Page 88 of The Game Plan

“I’m sorry. Your girlfriend.” She makes a face. “I’ll do better.”

“You don’t have to do better. It’s over.”

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Her hand slips down to mine and she squeezes my fingers.

Ash perks up. “Do we hate her? We hate her.”

“I can beat her up,” Mack offers, cracking her knuckles.

“We don’t hate her,” I tell the overly violent women in my life. “I’m the one who—who ended it.”

Mom’s eyes are wide with surprise. “But you like this woman.”

“She did something that I can’t forgive.”

“She cheated on you?” Mack practically yells. “That’s it. Where is she? I’m going to beat her up.”

“She didn’t cheat on me. She did something that I don’t appreciate.” I rub at my forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it,” Mom says. “I was making plans to invite her over for Thanksgiving.”

“Wow, that’s a little much.” I can’t hide the sting of hurt. Sam and I won’t have holidays together. We won’t have a future together. We’re nothing now.

I haven’t seen her. She’s eating in the dining hall at different times. We haven’t had a stats class since our test, since everything went down. She lives two doors down from me, and I haven’t seen her.

I wonder if she’s avoiding me like I’m avoiding her, both of us going out of our way to hide away. I don’t want to see her. If I do, the ache inside of me will open up and swallow me whole. I hate her.

I love her.

And people who love one another don’t pull stunts like this. They don’t throw a knife into one another’s back. They support each other.

That’s what she was doing, a voice says in the back of my head. She was trying to support me. She had good intentions, even if the delivery was off.

I didn’t need her support. I didn’t need her to rescue me. I was doing fine on my own.

It’s hard to feign remorse when you don’t feel any. I don’t regret punching O’Rourke. I don’t regret standing up for her.

“You’re being an idiot,” Mack tells me.

“Thanks, brat.” I punch her lightly in the shoulder. She slaps at my hand. We tussle like we’re children again.

“That’s enough,” Dad declares, and we settle onto the uncomfortable stadium seats. How do people sit on these things all the time? “Miles, apologize to your sister.”

“Sorry, Mack.”

“Mackenzie, apologize to your brother.”

“I’m not sorry,” she says resolutely. “He needs to get over himself and go get his girl back.”

“I don’t want to get her back.”

She rolls her eyes. “She hurt you. Boo fucking hoo. Get over it.”

“Language,” Mom chides.

“I’ve never seen you as happy as when you kissed her in front of the entire family,” Mack says. “You didn’t even care that Aunt Carol was there. Aunt Carol! And the last few weeks, it’s like you’re lighter, like there’s a heaviness to your shoulders that’s gone away. Now there’s a rain cloud over your head. You miss her.”

“You don’t know anything about the situation.”

---