Page 43 of Breaking Point
“Yes,” she mumbles into her drink.
My heart pinches painfully for her. A hopeless romantic trapped in a romance-less world.
Layla has always said she wants a love that’s written in the stars. One that’s organic and fun and all-consuming, and all she’s ever experienced in her life so far isbluh.
“Maybe we should try?—”
She holds up a hand. “I love you, Bella, and I appreciate the lengths you go to for my nonexistent dating life, but I need a break from it. I’m tired…so extremely tired of going on dates with mediocre men that either don’t take the time to research lupus, tell me to take Tylenol, or worse yet, invalidate my health experience and say I’m dramatic.” The weight upon her shoulders is evident as her voice grows hoarse. “I’m mentally tapped out and I can’t deal with that at the moment.”
Leaning across the table, I clutch her hand in mine, squeezing lightly. “I’m hoping for you, Layla. I’m wishing upon every star I see that you get into the Berlin program and are surrounded by doctors that give a shit about you and your health.” A grin spreadsacross my cheeks. “And fuck mediocre men. Some don’t even know how to wipe their ass. Their opinions aren’t worth shit.”
Layla bursts out laughing and it’s the most gorgeous sound in the world. I’ll do anything to make my best friend laugh so carefree.
Chapter 11
Grayson
GOOGLE SEARCH
Search: Why does it feel like I can’t breathe when I’m around my assistant?
Answer: Holding your breath can be a sign the body’s nervous system is in a state of fight, flight, or freeze. Many situations and people can trigger this reaction. This can also be due to excitement being around someone in the early stages of attraction and lust.
Search: How do I stop being nervous around my insanely sexy assistant?
Coach Anderson slams the tabloid magazine down on his desk so hard the papers in the surrounding area go flying in all directions. I can’t help but close my eyes as another one of my failures is shoved down my throat.
“Are you fuckingjoking?” he bellows. “I’ve been lenient with you, Crawford. I have been so lenient you have no idea how far I’ve stretched but this has gone too fucking far!”
“Coach—”
“Don’t you ‘Coach’ me. Don’t say a fucking word!”
He’s fuming and rightfully so, but he’s terrifying all the same.
Coach Anderson’s neck is flushed such a deep red I’m beginning to wonder if he’s stopped breathing altogether. The shaggy brown hair that he cuts close to his scalp is peppered with gray hairs on the side. Those might be my doing too.
I royally fucked up.
I knew it the moment I opened my bleary eyes from a night of drinking with little to no recollection and found my phone blowing up on my bedside table. I also knew it the moment I clicked on one of the many links sent to me and it opened to a video on the internet with millions of views. Showing the moment I assaulted a paparazzo.
My attack was captured in 4k, posted and blasted online for the world to see. For the world to mock, shame, and ridicule me on another colossal mistake.
The world watched as I was drunk, hammered out of my mind, screaming profanities at the man who asked me if I drink every day because I killed my brother.
It hurt because he hit too close to home but none of the videos contain that moment when he sneered the insult my way, baiting me. The edited versions and screenshots and clipped moments only show my raging face flushed with pure unadulterated anger.
I’ve always been able to shake off their baits. Have always been able to ignore it, but this one… This one flew into my mind, nestled deep, and took root.
Yesterday was not the day to make that comment, not after seeing all of Drew’s baseball gear. My mind was already so fragile that the comment sent me over the edge.
No one has told me I killed my brother besides myself. This asshole was the first to finally guess why my life has been imploding, and now I feel as if it’s about to explode further.
Part of me is grateful that snide comment didn’t make it into any of the videos, because then people would know how I truly feel and I’m not ready for anyone to pull me out of the hole I’ve dug myself.
Coach flops into his chair behind the desk and heaves. “I can’t help you this time, Grayson.”
The softness in his tone, the quick switch, has my head snapping up.
