"I miss you so much," she said as she pushed my shirt up and kissed my chest.
The truth was I missed her, too.
I reached down, picked her up, and set her on the counter. My hands ran down her legs, under her dress and squeezed her close to me. She reached up, grabbed my neck, and pulled my face down to her. Her tongue plunged into my mouth. Her body full of heat and urgency as she pushed my shorts down and pulled me out. I groaned into her mouth as I ground into her.
"Touch me," she whispered as she kissed me. My hand reached between her legs. I touched her, ran my fingers through her folds. She was so wet.
God, you're so wet.
I whimpered but pushed the image out of my head.
"I want you so bad," she said as she arched her back and moved against my fingers.
You totally want me. You dirty little slut.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight and pushed away from her with a groan. I turned my back to her, put my dick back in my shorts, and grabbed onto the counter with a death grip.
I could hear her panting and my cock protested painfully. I pushed off the counter and headed into the living room to grab my bag. "I have to get to practice."
I couldn't look at her. I didn't want to see the disappointment and hurt in her eyes.
"Ryan." The anguish in her voice broke my heart, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be with her. Not now.
A couple of days after she told me, I had nightmares about it. About taking advantage of her. In my dream, I pushed her up against the wall, I fucked her from behind, and I bent her over the chair. Me talking about how wet she got when she was turned on. I couldn't get the images out of my head.
I would wake up with a rock hard erection and shame I didn't know existed. She was so sexually free with me, and now that I knew what she had been through, she was different. She didn't behave like a person who had experienced a trauma.
I was a coward because I was using her own issues against her when I was the one with the issues.
I headed toward the door.
"Ryan," she whispered.
I gripped the doorknob and paused.
"I'm sorry." I yanked it open and stepped out. I took one last glance in her direction and saw the tear streaming down her face. I bit my lip, blinked, and kept walking. "I can't deal with this right now."
I threw myself into practice. Went at it so hard, the coaches told me to slow down and save it for the game. I put in extra work on the launcher and did some other drills. I ran a few stairs for good measure. I stayed and signed autographs, took photos, and chatted with every fan that stayed. When the security wanted to lock up for the night, I left.
I unlocked the door, and my gaze went right to the spot where I had left Leah earlier. I half expected to find her waiting for me. Her legs open, her dress pushed up her thighs, her face flushed and her lips swollen from my kiss.
When she wasn't, a strange combination of two opposing emotions swept over me: regret and relief.
I made my way home and to Sophie's front door before the tears began. I didn't mean to knock on her door; my body and mind were working on automatic. We had not talked since the night of my episode, and I found it ironic. When I was in trouble, she was the first person I called. When she was in trouble, I was the first person she tried to avoid.
"Sophie," I called out.
"Hey, sorry. I was in the..." She stopped and stared. She opened the door wider and let me in. I stepped into the center of her place. I took in the room. I'd been in here millions of times, but it looked different. Sophie was a bit of a pack rat, but the place was clean and orderly. She had added a short bookshelf and her television, which had sat on the floor for years, was now mounted on the wall.
I walked over to the bookshelf and scanned her books. She loved to read, too. Lined up in order were my books among some classics.
I smiled and bit my lip. She walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"What happened?"
Tears rolled down my face, but I maintained some control. It was slowly and achingly unraveling. I turned to her and saw it in her eyes, her concern. I stifled a sob with a hand over my mouth.
She took a piece of my hair and pushed it behind my ear.
"He doesn't want me anymore." I sobbed and collapsed into her arm.
Sophie held me up and walked me over to her wide chair in the corner. She pulled me in with her, and we sat there clinging to each other and crying. It was one of those gut-wrenching, rock bottom, make-yourself-sick crying sessions. Not one of those cleansing cries. We felt worse, not better, afterward, but we were closer, and we had each other. That was going to have to be okay for now.
When our tears subsided, she stood up and grabbed some tissue. She wiped my face like I was a child and then cleaned her own. I studied her. She looked rested and lighter. Her face wasn't the usual worn-out, haggard look she miraculously covered with makeup. The freckles on her nose were more pronounced. She smiled, and somewhere under the pain and heartache, I smiled back.
"You want to talk about it?"
I sighed. "Not much to say, really. I went to his place to talk to him about the game. I thought he wanted me there, but I don't think I can do it. I told him that, and I don't know. I thought he would care, but he didn't."
"What did he say?"
"He basically said he wasn't important enough to me for me to get over my issues."
"That's crazy, Leah." She knelt down in front of me. "He's just having a hard time dealing with it all. It's only been a week."
"I know. But he won't touch me. He won't even look at me. And when he does, he doesn't see me. He sees what happened to me, and it disgusts him."
"No. You sure it's not what you’re expecting because it's how you see it."
"I don't think so. I mean. It would be easy for me to push him away or forget about him. I don't let people get close because I don't want them to have to deal with my issues. I could blame it on my disorder. I don't want to do that anymore. I wasn't just better with him. I was better. I thought he was different." I pounded my fist into the cushion. "I didn't want him. He pursued me, and now that I let him in, this is what happens. It's not fair."
"It's going to take time."
"Maybe."
"You can't fault him for his feelings, but if he loves you and I think he does, he'll get over it."
I glanced at her. "Why are you being so optimistic?"
"What do you mean?"
"I could usually count on you to give me the worst-case scenario. What happened to you?"
She smiled. "Nothing. I've been doing some soul searching. You know. Taking inventory of my life. You are my inspiration." She leaned her head against my knee. "I am so impressed with you and how you've overcome so much. I'm tired of wasting my life; it seems disrespectful to you in some way.” She paused. "Leah."
The tears stung my eyes.
"You are amazing. You inspire me, and I'm sorry that I don't tell you that enough."
She leaned up, bit her lip, and blinked back tears. "We are so silly. You know that?"
"Yeah, I know. I don't mind us having the mean girl fights, but can we just not walk away. That's worse."
"You're right." She held out her hand, and I took it and squeezed. "And, Ryan, maybe he needs a little distance right now. But believe me, he'll figure out that he can't live without you. Believe me, I've tried. It sucks."
I grinned.
"I want to help him, but he won't let me." I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them when the image of Ryan pulling away from me made my heart hurt. "I wish I hadn't told him. I wish it never happened. I wish I could go back and..."
"And what, fight harder, remember faster, feel less, what?" Sophie asked.
"I wish Dana and I would have gone to Princeton instead."
Sophie laughed, and I joined her.
My eyes fell on her new bookshelf. My first book, the one that fictionalized Dana's and my story sat at the end of one of the rows. That book represente
d the start of my recovery. It had brought me money and success, but most of all, it brought me myself back. I dedicated the book to Dana and told her I would make sure what happened to us wouldn't define how I thought of her. She was my best friend, and I had let her down. Then and now.
Not anymore.
"You have to work this weekend?" I turned on my heels to face Sophie.
"Yeah, Saturday and Sunday," she answered, her eyes narrowed.
"I'm going to the lake today. Come down on Monday?"
"Sure, but why don't you wait until Monday and we can go together?"
"No, I need some time alone." I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged my shoulders. "I figure in the next two days, when you come and find me, I'll be better or worse. But either way, I need to deal with some things on my own first."
Sophie smiled and nodded. I headed towards the door.
"You know you're going to be okay?" she said.
I shrugged again and left.
Regret overtook the relief.
I took another shower, threw on some sweats, and headed out the door ten minutes later.
"Whoa, man, where you going?" Daniel asked as he jumped away from the door and doubled clutched a bag to prevent it from toppling to the ground.
"I fucked up with Leah. I have to go find her."
"If you fucked up, don't go at her like that. You're going to freak her out."
"Like what?"
He pushed me back into our place, set the food on the counter, and turned on me. "Look at you, man. Your eyes are bloodshot; you got bags down to your chin, and that frown you've been wearing for the last week has turned into a scowl all day. What the hell happened between you two?"
"I can't talk about it." My chest tightened, and I held on to the nearest chair.
"Dude, we've been boys for years."
Sophie's words ran through my brain.
It's not my secret to tell.
I shook my head and sat down.
Daniel sat across from me, real concern showing on his face.
Fuck it, I need some help.
"Something happened to Leah in college. Some guys she knew assaulted her and her best friend. And after it happened, Leah couldn't remember the incident right away, and her best friend killed herself."
"Oh, fuck." Daniel's face grew red. I knew he would understand the rage I felt.
"That's why she doesn't like being around people. It happened at a party, and since then, she can't be in a crowd."
"Yeah, I can see why."
"How?" I stood up and clenched my fists. "How do you see why?"
"I just meant—"
"You have no idea what she's going through and neither do I. She’s not the girl I met."
"I know. She's stronger with you."
"Not strong enough." I turned on him, and he jumped up to avoid my reach.
"What does that mean?" Daniel's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing."
"Dude, what is wrong with you? That girl loves you, and despite her issues, she has been there for you. I've never seen you act like that with a girl, ever."
"She won't come to my game."
Daniel went back to the table and sat down. He stared down, the disappointment shooting off him in waves into my gut. I could see how I failed him, and I failed Leah worse.
"I knew it would happen eventually but didn't know how it would happen," he said.
"What are you talking about?"
"The moment when you would let all your own shit keep you from being happy." He pulled his food out of a bag. He reached back to the counter, grabbed a paper plate, and arranged his food. He was so precise and meticulous about certain things.
"This has nothing to do with me."
"You really don't see it, do you?"
"What?"
"You’re always waiting for people to disappoint you. When they don't disappoint you, you make up a reason for them to disappoint you so you don't have to deal with them."
My face scrunched so hard, my brain hurt. I grunted at the pain, but it increased.
I sat down with my head in my hands. I listened to Daniel chewing and waited for him to continue. I had no clue what he was getting at, but I wasn't about to leave this room until I heard his assessment of my life and my choices.
We sat in silence for longer than necessary, both of us stubborn. Finally, I relented. "Why would I want people to disappoint me?"
"So you won't have to live with disappointing them." He pushed his food away. "You've done this since your parents disappointed you."
"My parents didn't disappoint me. They died."
"Come on, Ryan. You're a smart man. Can't you figure this out?"
"Apparently not."
"Your father died and then your mother. They left you alone in this world to fend for yourself."
"They didn't do it on purpose," I whispered.
"It doesn't matter. They left you, and since then, you push people away. You're scared of people leaving you, so you leave them."
I blinked.
"You did it to me sophomore year. When I was playing lineman and I got the start over you in that Alabama game. You fucking wouldn't talk to me that whole week. Never mind you were nursing an injury. Somehow, I did it to you. But I fucked up in that game, and you were back in the role of taking care of me. You need that dynamic in a relationship."
"That's ridiculous. You're still here. We're still friends."
"I didn't leave. I just let you be an ass and waited it out."
I stared at him.
"When you get to the point when you start to rely on people, you bail, but as long as you can help them, you find purpose and a reason in the relationship." He stood and leaned against the counter. He crossed his hands over his chest and continued. "I think that you somehow felt safe with Leah's anxiety disorder because you could help her overcome it, but now that you know the source of it is much worse than you thought, you don't see how to handle it, so you push her away."
"Dude, if this football thing doesn't work out for you, you need to go back to school for psychology," I said sarcastically.
"Don't I know it." He smirked.
"Fuck you." The tears formed in my eyes, but I wiped them away and stood up. I clenched at my chest as my heart pounded. I heard the thud in my brain. I walked across the room but stopped. My hands balled into a fist, and I punched the wall repeatedly. A fist-size indention remained where my fist went through the sheetrock. I saw the blood on my knuckles before the pain hit.
"Shit, man," Daniel said as he ran to my side. He grabbed my wrist and pushed me back from the wall.
He sat me down on the edge of the couch and ran back to the kitchen and came back with a towel and one of the many ice packs we keep in the freezer. We kept them on hand for after-game recovery. For when opposing team members dealt out punishment or when we gave it out ourselves. I never suspected I'd need it to recover from punishing myself.
He cleaned up my hand and wrapped it.
This time, the tears fell. I didn't care anymore. Deep down, I knew he was right.
I was really listening to the guy who's been cheating on his girlfriend for four years.
If anger, resentment, and hurting myself weren’t going to make me feel better, turning to the bottle might help.
I waited for Daniel to head to bed and I snuck out. The pain in my hand throbbed, but I refused to go to the hospital as he suggested. I knew I needed to keep it from my team, too. I watched my self-control as it slipped through my bruised fingers, and I had no way to stop it.
At least, with scotch, I could slow it down.
I walked to a bar in my neighborhood. The place was dark but packed. I found a spot at the counter and ordered.
I stared down into the dark liquid. I knew it would burn before it hit my lips. It reminded me of our first date. My mouth watered, and I downed it in two gulps and ordered another.
My insides warmed even while my throat burned, but the throbbing in my hand stopped. I didn't
realize it then, but it was traveling to my head.
It wasn't until the first note played and the sound came out of her voice that I realized why everyone was in the bar.
I turned and grunted when I saw Sophie standing on the bandstand, her hands clutching the mic, her eyes closed, and her head bobbing to the jazz beat.
I knew she was a singer, but we never went to watch her perform. I looked around the dark bar. I found pockets of people scattered throughout the small establishment—some standing and others sitting at small round tables. I saw it the way it was, an innocent gathering of people enjoying the atmosphere. The sounds were mellow, and the drinks and the smoke add to the cool vibe. I focused on Sophie's voice through the next couple of songs. Her voice was pure and so different from her talking voice. It was softer and more confident.
She spotted me. Her voice hitched, and her eyes grew wide, but she kept singing. When she finished the song, the band took a break, and I order another drink. She appeared by my side five minutes later.
"Hey Ryan," she said, her forced chipper voice made me groan. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"I didn't know you sang here. I just needed a drink."
She touched my bandaged hand but didn't ask. "What are you drinking?"
"Scotch," I said as the bartender poured me another one. He handed her a glass of clear liquid.
"Thanks, Jerry," she said to the bartender and he winked. She held up the glass. "I'd like to propose a toast."
I glared down at her but held up my glass.
"Here's to stupidity," Sophie said.
I set my glass down, and she took a big gulp of her drink and leaned into me. I bent down and felt her breath on my ear.
"You're such a fucking coward."
She turned to walk away, but I grabbed her arm. She pulled it out of my grip.
I was ready to yell at her, to tell her she didn't understand. She didn't know what it was like to believe in someone more than they believed in themselves. She didn't understand how hard it was to watch someone think they were less than what they were, what they could be.
Anxious Love (Love Sick #1) Page 17
