Page 132 of Jace
“Can’t we dream together then?” I ask in a whisper, caressing his nose with mine, a tear now leaking down my stupid face into my stupid scruff.
And he fucking shakes his head, breaking me further into pieces. “I won’t do that to you.” He’s swallowing tears now himself. “I won’t do that tome.I could never live with the fact that you’d kill your career for me. That you’d give up on your hopes and dreams for me.”
“You’re part of my dream. Just like I’m part of yours,” I declare. “If I would quit football, that would be my choice.”
“And I’m telling you no. I don’t want you to make that choice. You would resent me in the future. Fuck, Ty, this was never going to work. Iknewthis was never going to work.” He’s looking at the ceiling now, not meeting my eyes. “Great things sometimes have to end, so new wonderful stories may have a chance to begin,” he mutters softly, and I’m not sure if it was intended for me to hear or if it's a random lyric that pops up in his head, like happens a lot.
He’s going to kill me, he is. I didn’t have a fucking care in the world before I knew him, just living my easy breezy life, going through the motions, keeping everybody in my life happy. I thought that was it. That there wasn’t anything more than that, and that life would have been good enough.
But now? Now I had a taste of what life could give me. Now I know how it is to actuallyfeelsomething, toknowwithout a doubt whatIwant, whatIneed in life. And what I want is Jace fucking Janssen.
Everything else is irrelevant. Everything else is just gray matter, it just doesn’t fucking mean anything when he’s not here to experience it with me, when he’s not in my life.
I don’t give a shit about my degree. About my game. About entering the stupid ass NFL. I don’t care about any of it. I would give it all up and more in a heartbeat for him. He knows this, but wants to give this up anyway.
So fuck the bastard for not feeling the same.
He wraps his legs around me and his arms move, trying to get his wrists loose, probably to get ahold of me, but I don’t let him. I don’t want him to touch me. To hug me in consolidation, because I can see the pity right there on his face.
Not right now. I can’t.
I fuckingcan’t.
So I try to tape my heart together for now, for just a couple of minutes, so I can fuckingleave. I can fall apart later. Can figure this out later.
I close my eyes for one, two, three seconds, bracing myself, putting my damn game-face on.
But when I open them, and those gray eyes which I love so damn much look at me with so much fucking devastation, Idobreak. But I’m not showing it to him.
Fucking Jace.
I shove myself off of him and turn around abruptly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt he inflicted on me, searching for my damn hat that has to be fucking here fucking somewhere.
“Ty–”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, shoving his stuff aside way too harshly to locate the stupid cap.
And it’s not onlyhisstuff that’s all over the place. My presence iseverywhere in his damn room. It’s that stupid football on his desk which he stole so he could practice his throws, it’s my hoodie that I gave him months ago which hangs over his chair, and I even see that damn jersey he always wears to my games in his already half-packed bag.
He already started packing, for crying out loud.
If Missy didn’t tell me…
Yeah, he would’ve left without saying a thing, probably leaving a note or something. Or worse; a text. I just know it.
Prick.
“Ty?” His hand lands on my shoulder, but I swat him away. “Tyler, please. Let me–”
“Don’t,” I say with a crack in my voice, not being able to turn around. I’m not letting him see me cry. “Just leave my stuff for Lamar to pick up, okay?”
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t have anything else to say.
So I leave. And I don’t look back.
THIRTY-TWO
It takes me approximately thirty seconds after the door slams shut to snap myself out of my stupor and run after the goddamned love of my existence.
