Page 55 of Lost Boy

Great. They even told Cap. Awesome.

“How long?” he asks softly.

I look down, scraping my finger over my jeans nervously. “Started this summer. During training.” I swallow. “My knee was fucked. I didn’t want to mess up the season.”

“That’s no excuse,” he utters. “And the second your knee was hurt, you should have come to me, Cade. Playing with an injury only makes it worse. You know this.”

“I know. I just thought … I thought I could handle it on my own,” I murmur, ashamed. “I figured … if I could just make it through our season and not fuck it up for the team, my knee would heal, and I’d be fine.”

“Well?” his deep voice grumbles. “Are you fine?”

I’m still for a second, feeling the tears gather in my eyes, blurring my vision as my finger continues to scrape that same spot on my jeans. “No.”

“I’m disappointed that you thought you could handle your injury and your addiction on your own. I’m disappointed that you fell back into your old ways.” His voice grows thick. “But you know what I’m most disappointed about?”

“What?” I barely hear myself answer.

“That you were struggling all this time and I didn’t notice,” he says. “And that you were injured, and I missed it.”

When I glance up at him, I see the sadness on his face, tears filling his eyes.

“I’m supposed to be your coach. Since you’ve been on the team, I’ve spent as much time with you as anyone. And, for months—” He stops, his nostrils flaring. “For fucking months, it slipped by me when you needed me most.” He shakes his head. “Cade, I failed you. And for that, I’m so sorry.”

“Coach, no—”

“Yes, I did. Damn it, Huff, when I first offered you a spot on my team, I was aware of your past struggles. I knew you had been to rehab after the great loss of your best friend. I knew all of this,” he growls, pounding his fist on the desk. “I got so into winning and performance that I never checked in withyouto see how you were doing. I didn’t hold you accountable with drug tests.” Reaching across the table, he pats my hand with his. “I’m angry that you let yourself get this deep. But I’m mostly sorry that I wasn’t there to help you. I love you, kid. You’re one of my favorite knuckleheads I’ve coached. But you need help.” He stops, his eyes looking directly into mine before he says the worst words I’ve heard in days. “Do you want to call your parents, or should I?”

Fucking hell. It’s time to break my mom’s heart again.

And I have to wonder,Why do I keep hurting the women in my life I love most?

I stuff some shit in a duffel bag, moving around the room like a zombie with no actual soul.

I called my parents—in front of Coach because he made me do it that way, afraid I might not actually call them. My mom cried. My dad was angry. Once again, I ruined their fucking lives.

I wonder if they wish they had more kids. They just had me, and I turned out to be a fucking loser. If I were them, I’d wish I had other kids. Hell, I’d probably just give up on me altogether. Sometimes, I wish they would.

They promised me that I could come home and try to get clean there before going to rehab. Last time, rehab had been hell on earth, and I really didn’t want to go back. I just wanted to go home.

My door creaks open, and Haley stands in the doorway.

“Cade,” she whispers, her voice broken and defeated.

I don’t look at her. I don’t want to see the pain on her face and the sag in her shoulders. All caused by me. I had known it was inevitable.

I need to cut her off altogether. She needs to move on with her life and forget about me.

“I’m sorry,” her voice barely squeaks. “I got scared. I just … didn’t want to lose you.”

“I wasn’t yours to lose, Haley,” is all I offer her. It’s not true, but I want to push her away further. That’s just what I do. It isn’t personal; it’s just what needs to happen.

I was hers. I’m still hers. Hell, I’ve never belonged to anyone more than I have to Haley Thompson in my entire life. But it’s time to set her free. To rid her of me.

She reads romance stories. And maybe that’s what she’s looking for in me. But demons and angels don’t make love stories. They just don’t.

She runs to me, throwing her arms around my body as she pushes her face into my shirt. “I love you, Cade. Please. Talk to me,” she sobs, her shoulders shaking, and I really want to console her, but I don’t. “I need to know we’re okay. You and me.”

She doesn’t need false hope. Ineedher to forget about me. Right now, what’s happening … this is exactly what I didn’t want.

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