His shoulders lifted with an inhale and his eyes were pained. “I’m not even going to talk to you about any of this until you do. Enough is enough. I shouldn’t feel sick inside all the time because my girlfriend won’t let us watch football like a normal group of guys. Or worry that today is the day you realize I’m not enough and you’re ending things. I can’t live like this.”
I sat down on the couch, curling in on myself. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Yeah. Well. You have. A lot. But not anymore.” We stared at each other for five long heartbeats. “Bye, Anna.” Then he turned and walked out of the room.
I twisted my hands around each other, so angry at myself. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I love the good thing right in front of me?
Stupid Blue Bishop and his cocky smile. I’d fallen for it the first day of my freshman year of high school. And here I was five years later, still suffering the consequences. I’d never been loved by anyone the way I’d been loved by Blue, and I’d never loved anyone the way I’d loved him.
Every day with him had been an all-time high. A convertible ride with the top down on a warm summer’s day. Head thrown back, hands to the sky, all laughter and loud music. Everybody else was just windows up, long boring road trips in complete silence.
Blue had ruined me for every other guy I’d ever met.
And then he got in his dad’s car and rode away.
CHAPTER 3
blue
Iglanced around the locker room before dropping my head into my hands. We’d beaten Georgia 24 to 13, but it didn’t matter. My dad was going to be angry that I hadn’t cut left in the second quarter, which had allowed Harrison Banks to tackle me, preventing another touchdown.
My phone buzzed on the bench next to me and I groaned. “My freaking dad,” I muttered.
“Dude. I know. Mine has already sent me five texts asking where my head was tonight,” Tyson Rigby, our best wide receiver, commiserated.
“Ridiculous. You played a perfect game.”
He shook his head, sliding his belt through the loops of his jeans. “Doesn’t matter. It’s never enough.”
“Facts.” I exhaled as I picked up my phone.
But then I released a low, carefree chuckle when I read the name.
Silas Dupree
Just wanted to tell you, that was a perfect game if I ever saw one. Ease up on yourself and make a mistake now and then. You’re making the rest of us look bad.
I grinned and Tyson glanced over from where he was putting on his socks.
“Not my dad,” I said.
“Figured. Lucky.”
I reread the text, grinning even wider. I hadn’t seen Silas Dupree in more than four years but I swear he had a sixth sense. Every couple of months, right when I needed it most, he’d text me, checking in.
My thumbs hovered over the keypad on my phone as I carefully thought about what to type back. I didn’t know if Anna even knew we kept in touch. But in case she did, I wanted to make sure every word was my best.
Thanks, man. I appreciate that. I’ll see what I can do. :-) How’s the farm? The fam?
How’s Anna?I wanted to ask. But I wouldn’t. I never did. If he wanted me to know—ifshewanted me to know—he’d tell me.
Immediately, his texting indicator wiggled.
Silas Dupree
Good. Everyone’s well. The boys are bouncing off the walls, as always. James hates preschool. Always wants to stay home and ride Maisy. A boy after my own heart.
I smiled, but my shoulders slumped. Not a word about Anna, then. He usually didn’t go there. But I always hoped.
