Page 79 of The Mistletoe Trap
The color drained from her features, and her lips flattened into a tight line. While the happiness he hadn’t experienced in eight whole days bobbed its head, not one ounce of joy showed in her expression. Without it, she hardly even seemed like his Julie.
He supposed he’d lost the privilege to call her “his,” and that sufficiently snuffed out his elation at seeing her face.
“We have some great news.” Holt clapped Gavin on the back, waking him up from his pity party. “Tell her, Frost.”
“Tell me what? That you don’t understand what space means? Or that you have so little respect for me that you don’t care?”
Awkwardness coated the air, the shift in mood as drastic as on the field when the ref overturned one of their touchdowns over some bullshit call.
While he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, he could feel his teammates’ stares boring into the back of his skull. “I do care. About you, about how you’re doing—about what’s going on in your life. I’m sorry, Julie.” Having an audience was damned inconvenient, but at this point, he couldn’t care less what they thought of him. As long as he could make things right, he’d suffer through however much humiliation it took. “For everything.”
“You can’t just call, say you’re sorry, and expect my feelings to magically bounce right back to normal so we can be besties again. Did you think having the guys there would change my mind? Or would keep me from saying how incredibly hurt I still am?” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, and he felt two feet tall. “You were wrong on both counts.”
Gavin opened his mouth to insist she had it wrong and continue begging for forgiveness, but she stretched out her arm and then the screen went blank.
Much like his soul. All he could find as he searched inward was stark nothingness, and his throat grew painfully tight. Misery surged, filling him head to toe and leaving his limbs too heavy to move.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Holt had moved around the couch and crossed his arms as he stared him down. “You hurt Julie? NowImight have to kickyourass.”
“Go ahead. I deserve it and then some. At this point, I don’t even care.” Gavin slunk back against the couch. The prick in his chest morphed into a caustic sensation that leveled and destroyed, and he welcomed the destruction.
Up to this point, he’d done his best to convince himself that things would return to normal. What became crystal fucking clear when he saw Julie’s face was that normal paled in comparison to the one amazing night they’d had, and that he’d been deluding himself when he’d convinced himself it was just sex.
Nothing with Julie wasjustanything. She waseverything—sunshine and laughter, intelligence and energy, the best part of his childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. And he missed her so badly that he’d lacked enthusiasm over everything he used to enjoy.
Football used to be his refuge, but today on the field, there’d been no solace. Life in general had turned gray, blah, and monotonous.
The guys looked at one another, and under any other circumstance he might laugh at their utter confusion. Smitts circled around to stand beside Holt, and the churning inside Gavin turned deadly calm. Holt could find miniscule holes and bob and weave like nobody’s business, but as a nose tackle, Smitts’s home setting was destroy.
“Go ahead.” Gavin jutted out his chin. “I won’t even block.”
Holt glanced at Smitts and the other guys and sighed. “Well, this is pathetic.” He flopped on the couch next to Gavin and shoved his ankle off his knee, the punk. “Starting to understand why you’ve been such a buzzkill. I thought it was your injury and our loss, but this is much worse…”
Why were they all staring at him as if he had the IQ of a cucumber?
“Someone finally realized they were in love with their best friend,” Holt finished.
Gavin opened his mouth to sayclose, but not quite. Then that gaping hole in the very core of who he was throbbed with a vengeance. Had he honestly been so fucking blind?
As half of his heart lurched one way, still doing its best to deny he’d gone so far as to fall in love with her, the other side flooded with memories of Julie. After a painful tug-of-war, the organ that’d been causing him nothing but trouble as of late ripped in two, echoing the feeling he’d had since leaving Crystal Springs only half a person.
He’d been so busy clinging to his stubbornness and flawed logic because of a failed relationship that’d been rocky before the big move that he hadn’t taken into account the many ways his relationship with Julie differed from the one he’d had with Kristin.
For one, Jules called him on it when he acted like an ass—and just had in front of his teammates. The two of them had been through more ups and downs than a season of football, lots of victories along with a few hard losses. And yet, even during the times they’d been upset with each other, they’d always found a way to boost each other up and be a team.
Julie didn’t make or accept excuses. No one could hold her back or prevent her from doing whatever the hell she set her mind to. If they had to work as hard at their romantic relationship as they both had at their careers and keeping up their friendship combined, so be it.
Regret flooded him as he replayed their exchange in the living room. Instead of holding back her emotions until they burst, she’d been so straightforward. She’d let him know exactly how she was feeling and told him she was allowed to change her mind.
And he’d thrown it in her face.
He’d been so afraid he might ruin what they had that he’d preemptively destroyed it. As if that would keep them both safe from future pain, when the truth was, all he did was hurt.
The despair he’d done his best to smother and pretend didn’t exist seeped out of the jagged edges, flowing and dripping until it’d infected him head to toe.
“That face says it all,” Smitts said, perching on the edge of the coffee table, and Gavin swore he could hear the furniture groan with his weight. All three hundred and twenty-five pounds of force and muscle. As if he weren’t intimidating enough, he’d also shorn his tightly coiled hair into a mohawk a couple of inches tall. “You’re a goner, bro.”
Holt pivoted, reclining his back against the armrest of the couch. “Told you, dumbass. No one listens to me. They see brawn and good looks, and don’t realize I’ve got a big ol’ brain, too.”
