This Love (This Boy Book 3)

by Jenna Scott

  It kills me to do what I’m about to, with his tired eyes so hopeful, but I hold up a hand to keep him from coming any closer.

  “I am an adult,” I say slowly, “and I deserve to be in a healthy, solid relationship with another adult. I’ve had enough—”

  “Look, Milla, my phone died. I still haven’t charged it.”

  “That’s no excuse. There are phones everywhere. Or you could’ve emailed.”

  “I haven’t been home—”

  “I know! I was there, waiting for you. But you know what I’ve realized? I don’t want to be with someone who disappears on me and cuts off all contact. Someone whose response to any sort of bad news is to go on a bender. It’s selfish and childish.”

  His lips part, and he lets out a breath. “You realized you don’t want to be with me? What, because you only love me when I’m sunshine and rainbows?” He lets out a mocking laugh. “I should’ve known you’d abandon me as soon as my trust fund came into question.”

  Cold shock freezes me in place. “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true,” Hunter says. “I’m worthless to you now. So go ahead. Leave me. I always knew you would.”

  Tears blur my vision, and I close my eyes for a moment to will them away. The pain in my heart is excruciating, but I have to do this. I have to draw a line, and I have to do it now.

  “Tell that to yourself all you want. But I do love you. It was never about money. And love is the reason why I can’t stand here and help you destroy yourself.”

  “What is there to destroy?” He clutches at the collar of his shirt tugging it down as if it’s suffocating him. “I’m already a wreck. I’m nothing.”

  “That’s not true. Not at all.” I make a point to hold his gaze, and the look in his eyes, haunted and sad and desperate, almost breaks me. “You’re so much more than your problems or who your parents are, Hunter. You are strong, and smart, and capable. You’re like a fish in the water. You’re kind and generous to the people you care about. You love your little brother more than anything, and you like your eggs over easy and your coffee black. You’re protective, and warm, and caring, and funny—and when I’m with you and you’re just being yourself, my entire world locks into place.”

  “Mine does, too,” he whispers. But it’s too late. I can’t crumble.

  I cup his face with my hand. “I love you. So much. But if I let you have your way right now, I’ll just be enabling you. And I don’t want to have a hand in hurting the person I love the most.”

  “Milla, please—”

  “Don’t. I’ve been here for you, just like I promised, but you can’t even show up for yourself. This has to stop. You need to get help, professional help, dealing with your issues so you don’t keep acting out in this way. Otherwise, don’t come crawling back to me. I know you’re better than this.”

  “You’re wrong. This is me, Milla.” He sounds sad as he says it, and I know, I know he doesn’t like himself right now either, but he sticks to it, to the anger, and the bitterness, and the toxicity. “Nothing’s ever going to change.”

  I’m done arguing with him. It doesn’t matter how decent I know he is, how much better I know he can be—because at the end of the day, I can’t fix him or his life. Only he can do that.

  For the good of both of us, I force myself to say, “Then I guess we’re done.”

  I give him a second to say something.

  But Hunter remains silent, jaw clenched. And then, without another word, he turns around and leaves.

  Back in my dorm, I slam the door shut behind me, an act that seems to take all my strength away. The next thing I know, I’m on my knees, hands over my eyes. As my heart breaks—for myself, for Hunter, for us—I weep on the floor, cold and alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Camilla

  After class next day, Emmett and I grab food from a Korean fusion BBQ truck and then hang out at a park near campus. I’ve been mopey all day, but unlike the last time Hunter and I broke up, I know I’ll be okay. I’ve got this.

  Because as horrible as it feels, I know I did the right thing—made the right choice for myself. If that’s really who he is, then I’m better off without him. And if he’s going down in flames, I don’t want to be there to watch.

  I’ve given up trying to help him, or hoping he’ll change. There’s only one person who can do that, and it’s himself.

  “I don’t exactly blame him for spiraling,” I tell Emmett, setting down my short rib taco. “His mom came back and dropped a bomb that would make anyone lose it.”

  Emmett nods. “For you to say that, it’s gotta be terrible indeed.”

  “But he ghosted me for two weeks and expected me to just welcome him back with open arms. Not just that, but he showed up on my doorstep completely trashed.”

  “Drunk, or…?”

  “Yeah. I could smell it on him. It just brought back all these horrible memories of my mom. There were times I’d get up for school in the morning and find her passed out on the bathroom floor in her own vomit, and every single time I’d be scared to death she wasn’t going to wake up. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

  “No.” Emmett takes my hand. “I can imagine, but no.”

  I sigh. “I just can’t be with someone who can’t take care of themselves. I’ve already lived through that, and it fucked me up. I won’t do it again. Not for him, not for anyone. I love him, but…”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” Emmett says. “And I know you probably feel like shit about it, but you shouldn’t. You have to put yourself first. Live your life. I hate saying it, but that’s always been my issue with the guy. He’s held you back. Hurt you, in a lot of ways. And I just want you to be happy and have a good life. You need to be with someone who supports that.”

  “I know. Thank you,” I whisper, but my eyes are stinging with tears. I let out a slow breath. “I gave him an ultimatum, I guess. Right before he walked away. I told him to get professional help, or else not to come back.”

  “Shit,” Emmett blurts out. “Maybe that’ll get through to him.”

  “Doubtful.” I give him a humorless snort. “And now I’m wondering if I’m going to need a therapist, too. Unless you want to spend another few months listening to me bitch and moan about how sad I am while I try to get over him. Yet again.” I take a huge slurp of my Dr. Pepper and shake my head. “I still haven’t told Isabel yet. I’m working up the courage to face her I-told-you-so tirade.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you for setting a boundary, or whatever the psychology folks say,” Emmett says, patting my back. “I know it’s pretty much impossible for you to put yourself first. But you did, and it was the right thing.”

  I know Emmett is right, but the love I felt for Hunter is still there, still going strong, an unwelcome parasite I need to take care of. There’s actually supposed to be an algorithm out there for figuring out how long it takes to get over a relationship—I should probably go look that up. Start counting down the days until I can breathe again.

  A despondent sigh falls from my lips. All the times I tried to stop caring about Hunter have ended in miserable failure. I have to make sure it’s different this time.

  As if noticing my troubled thoughts, Emmett bumps my shoulder with his. “I can let you in on a secret if you promise to cheer up?”

  “Is this you trying to distract me from my misery?” I ask, playfully suspicious. “‘Cause if so, it better be damn juicy.”

  “Oh, it’s extremely juicy. You’re about to get your mind”—he mimes a head explosion—“blown.”

  I’m laughing, actually laughing. I love this boy. “Careful, Emmett. You know what they say about hyping up stuff: better be sure the final product lives up to it.”

  He throws me an impish grin and shoves his last bite of taco into his mouth, just so I have to wait longer for him to spill.

  “Chew faster!” I say, pouting. “You’re killing me!”

  “Okay, okay!�
�� he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “So here goes. When I went home a few weekends ago, I had a one-night stand.”

  My jaw drops. “What? Are you serious? You?”

  “Yup. Me.” He nods, self-satisfaction rolling off him. “Totally a thing that happened.”

  “Jesus, Emmett, and you waited all this time to tell me? Who was it?”

  He shrugs and looks away. “Just someone from high school.”

  I slap his arm playfully. “Who? You can’t leave it at that!”

  “Yeah, I can.” His face gets serious. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

  Reaching across the table, he grabs the paper bag full of Korean donuts and digs one out, spilling powdered sugar everywhere. I steal the donut right out of his hand and pop it in my mouth, savoring the fluffy fried dough and the cinnamon filling.

  “Hey! That was mine.”

  Smiling sweetly, I say, “Pretty please, Em? I won’t tell anybody. Not even Isabel. Cross my heart.”

  Emmett remains unmoved. “Nope. A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He pulls out another donut, and this one I let him have.

  Something strikes me. “Wait, does Isabel know?”

  “You’re the only one I’ve spoken to about it. So don’t repeat it.”

  That makes me feel a bit triumphant. “Okay, fine. What if I guess who it is?”

  “I will neither confirm nor deny,” he says.

  “Please just tell me that it wasn’t Hillary,” I plead. “You’re too good for her.”

  He laughs. “Okay, okay. It wasn’t Hillary. That’s all you’re getting.”

  “Is it the same girl as your summer fling?” I ask, tentatively.

  Emmett blushes and it’s so very cute. “Yes. And now we’re officially done talking about this, so—”

  “Are you happy? At least answer me that.”

  “When we’re together, yes.” He looks away. “But I don’t know if it’ll lead to anything serious. Which is why I’m keeping it hush-hush. I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “All right. I can respect that. For now.” I squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Emmett. I knew you were my best friend for a reason.”

  He laughs. “Don’t mention it.”

  Chapter Forty

  Hunter

  Life no longer has meaning for me.

  I don’t know who I am, only what I’m not. I’m not Thomas Beck’s son. Not Harrison’s older brother. Not a swimmer, not a student. Not Camilla’s boyfriend…

  When I got home after our fight, I plugged my phone in and turned it on to find literally hundreds of unread text messages and a full voicemail box. I took one look at the most recent message from Milla, and my stomach twisted at the words.

  If you don’t reply, I’ll know that we’re over and that you don’t care about me or yourself.

  I didn’t bother to read the other messages or listen to the voicemails. She meant it when she said we were done, but I still refuse to accept it. Milla had been angry at the time, and maybe she’d said those words to hurt me as bad as I hurt her.

  It had worked.

  I give her a few days to cool off and then call her, but she doesn’t pick up. I text her, but she never replies. It’s the same thing I did to her for weeks when I was drowning my woes in alcohol, getting shitfaced every day and sleeping off my hangovers on the couch at Matt Mason’s apartment near UC Berkeley. Finally, he had to throw me out. He’s a decent dude, and I don’t blame him for laying down the law. But now I’m back at my place with nobody to talk to but the walls.

  Milla’s silence is driving me mad.

  No wonder she couldn’t take it. No wonder she said she was done.

  My apartment soon becomes my prison. Besides a few random texts with Mason, I have no contact with anybody. I stop going to class, ignoring emails from concerned professors and my academic advisor, and I stop going to swim team training, too. I stop doing everything that isn’t drinking.

  For all intents and purposes, I’ve basically dropped out of school. There’s no point in keeping up with the whole Stanford thing for four long years if I can’t be with Milla while I’m there. I don’t know where I’ll end up, or what path I’ll take.

  Whenever I remember the last words she said to me, the face she’d made as she uttered them, the knife that’s in my heart twists and the pain flares all over again. I don’t hold it against her, though. I deserved to be dumped.

  She deserves better.

  An entire week passes in a hazy blur of alcohol. I don’t even have hangovers anymore, because I go to bed drunk and wake up still drunk. There’s no need to leave the house when I can get all my booze delivered, which, thank God. I can’t imagine trying to get behind the wheel of my car and drive anywhere like this.

  In my alcohol-fueled stupor, I finally force myself to read Milla’s texts. Then I listen to her messages, every single one. I hear her voice, the roller coaster of emotions she went through playing out in each message, the flashes of anger, the worry, the begging. All she wanted was to know I was safe. And she kept saying she loved me, over and over, and for me to just come home. To let her comfort me, let her take care of me. Which is exactly why I’d been afraid to go see her. I hated the way I needed her. The way I couldn’t take care of myself.

  But this time, I’ve ruined things so completely, there might be no repairing them. Milla will never take me back, and I will never find anyone else like her. Smart—no, wise—and kind, incredibly patient, and so strong. She’s stronger than anyone else I know, and somehow, I managed to push her past her breaking point.

  Milla, who’s always there for the people she loves, couldn’t stand to deal with me anymore. She was right to call me selfish and childish. I am those things. How can I give her the kind of solid relationship she needs, when nothing about me is stable?

  Everything reminds me of her, and when I’m able to sleep at night, we’re still together in my dreams. The memories haunt me, and knowing we’ll never make more of them is too much for me to stand.

  It’s a phone call from my swim coach that finally forces me out of my apartment. Punking out on my professors doesn’t bother me, but leaving my coach hanging is something I can’t abide. He’s the one who personally pushed for the admissions committee to admit me to the school after I’d already turned them down. He was the one who worked with me for endless hours in the pool, encouraging me to get my lap times down. He’s been nothing but supportive and kind from day one—the kind of guy I wish my father was more like. My ex-father, more like.

  His voicemail says he’s sorry that he’s going to have to remove me from the team, and while I don’t really give a shit about that, I figure I owe it to him to at least drop by his office and apologize for all the time and effort he wasted on me.

  So I swallow a few ibuprofen, take a shower, put on clean clothes, and venture out of my dungeon of self-destruction to walk the two miles to campus.

  But by the time I get there, my head is pounding. It’s obvious my body wants alcohol, but that’s not an option right now. I have to do this.

  That’s how I end up at a coffee shop just off the main quad. I just need something with a fuckton of sugar and caffeine to get me through the next hour or so.

  The barista puts three shots of espresso in my coffee, and hands me a bag with the plain bagel I asked for. I go outside to the patio and slump into a chair at one of the tables. The dry bagel goes down like cement, but it helps the churning in my gut. I’m burning my tongue on the coffee when the scrape of chair on pavement has me looking up with a glare. Only it’s not some stranger come to bother me. It’s Emmett Ortega.

  No doubt Milla has told him she’s broken up with me. He’s probably here to tell me never to go near her again.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, watching him settle into the chair across from me.

  He looks as uncomfortable as I feel, but his face is determined. “I work here.” He gestures at the name tag pinned to his apron.

  “Right. Well,
you can clean the table after I’m gone.” I try to appear like I’m over this conversation already, but Ortega isn’t letting me off the hook so easily. “Or is it protocol for employees to sit with paying customers?”

  “Look, dude. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this—I never liked you.” On the other side of the table, he levels a serious glare at me. “But at some point, I came to realize that despite all the jackassery, there’s a decent guy hiding under there. Because my best friend is the most decent woman in the world, and she was in love with you. I don’t know what you had to do to sweep her off her feet, but I know she isn’t the kind of person to fall for just anybody. She’s been through too much shit in her life, and she’s just too damn smart. And when you’re not being a hot mess, she’s happy. With you.”

  Am I getting lectures from fucking Ortega now? “You don’t even know the shit I have going on in my life right now.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know. And I really don’t care, because nothing could justify the way you’ve treated someone amazing, whose only fault is loving you.” He spits out the words, and I think this is the first time I’ve seen him truly angry.

  “What do you suggest I do?” I ask. “She told me to stay away. She isn’t picking up my calls or answering my texts, and I’m not going to keep pushing her. I’m trying to respect her wishes.”

  Ortega shakes his head, half a smirk on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Nothing. It’s just that I heard things a little differently.”

  I take a moment to suck down some coffee. “How’s that?”

  “Milla told me she gave you an ultimatum. Said not to come back around until you got the help you obviously need.” He throws me a pointed stare. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less whether you drink yourself into an early grave or not. But Milla does. So figure it out, asshole.” He gets up, smoothing his work apron. “She deserves better.”