Page 69 of The Pucking Proposal

“You weren’t keeping us a secret for Shep and me. Or even for the good of the season. It was so you could walk away at the first sign of trouble,” I tell her, my heart breaking inside. Suddenly, I’m nearly on the edge of tears, and I haven’t cried over a woman since my grandmother died. “You’d think I would’ve realized that sooner, but I guess the best defenses are designed like that because that’s what this is—another defense mechanism. I told you once that you were sour on the outside and sweet inside, but I was wrong. You’re a Trojan horse—pretty on the outside and deadly on the inside.”

“I’m not—” Whatever argument she’s about to make doesn’t come. Instead, her mouth hangs open and she blinks as we both silently recognize that’s the cold, hard truth.

She’s destroyed me. Ruined us.

“Fuck that, Joy. And fuck you too. I deserve someone who’s as proud to love me as I am to love them. Because I do—I fucking love you,” I spit out. The pained words hang heavy in the air between us, unanswered except for her quiet gasp. “But I deserve better ... than you.”

I sag, breathing heavily at the weight of the realizations hitting me from every corner of my mind and heart.

I have done nothing more than love this woman, giving her my whole heart, while telling myself that if I was patient enough, she’d eventually love me back.

But she doesn’t love me.

After getting her heart broken so badly at such a formative stage, I’m not sure she’ll ever love anyone. I’m not sure she can.

Or if she does, she won’t admit it. Not to herself, and certainly not to me.

She doesn’t stop me when I walk for the door. Or when I open it. I wish I could leave without another word, but I can’t. I glance back over my shoulder to say, “I wish you’d kicked Buchanan Spitz in the balls so hard that he could still feel the tingle of your fury every time he gets a hard-on. Maybe then he wouldn’t have such a death grip on the choices you’re still making today because he’s right here in this room, like a fucking ghost that scares the shit out of you.”

With that said, I walk out. She still doesn’t stop me.

Chapter 27

Joy

I hate Dalton Fucking Days.

I send the text to Hope, expecting her to send back some version of “What did he do?” That’s not how she replies, though.

What happened?

I don’t know. I truly don’t. One minute I was scrubbing the coffee table, completely justified in the fire of my righteous anger, and the next ...

I think I might’ve ... sort of ... kinda messed up. Bad.

It’s the most I can say. I’m too ashamed to admit that a lot of what Dalton said hit shockingly close to home, on triggers I didn’t even realize were still buried in my soul.

I’m at a show right now, too loud to call. My advice? Fix it.

Yeah, sis. If only it was that easy. But this wound is too big, definitely more than an “I’m sorry” situation. I’m afraid it might be beyond repair.

I’m gonna get drunk(er) and think. Love you.

Love you too. Text or call later if you need me. I’m here for you.

She is, and I’m glad for that, but I have some hard thinking to do. And a shower scrubber, some vinegar, and too much soap scum calling my name.

“I’m so glad you were able to come see the boys play today,” Mom tells June, making it sound more like a peewee game than a minor league one.

Watching “the boys play” is the absolute last place I want to be. My head is pounding, my heart is broken, and I want to fight everyone and everything all at the same time. But Mom called this morning and said we were going to support Shepherd even though this should be a boring, easy-win game.

It wasn’t a question, nor a request I could refuse. And I’m sure Hope had something to do with it. I shouldn’t have texted her last night, though her simple instruction tofix itended up being exactly what I needed.

But it’s also how I ended up here by force, with Rayleigh on one side, June on the other, and Mom and Dad behind us. All that’s missing is Hope, but she’s probably here in spirit.

I didn’t even know Mom had met Rayleigh and June, but I guess they became friendly last night at Chuck’s after I left and Dalton stormed out.

“Me too,” June answers. “I was supposed to fly out today, but moving my flight to tomorrow was no big deal. It even made it a little cheaper.”

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