“Maybe if you’d stop looking at me like that.”
“Would you really want that?” he asks in a low voice, sending my heart rate into a tizzy.
No, I would hate that, so I keep silent.
He’s impossible.
I’m incorrigible.
We’re a total disaster.
When the elevator doors slide open, I hurry to my car, but he’s right next to me. Ugh.
He opens the door for me. “I’ll be away for minicamp. I’ll be gone for the next three days.”
I nod, incapable of forming words, my throat tightening.Three days of not seeing him?The thought chokes my lungs in a death grip, and a stuttered breath escapes my lips.
“I’ll miss you,” he says, full of expectancy.
“I’ll miss you too,” I whisper.
I drive away, all over the place, emotionally, physically, mentally—the trifecta of heartbreak.
In the shop, my best friend drags me toward the office. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She places her hands on my arms, shaking me. “I used to pity your vagina, but now you make me mad.”
I am already on the brink of a breakdown, and she’s not helping. “Kat, please.”
“You’re in love with the guy. I swear he has the patience of a saint.”
“He’ll be away for minicamp,” I choke out.
“Lilly…”
I cut her off. “He’s focused. That’s all that matters.”
“Stop putting that pressure on yourself. It was a one-time thing. He’s not a robot. What if he gets bored with your mixed signals and decides to be with a woman who doesn’t think of being a martyr?”
Her words are like a sharp blade puncturing my heart that deflates instantly.
She takes my hands, offering me a small smile. “Time for tough love.”
I close my eyes for a second—disheartened. “You don’t understand.”
“Babe, not even you understand yourself at this point,” she sighs, leaving me alone tohurt in peace.
I catch myself looking for him around 4 p.m., but he won’t be here today. He’s away. What if one day he stops coming by? Then what? Can I really live with my decision? The questions cram in my head, twisting it into a jumbled mess. I’ll survive, but that’s not the point of living.
My decision to stay away might be selfless, but at the cost of my happiness, it seems stupid.
When we close and lock up the shop for the night, Kat says, “Come over tomorrow.”
That sounds better than my plan of moping around. Trying to busy myself not to think about Ian will only spiral me down until I crack my chest open once I hit rock bottom.
I nod and get in my car, dragging chains of despondency secured around my ankles. I can hear the metal clanking with every step I take.
