Page 13 of Don't Take the Girl
"We're not done here, Hart."
Those were the last words I heard before searing pain ripped through my right knee as I landed on a nail. My heart palpitated as my body fought thedesire to pass out. I rolled to my side, clutching my leg, and plunged off the ramp into the lake.
"I know," London says on a long exhale, snapping my thoughts back to the truck cab.
"You know?" I ask, trying to blink away the anger the memory brought to the surface. "That's all you have to say? Your girlfriend is an evil witch. I can't believe you'd even?—"
"She was never my girlfriend."
"Okay…" I say sarcastically. "Fuck buddy, whatever you want to call it. It's all the same."
"It's not at all the same." He grips the wheel hard, my words clearly touching a nerve.
"How is it not? You shared yourself with her intimately, gave her your free time, and?—"
"No, Laney. I spent most of my time hiding from her. I was never home because I took every opportunity to stay late after practice and help the coach. When I wasn't training, I was tutoring in the library, and the few nights you did see me with her, it was so I could stomach being in my room after I asked you to close the window."
"Ouch." I turn my gaze back out the window. That stings.
"That's not what I meant." He releases a frustrated breath. "You don't get to put this on me. You're the heartbreaker, Laney Hart, not me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap back.
"Last summer, when I came home, I caught you TPing my house, and I asked you…" His eyes flash over to mine for a split second. "I asked you if you still wanted to marry me, and you said no."
My mouth drops open. "You can't be serious. That was your way of asking if I was still into you?" I feel like I'm in a twilight zone.
"Yes, and I didn't get the response I expected. Instead, you went into an overexplanation about being contextually correct with the team's use of the word 'liked' being past tense and notpresent, and how I was out of town, so my house made perfect sense. You had a million reasons about how I wasn't your guy."
I'm stunned. I had no idea those words had cut him so deeply. That night replays, and I sift through how I felt and what I said, wishing I could get a do-over. Had I said what I truly felt, the next day may have looked a lot different. Perhaps it would have looked the way I dreamed it to be. I breathe deeply and turn to him, only to be met with the slamming of a truck door. I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn't realized we were home.
He comes around the truck and opens my door. When he extends his hand, my voice is barely a whisper.
"London." His name hangs in the air between us, weighted with regret.
I trace my fingers along his hand, savoring the exquisite buzz that always comes when he's touching me, but it's not until my eyes lock with his that I see it. Not only does he care…he cares deeply.
But right now, that's enough. There's something else lurking behind his obsidian stare, and I can't help but wonder if all of this is too little too late when he answers, "Not now, Laney," through clenched teeth.
The second my feet hit the ground I'm hoisted into his arms. I could walk, but I don't argue. It would be futile. He won't allow it, and truthfully, cradled against his chest with his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Walking through the front door of my ranch, he strides straight to my room the way he's done countless times over the years, each step assured and familiar. His scent surrounds me, a comfort I've known since we were young. Then, nudging the door open with his foot, he navigates the familiar path to my bed. His warmth vanishes far too soon as he sets me down. The mattress dips beneath me, and his fingers linger at my shoulder for a fleeting moment, reluctant to break contact completely. His eyes, usually guarded, reveal a flicker of something that makes mybreath catch, and then he's across the room, rifling through my drawers.
"Why did you wear my shirt?" he asks, his tone giving nothing away.
"It was Sydney's idea." I try to match his indifference.
"Uh-huh, but why did you agree?"
This time, there's a faint hint of curiosity in his voice. He's fishing, and the last time I didn't give him the truth, we lost a year.
"I wanted you to see me."
He turns around. "I've always seen you. Why this way? Why tonight?"
I know what he's asking. Of all the ways to step out of my comfort zone, why did I choose this avenue? That answer isn't easy. It's twisted in a multilayered fear. Fear of misstepping, losing my best friend, and never knowing what it's like to be his.
"I'm scared of messing up." I sigh. "I think my mom is considering taking a new job again. I didn’t want to give her any ammunition to say yes."
