And that’s it. I think I’ve reached my fucking limit.
“I do show up. All the time. I just don’t want to get married right now and I don’t want to force myself to go to a party when I’m fucking exhausted. That doesn’t make me a shitty goddamn boyfriend, Sabrina!” My voice is loud now and I hate it. I’m not that guy. I don’t yell at people. But I’m so tired. I’m drained down to the bone, and I can’t keep running this emotional treadmill with her anymore. “If I’m not fucking doing it for you, then go find someone else!”
The room goes still, like the silence hit a wall. She just stares at me, mouth twisted in something bitter. Then slowly her lips curl into a smile that’s all venom and satisfaction.
“Fine,” she says, voice low and icy. “I’ll fucking do just that.”
Then she’s gone. She’s storming out of my room and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the wall behind me. I can hear her heels clicking down the hallway and then storming down the stairs before the front door is slamming dramatically.
I sit there for a second, staring at nothing, waiting for the guilt to set in, for the heartbreak or the panic or the regret. But none of it comes.
I just feel… relieved.
I wakeup from a solid nap, it’s one of one of those rare, deep, drool-on-the-pillow types, and head downstairs, following the scent of something that smells like heaven and carbs had a baby.
In the kitchen, Mack and Terry are stirring a pot on the stove, and whatever they’re cooking smells really fucking good.
Mack smirks the second he sees me and, unsurprisingly, starts running his mouth. “Pissed the girlfriend off again, eh?”
I shoot him a glare and make a beeline for the stove, nostrils flaring as I take in the sight of bubbling red sauce. Spaghetti.Fuck yes.
Terry snorts at the look on my face and nods at my unasked question. “We made enough for you.”
I groan, hand to my chest like I’ve just been saved. “Thank God.”
I grab a water from the fridge and collapse into one of the dining chairs, head still foggy from sleep and emotional whiplash. I feel like I should be…sad or disappointed that Sabrina stormed out of here threatening to fuck someone else but I’m just not.
“Seriously,” Mack says, his tone softening a little and the smirk dropping. “You good? That was a pretty loud door slam when she left.”
I tilt my head side to side, debating whether or not to unload everything. They’re my best friends for a reason, and they’re the only people I actually want to talk to when shit goes sideways. But first-
“Is fucknut here?” I ask.
Mack snorts and Terry smiles faintly and replies, “Nah, he left a while ago.”
Good. I don’t need Connelly’s judgmental ass hovering around while I’m unraveling. The guy already looks at me like I’m a walking stereotype.
“Sab’s pissed I didn’t go to the party tonight,” I say with a sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. The guilt’s still there which pisses me off even more. I shouldn’t feel guilty about being exhausted. “But I’m fucking tired, man. We’ve got practice in the morning and-”
“You don’t need to defend yourself,” Terry cuts in with quiet authority. “Mack and I both skipped party invites. This week’s been brutal. Early morning skate isn’t a joke.”
I exhale loudly becausefinally. Relief settles in my chest like a warm weight because I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to just get it. To not make me feel like I was being a shitty boyfriend because I chose my future over a college party.
“And then,” I add, “she brought up marriage.”
Mack lets out a sharp, humorless snort. “Of course she did.”
I narrow my eyes at him, not missing the edge in his voice or the way his shoulders tense up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Terry clears his throat and shoots Mack a pointed look, the kind of wordless conversation they’ve clearly mastered over the years. Mack stares off, jaw tight, and Terry sighs and looks at the floor.
And I hate it. I hate being on the outside of whatever the fuck this is.
“Spit it out already,” I grumble.
Mack sighs and leans back against the counter, arms crossed like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk or a fucking intervention. “You’re about to go pro. Of course she wants to tie you down.”
I scoff, shaking my head like that thought’s ridiculous. Sab’s a lot, yeah. She’s needy, she wants constant attention, and she thrives on drama like it’s oxygen, but she’s not a gold digger. Noteven close. Her family is richer than god and she has zero need to attach herself to a pro athlete for their money.
