nightstand and blow my nose, wadding it up and tossing it onto the decent-sized pile covering my bedspread.

Me

Ditto.

Maverick

Reeves is throwing another party next weekend. Can you make it?

A party? He has to be joking.

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