Page 34 of Troublemaker
I stepped out, circling the room, inanely going to the closet door and opening that, too, in case he was—what, Lucy, hiding in there?
I was being an idiot.
A foolish,foolish, hopeful little girl.
Because the writing was clear as day.
Even clearer when I spotted the pad of paper on the desk next to the closet.
Shutting my eyes, I bargained with myself, with the universe, with whatever was out there—maybe it would sayran out for black coffee for me and one of those disgusting skinny mocha lattes for you—do you know how much sugar is in one of those? Back in a few.
But I knew better. Lifting the pad of paper with a shaking hand, I glanced at the writing—big, bold, block letters, solid and confident, even when they said things like:
I’m sorry, Lucy. You deserve better than this.
Coach Samson
That was it.
That was all it said.
He’d even signed it formally, like we’d never been intimate.
I sank to the floor, my ass thudding on the carpet, wrapping my legs in my arms and burying my head in my knees. Which was worse, the hurt, or knowing I’d set myself up for it?
I never should’ve let him fuck me.
I never should’ve fucked him.
I should’ve kicked him out, chased down Sam, made sure he was alright. Should’ve realized how wrong things were when Blake refused to kiss me. Should’ve known that I, Lucy Braverman, wasn’t meant for a happily ever after.
No wedding colors for me.
I never cried, but tears welled up in my eyes and I let them loose, wetting my bare, naked knees. I shivered in my own arms as I let out all the pain—not just from this morning, but from the last six years. I’d been alone for so long, and part of me—the part of me I didn’t even share with therapists, because I knew they’d blame “abandonment issues” —believed I didn’t deserve anything better.
At that thought, my tears paused.
Because yes, I might feel that way.
But I knew it wasn’t true.
Mine, Blake’s voice echoed in my head.
Okay, so he was technically a grown ass man. But he was also a coward. And I could let him be a coward. I could nurse my wounds and then go out in the world, minus one hymen (who knew I even still had one?) and with a little more knowledge, and find other men to fuck or maybe even to love me. But that wasn’t what I wanted, and I, Lucy Braverman, never hid from what I wanted. No, if I wanted to jump fifty feet into cold water late at night, I did it. If I wanted to wear a tiny skirt to a hockey game knowing I’d get shit for it, I did it.
And if I wanted a man? Well, I was going to make him mine.
I needed to be clever, creative, stubborn, and determined—all things I already was.
Ideas bubbled up in my brain, and for the first time since I’d discovered Blake had left, I smiled, wiping away my tears.
“This is gonna be fun,” I murmured to myself.
I was going to bring that man to his knees. And then he was going to crawl to me and beg for forgiveness on those same knees.
And who knew? Maybe after he’d groveled enough, I’d forgive him.
Maybe.
