“He hates me,” I whisper as tears stream steady down my cheeks. “I love him, and he hates me.” There. I said it. I love Grant. I do. But I’m not delusional. I’ll never get that love back in return.
Aweek ebbsby slow as frozen molasses. Lucky and Harper drag me out of bed and walk me to my classes, picking me up like a kindergartner who might get lost on her way home. And I might have. The entire week stretches out in a blur. I miss two mandatory mixers for Kappa G, but Harper spoke to Jenna for me and swears it will be fine. Apparently, there is a very real broken heart clause, and both my broken heart and I fit into it neatly. But the second week of December comes bearing dreaded finals, and with it a myriad of parties that precede winter break. A part of me is dying to see Grant, even if it is from across the room. My heart aches too much not to. So when Lucky and Harper insist we head to a party at Beta house, I don’t fight it. I put on a pair of jeans and a red sweater that looks as if it were knit to my skin and head over to that overgrown mansion that houses the boy I love. I stare up at the monolithic cube as if the upper windows were menacing eyes, the door a glowing mouth ready to consume me. I wish it would. Nothing seems impossible now that the unthinkable has happened. I have never been so thoroughly loved before, and now I’ve never been so thoroughly hated.
“Let’s do this.” Lucky wraps an arm over my shoulder and marches us inside.
Harper leans in. “Just say the word, and we’ll take off. This isn’t about making you suffer. It’s about moving on with your life.”
“Right.” The commons room is packed to the hilt with everyone in high spirits. A half-dead Christmas tree with defunct lights blinks in the corner. But despite the bodies, the deafening music, the spastic red and green scenery, I spot him. Grant stands in the corner talking to Lawson and Rush as if nothing at all had happened.
I’ve missed two of his games. I wanted to go, but—
Grant spots me from afar, and everything at the party, all of time freezes.
He says a few words to his friends, and they both look over.
“That was subtle.” Lucky pulls me deeper into the crowd, but my eyes stay trained on that corner of the room.
Rush heads over and wraps his arms around the three of us. “Ladies—welcome to my humble abode. Whiskey anyone? I promise it will warm your bones and take away your troubles.”
“There’s not enough whiskey in the world,” I whisper so low not even I can hear it. But my gaze is still glued to Grant, and I watch as he makes his way across the room, out the door, and out of my life.
I wanted a last glance, and I got it. I’ve morphed into a furnace far too hot and dangerous for Grant to ever be around, and now it’s me who’s pissed.
Rush and Lucky share a laugh about something. I spot Harper across the way talking to a trio of guys in dress shirts and khakis. Her weakness for preppies knows no bounds. I make a face and turn to Rush.
“I think I’m ready for that whiskey.”
It takes less than two minutes for Rush to reappear with a red Solo with my proverbial name on it. A few girls from Kappa G come over, and Lucky starts in on a lively conversation with them. But I’m in no mood to fake happy. Instead, I slowly step back against the wall, dipping my tongue in and out of the liquor that strongly smells of vanilla. It tastes like shit—correction, it tastes likenail polish remover. It’s hard to believe people actually drink for pleasure. I basically hate all forms of liquor. It’s probably a good thing Grant and I didn’t have sex, since I tend to go against the grain when it comes to popular opinion. Although, in truth, even if sex with Grant would have panned out to be the equivalent of drinking nail polish remover, I would have loved it, appreciated the fact Grant was gracing my body with his.
“A penny for your thoughts?” a warm voice asks from behind, and I turn to find Rush with a sad smile on his face.
“They’re stupid. I’m pretty sure you’d want your penny back.”
“Try me.” Rush swoops in front of me, blocking out the chaos around us, and for a moment, I appreciate the shelter.
“Okay, I was thanking God I didn’t sleep with Grant because I probably would have hated it. And then about a second later, I decided that was a lie, and I would have loved it—appreciated it even.” My face heats as my gaze drops to the brown liquid dancing in my cup, the same color as Grant’s eyes.
Rush belts out a laugh before composing himself again, that perennial smile of his still plastered to his lips. “Grant’s a good guy.” He shrugs as if it were somewhat painful to admit. “He’s my brother from another mother. I care about him. And I like that you do, too.”
My lips press tight because there are a few ways I can take this.
“Don’t worry.” He raises his hands in the air. “I’m not here to report back. He’s sort of a mess right now anyway. How are you doing?” Rush sobers up as he asks the question, and it’s refreshing for once. I’ve only ever known Rush to be all hands and lips, and here he is reaching out as a friend and I like that.
“I’m not doing so hot, but Lucky and Harper dragged me out here to try to shake me out of my funk.” To reduce the hell I’ve been through to something as simple as a funk leaves me cringing as I say it. “Sorry. It’s a bit more serious than that.”
His chest expands with his next breath, and he lets out a sigh that drags him down to a severe slouch. “I figured it was.” He motions for me to follow him out front, and we sit on the porch and talk for hours about how life can turn into a shit parade on a dime. He tells me all about losing his mother in a car accident when he was nine. How painful it is for him to this very day, and how that very incident bonded him and Grant after he lost Stephanie.
Stephanie. Even hearing her name spoken out loud stings me. Of course, Grant hates me. He hates my entire family, and I can’t even say I blame him.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”
Rush reaches up and wipes a stray tear from my eye. “You don’t need to say anything. Just know that sometimes when people are hurting, they do things they don’t necessarily mean. Grant is a good guy. His heart is in the right place. He just needs to get his bearings. The truth about who you are just threw him off-balance. That’s one thing guys aren’t too good at—keeping their emotional balance.”
“You sound like you’re ready to open up shop.” I butt my shoulder into his, and we share a light laugh.
“They don’t call me Dr. Knight for nothing.”
“All right, Dr. Knight. I think I’ll take off now.” I offer him a brief hug before glancing back at the rager inside.
