Page 94 of Trying Sophie

She took a deep breath and when she started speaking again, her voice had changed, grown scornful and bitter. “It felt like we’d been together forever, but we actually only spent a total of nine weeks together over the course of ten months.”

Like I’d told her earlier, I didn’t have the first fucking clue about how to make a relationship work, but even I knew that was a crock of shit. My spidey sense was telling me something didn’t add up about that. No man who truly loved Sophie could stand to be apart from her for so long and so frequently.

“Didn’t you think it was strange you never spent any time together outside of work?”

“Not at all,” she answered quickly. “I was fine with the arrangement, especially since I didn’t technically have a home outside of my mom’s place in Boston.”

“What about him?” I asked. “I’m assuming he didn’t live with his parents too.”

“No, but …”

I felt like I was pushing my luck with this continued line of questioning, but I had to know.

“Didn’t you think that was weird? I mean, if the guy loved you why didn’t he try to see you when you weren’t working?”

Sad eyes turned toward me and she shrugged. “That’s not how our relationship worked.”

I only had weeks left with Sophie but I was trying my damnedest to figure out how I could spend every available minute with her. We were sitting here together and already I missed her.

“You do realize the only time that fecker tried to see you was when someone else was paying?”

“Yes, I do,” she shot back. “I’m not dumb, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m surprised you put up with his bullshit.”

Her eyes shooting daggers, she asked, “Do you want to hear the rest of this or not?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

She sighed and said, “I’ve told you this much, I may as well finish. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“Understand what?”

Flicking her eyes between mine, she whispered, “Why I have trouble trusting men.”

I’d already figured out from the way she was constantly trying to push me away that she didn’t trust me not to hurt her. She had a vulnerability about her that I’d sensed almost immediately, but it was one she kept well hidden from most.

“Well?” she barked. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

I kept my voice neutral, letting her own the flow of our conversation without allowing it get out of control. I’d never given much thought to the sports psychology courses I’d taken beyond what happened on the field, but my ability not to meet her anger with my frustration was coming in handy.

“I dunno, that I’m damaged goods or something,” she spat.

“Why would I say that?”

Just stay calm, I thought, and she’ll calm down as well.

“Because it’s the truth. My dad, my first boyfriend, Stephen. I don’t trust any of you.”

“I’m not them, Sophie.”

“No, you’re just the first boy who broke me,” she choked out.

“We were children Sophie,” I reminded her through clenched teeth.

I didn’t know too much about her relationship with her father beyond the fact that it was almost non-existent, but I was irritated she compared the natural idiocy of an eight-year boy old with the cold manipulation she’d experienced at the hands of Stephen.

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