Page 143 of Blindside Sinner

He shrugs and drives a little bit faster, but I still feel like jumping out and sprinting the rest of the way myself. When he finally drops me at the gate, I leap out of the car, haul ass up the walk to the front door, and then damn near rip it off the hinges.

She has my schedule; she knows when I’m supposed to be home. But there isn’t a light on downstairs.

Hope and fear are both roiling in my gut. I drop my bag in the foyer and go for the stairs, taking them three at a time, then jog down the hallway to my room.

I’m so fucking ready to kiss her, touch her, fuck her to within an inch of her life. I stop and take a short, shallow breath and then fling the door open.

But the room is empty.

Dark and bare and fucking empty.

I back out of the room and into the hallway like I just stumbled on a murder scene. Retreating back downstairs, I slump into a seat with a view of the front door. She’ll be home soon, I know she will. Any second now, she’ll be home. And everything will be alright.

Hours pass. I fall asleep at some point, and when I wake up, the dawn light is jabbing me in the eyeball.

I hear motion. A key in the lock. The tumblers turn, the door swings inward, and there she is, framed by the morning with a weekend bag in hand.

She’s in baggy sweats and one of my hoodies, with her hair in a messy bun piled on top of her head and not a trace of makeup. She’s unspeakably beautiful in a way a stupid jock like me could never put into words. I feel this physical ache in my chest, like the distance between us is a personal insult.

How could I ever let my father try to ruin this? He can put his grubby fucking paws all over our relationship and it wouldn’t matter, because what we have is pure. It’s perfect. It’s un-fucking-deniable.

I leap out of the chair to my feet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah.” She won’t look at me.

“Where were you?”

“Cassie’s.”

I swallow hard. “Come here.”

That’s what makes her look up at me at last. Her eyes are shot through with red and swollen, like she’s been crying or hasn’t slept in days or both. But I don’t miss the note of surprise there. “Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen you since Thursday and I missed you.”

She tilts her head, eyes flashing like she’s angry. “You missfuckingme, you mean. What’s the matter? Vivian didn’t let you shoot and score?”

“Viv left after the first day, and I wouldn’t fuck her with Dixon’s dick. Now, come here, or I’m coming over there.”

She sighs. It’s the sound of pure frustration. Anger. But she drops her bag at her feet, which is all the invitation I need. I cross over and pull her into my embrace.

I want so bad for it to be the homecoming I spent the whole away trip thinking about. She smells right, looks right—but it feels so fucking wrong.

It’s like hugging a pole. A stationary, lifeless post.

She doesn’t move when I let her go. She just sighs, so weary that it’s a miracle she’s still standing. “Beck… while you were away, I had some time to think.” She breathes out slowly and finally meets my gaze.

I can seegoodbyewritten there.

“Sloan, don’t do this. We can figure it out. What we have is too good to throw away.”

She looks down at the floor. “We moved way too fast. And I need this job.”

“I can give you money.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s the wrong reply.

She shakes her head. “I don’t work that way. I need… I need time, Beck. Time without so much…you. I can’t think if you’re my everything. I can’t breathe. I can’t live like that.” Her voice is soft and her eyes are dark with purple circles underneath.

I nod, even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because the only thing harder would be pushing her past the breaking point she’s clearly teetering on.

---