Page 24 of Our Hearts to Break

Dad lets out an agitated breath into the receiver. “I’ll deal with it. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t call or approach that girl. Get to class. Your mother and I will see you at Thanksgiving. We’re staying at Ryan’s house for the weekend.”

I rise from the bench, annoyed and late for class. “I’ll see you then.”

“Say thank you,” he demands. “Where are your manners, boy? I raised you right.”

Kids with shitty parents should get the opportunity to choose new ones when they’re old enough to make sound decisions.

“Thank you,sir.” I open the door to the lecture hall, allowing a few girls to enter ahead of me. “Good-fucking-bye.”

After I hang up, I turn around and go home. Samantha—I mean Sofia—cuts me deep with her betrayal, but I’m angrier with River.

He hid the truth from me.

How could he accept meetings with NHL teams and not tell me? I bared myself to River last night. And I just saved his ass from being exposed by Waters.

How could he keep this from me?

You know why, the voice in my head whispers.

He doesn’t love you.

No one does.

He will leave you.

You’re not good enough.

No, I’m not. I’m never enough for anyone, including my fucking father. If the man who gave me life doesn’t love me, why would River?

ChapterNine

RIVER

Nate has beendistant all day. Even during class, he turns his body away from me, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. By the time we arrive for therapy, he’s barely said more than a few words.

I park in the garage and grab his arm as he tries to flee the car. “Nate, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He shoves my hand off his forearm and opens the door. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”

As we walk toward the elevator, I reach for his hand, but he steps out of my grasp. My heart sinks to my stomach like an anchor hitting the ocean floor.

He regrets last night.

Nate does his best to avoid me, head slung low on our way to the doctor’s office. I don’t bother to press him for information. Dr. Swanson will get it out of him during our session.

We sit in the waiting room, Nate tapping his foot on the floor, drumming his fingers on his knee. I hate the silence. It clings to the air like fog, creating a barrier between us.

When Dr. Swanson calls us into her office, Nate rushes past me and the doctor without saying a word. Nerves slither down my spine, the fear of losing him settling deep in my bones.

“Are you okay, Nate?” Dr. Swanson asks.

“Fine,” he grunts.

Nate plops onto the couch, repeating the same annoying motions from the waiting room. All of his tapping gives me a headache.

This morning, he woke up from a nightmare, reminded of his past. I held him and promised it would be okay. But trauma survivors never forget. The flashback takes on a life of its own. If I had to relive the worst moments of my life nightly, I would never sleep.

Dr. Swanson sits a fabric armchair across from us, legs crossed. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

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