Page 23 of Until We Kiss

On the lips.

He flinches a little, but he doesn't break away.

He kisses her back.

He fucking kisses her back.

The world swims. Not from rocking on the waves or pink monstrosities or too much sun. It swims in a way that feels like it’ll never be right again. Like it tumbled off its axis and is hanging there, fucked for all time.

He kissed her.

Kissedher.

A sob chokes in my throat. A full-out fucking sob.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just want this to be over.”

My hearthurts. And the world isn’t right.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. And I don’t know how to fix it.

I don’t know how to fixme.

My knee, my football career, I don’t know if I can be fixed.

The only thing I can do is just keep moving ahead. Keep trying to get through this. I just need to?—

“Handsome,” Maxim breathes next to me. “Do you want this?”

I don’t care.

I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

I stand under the shower, water cascading over my head, my hands in fists against the tile.

I don’t care.

Not that he kissed her. Not that he’s somewhere back there, probably still doing it. Or maybe he went to her room. Maybe he’s spreading her legs as we speak.

I don’t care.

I don’t care that I just turned and booked it down the stairs without saying anything to Maxim. I don’t care that I couldn’t go through it.

There’s no way things can return to normal after this. I can’t see how I can go back to IFU, not playing football, living in the bedroom next to Carter, hearing his laugh through the wall, and not feeling like my guts are being ripped out. Every day there is this blanket that I don’t know how to kick off. Like I’m burrioted. I’m drowning.

And I especially don’t care that Carter’s voice repeats in my head, over and over.

“You’re so damn perfect, Theo. I love the way you tongue my cock.”

Love the way you taste.

The way you?—

Love me.

Shower water pounds against my skull, it fills my ears, drags down my board shorts. I squeeze my fists harder, shoving them against the tile, my chest so tight that I can’t breathe.

And the words that make me feel better—those fantasy words from Carter—they’re all in my fuckinghead. They’re imaginary. They aren’t real.

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