Page 73 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Trying to suck in air like I’m at the top of Mount Everest, my chest heaves and tightens. I can’t lose it, but she’s so sad, so tragic. And so wrong. But only actions will prove me right. All the words and promises in the world aren’t going to make a difference.

I know what I need to do to show her what love is. But it’ll be fucking hard.

“I can’t forget about you, or stop loving you,” I say, “but I’ll respect your wishes. I’ll avoid you if that’s what you need.” She nods.

“No more tutoring. Not even by Emily. Nothing.” Her voice sounds raw, cracking under the strain of pretending she wants to end this.

“I won’t tell Coach we cancelled the tutoring. I’ll study my ass off and ace the class. I promise.” Because I’ll be doing it for you. Dealing with coach and Dean Lassiter are the least of my concerns.

She nods. Her lips tremble and it kills me not to sweep her in my arms, not to stroke her back and bury my head in her—

But I can’t do it to her. Can’t ruin her career. Can’t ask her to give up her dream to be head coach for me.

“I have to go,” she says. “And so do you.” I do, but I stand still and watch her gather her clothes and put them on like layers of armor. Then I watch her walk out the door, leaving, without ever touching her. She was so close and I kept my hands fisted by my side the whole time. Because she needs her career not to be ruined by the likes of me. And I need to stand up and deal with it. Even if it breaks my fucking back.

* * *

The guys don’t say where they spent the night and I don’t ask them. I have a feeling no one stayed by themselves, but no one’s talking. It’s a quiet somber long-ass ride home, punctuated by a stop at a clinic. My hand isn’t broken, thank fuck, but it’s badly bruised and I’m not going to be able to practice for the bowl game. The doctor says if I give it a rest, ice it religiously all week and shoot it up with pain killers for the game, I should be able to play.

Hell, after coach sees my hand and assumes correctly that I punched someone, I’ll be lucky if I’m not benched . An hour after we cross the border into New Hampshire and we’re on the home stretch of the drive, I get a text from Amanda. My heart beats into overdrive. I surreptitiously read it and it makes me want to lose my shit out the window.

She says she got a call from Gary. Fuck. She doesn’t say what he said, but she must be upset if she’s texting me after the way we left things. I can’t believe the fucker contacted her after my very clear warning. It takes every ounce of my will-power not to insist Shelby turn the car around and drive back to New York so I can break my other hand on his face. But what I need to do most of all is talk to Amanda. I can’t call her now with the guys in the car. When we’re almost back to campus, she sends a second text saying she’s home and I take that as an invitation.

Now all I need to do is make my actions speak for me. I need to do the one thing that will tell her how committed I am to her, how much I love her. I know what that thing is.

And it’ll be a fucking hard thing to do.

“Drop me off at Amanda—Coach Lake’s house.” I give Shelby the address and he doesn’t ask any questions. The others eye me and I can’t tell them what I’m doing because I can’t think about it, can’t believe it until it’s done.

“Don’t ask because I can’t answer you,” I finally volunteer as he stops at the curb and I get out. Her car’s in the driveway. I don’t know how long she’s been home or if she’s expecting me. I walk to her door, but before I ring the bell, I take out my phone and send a text.

When she opens the door, I blurt out, “What the fuck did he say?”

“He told me he’d never have interfered with my job at SPU. He was drunk. He told me not to tell you he texted. Begged me not to tell you.” She looks at the ceiling and I can see she’s struggling with emotion. “So naturally I texted you immediately. Without thinking. I’m sorry.”

Without invitation, I step inside, and she doesn’t stop me. I knew she wouldn’t. We’re standing close enough for me to breathe in her scent. Something I could never explain, but I’d know it anywhere, recognize it as hers.

“Don’t be sorry. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

“We agreed—”

“You already pissed that agreement away, didn’t you?” She turns and leads me inside her living room, but she doesn’t sit. We stand three feet apart and her arms are folded across her chest waiting for me to say what I have to say. So I do.

“I’m transferring to BC at the end of the semester—”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You can’t do that—”

“I can and I am.”

“You talk like it’s easy.” She scoffs and wave a hand in the air, mocking me.

“It is and as soon as I’m no longer a student at SPU, that’ll clear the way for our relationship.”

“You’re crazy. You can’t do that. This is ridiculous. What makes you so sure BC wants you?” She’s breathing hard, staring at me with those glittering gold eyes, still keeping her distance. I blow out a breath.

“They asked me last summer to transfer. Now that their starting QB got hurt two games ago, they’re desperate.” She opens her mouth and shakes her head. I lower my voice and take a step closer. “It’s a done deal, Amanda. I already texted the coach—”

“You what? You stupid crazy—what were you thinking? You can’t ruin your career—"