Pain & Redemption

by Kat Kenyon

  Please don’t do this.

  “Say it out loud, Rayne. You need to start talking. You aren’t healing and everyone else is just watching. They’re trying to let you handle it your way and it’s not helping. You need to say it out loud. Say what happened and how you feel.”

  “I already did,” I sob, dropping my bag, wiping away the tears over and over again, as if they’re going to stop.

  “No, I don’t think you did.” Thick fingers slowly pull my hands away from my face as his eyes find mine. Tears burn and blur my vision even as he pulls me into a hug, his voice soft. “Say what happened.”

  “You know what happened. He—” My lungs stop working. The squeeze of his arms is a breath of security, allowing me to slump against him.

  “Say what happened to you.”

  Oh God.

  “I fell in love with someone.” Oh, fuck this hurts. “I thought he loved me. I was stupid, I can’t even claim he lied because he never said it. It was in the way he touched me, the way he talked, but it was a lie. The way he touched me was a lie. The way he talked was a lie. He didn’t care about me. I gave away pieces of myself to someone who didn’t care about me,” I sob, barely able to breathe by the end.

  Oh God.

  “I feel broken, Tegs, and I can’t force the pieces back together.” His arms hold me up as I struggle to pull in air, but it’s not enough to hold me together as I break apart. “I can’t seem to fix it. It’s stupid. We weren’t…I…How did I fall in love so fast? I knew. I should have known. But I believed him. He knew about Gabe and why…and…” My tears start to dry. I hurt too much at this point. My heart and my body are on overload.

  “What else?”

  “I don’t want—”

  “What else happened?” His voice is soft, but it feels like he’s digging around inside me, tearing away the illusion I’ve held on to that I’m okay. I’m not, and the air can’t come in, the air won’t go out.

  “Rayne, breathe. And tell me what else.” Tegs’ arms guide me to a crouch as he puts my head between my knees, holding me stable.

  “Gabe attacked me again.” My head still aches. There’s still damage where there were stitches. “He hurt me. He hurt me, oh God. And all I want is Tyler, but he’s gone.”

  It hurts.

  Crouching with me while I try to breathe, Tegs holds on to my shoulders, keeping me from falling.

  “I love you, Rayne. Like a sister. I don’t like seeing you like this. I don’t think this is who you are.”

  Shaking my head at him, I fight to move my lungs.

  “Rayne, I know you’ve been through way too much, but do you really think he lied? Because it didn’t look like a lie from here. And I know he hasn’t touched anyone since you.”

  Jerking away, I almost fall on my ass. His brows rise, lips quirking, expectation lighting his pale blue eyes.

  Are you seriously defending him?

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  Reaching down to pull me to my feet, he brushes my hair out of my eyes.

  “He was fucking—” I can’t say it. I can’t. My imagination runs rampant enough without giving voice to it.

  “He did. And I’m not saying forgive him.” Tilting his head, he continues, “I’m saying you don’t have to feel like what you felt was a lie. He was and is in love with you. He’s suffering with you.” Tegs’ eyes pierce the blur left over from my tears.

  I don’t know if I want to believe him. Belief is a dangerous thing, it can give you strength, or break you. The idea makes my body shudder with want. But, even if I did, does it matter? Does it matter if he loved me? And what do I do if I believe it, that he’s hurting as much as I am?

  Shaking my head at him, I feel lost. “What do I do with that?”

  “Quit beating yourself up and quit hiding the tears. You’re not hiding the body blows anyway.” I grab my bag, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, and we start walking toward our dorm. His voice drops to a whisper, “You’re walking heartbreak. Tate and I see it every day.”

  Walking me to my dorm room, he stops at Tate’s door, hugging me one last time. His mass feels good, and yet, isn’t what I need.

  “You don’t have to forgive him to hold on to the fact that the two of you had something real,” he says, brushing away another stray tear.

  “I don’t know how to do that.” Exhaustion overwhelms me. Defeat is a real thing that hollows out the best of intentions, and I feel it in every cell of my body.

  “Listen, you’ve been emotionally and physically beaten up on all fronts. You don’t have to know anything. But be honest with yourself. Not me.” Leaving me with a soft smile and a kiss to the top of my head, he goes into Tate’s room, leaving me to head to mine.

  The room is the same soft silver wash and lavender I painted it at the beginning of the year. The white floors are clean, the same furniture, it’s all the same, and yet it’s all different. Looking at my bed, I flash back to Tyler, sitting back, soft gray shorts, hair in his eyes, the way he always looked at me, and my chest seizes.

  Dropping my bag, I sit where he did, where I wish he was, my memories freezing me in place for so long the daylight fades.

  Shaking away the stiffness and pain, I head for the shower, knowing I need to stop. Even if Tegs is right, even if he loves me, or cares…I’m not Emily. If I let him get away with this, he’ll think he can do it again. Plus, there’s so much anger in him. I don’t know how to solve that for him.

  I need to let him go. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tyler Blackman

  “Do you think you handled it the right way?”

  It feels like a judgment as Vaan leans back into her chair, tapping her pen. Whenever I’m here, it never seems like her helmet of short blond hair ever moves. It’s creepy.

  If I were allowed to stuff a sock in my therapist’s mouth, I would. We’ve been over the topic of the theater confrontation three times. We’re on different sides of it apparently, because no matter what I say, she keeps harping on it.

  “No, but he shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t know if he’d hurt her and I wasn’t going to stand around and wait.”

  Her frown tells me what she thinks, and while I get it, I don’t care. I know the rules say I shouldn’t have touched the asshole and the only thing saving my ass is when he turned me in, he had to admit he was there. And no one admitted I touched him. No one.

  But, Rayne saw me.

  “And you, should you have been there?” she asks, her notebook tapping against her crossed knee, its repetition representative of how this conversation has gone. It’s the same question she asked me twice before, and she’s been harping on it for an hour this time while she cocks her head at me like I’m being unreasonable.

  I want to snatch that notepad and chuck it out the window.

  So, I say it again, “I wasn’t planning on bothering her. I just wanted to watch.”

  These stupid sessions aren’t improving my moods or my understanding of anything. I’m not feeling better. I still can’t sleep, I’m still not fucking hungry, and life just sucks.

  “I wasn’t there to upset her. I was just there to see her perform.”

  I brace my elbows on my knees but have to lean back, a grimace of pain breaking through. I don’t know how the safety slammed his helmet into my thigh during the game last night, but he did. The bruise is sore enough the edge of the plastic chair hurts, sending a sharp stab of pain from the center of the black mass of blood underneath my skin.

  Pain is the word of the day and laces my defense with frustration. “I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have. I want her to be happy. I do. If I have to give her up, I will.”

  I will. Fuck.

  My vision gets wavy, and not for the first time. Ever since her performance, when she wouldn’t look at me and walked away, I’ve been a mess.

  Again.

  I had my future in my hands, hands that have a slight tremor as I look dow
n. I saw what I had; I knew it, and instead of being grateful, I was afraid. Like a punk-ass little kid, I let other people’s shit get in the way. I didn’t act like a man and take care of her. Now I’m paying.

  The notepad stops, Vaan slowly nodding her head, and the pen stops tapping. “Do you think you’re capable of making her happy?”

  “I wasn’t before. I think I’m learning how to now.” Not that I’m perfect, but I’m different. I know it.

  Her head tips down as she gazes from under drawn brows. “Is your temper under control? You said her ex has an anger problem, what about yours?”

  Vaan’s a dowdy little woman with glasses, who asks a lot of questions, but it doesn’t feel like she listens to the answers, and this question right here pisses me off. Gabe and I are not the same, not even close. If we were, I’d have beaten the shit out of her for suggesting it the first two times she asked. And yet the worst I’ve done is be sarcastic. I inhale slowly, a sardonic smile spreading. We’ve been over my triggers. I know what they are, and none of them make me dangerous to a woman, let alone Rayne. It was fear of hurting a woman that’s got me in trouble. I had a right to shove off the tramps, and I didn’t.

  “What about it? I get pissed. I have an anger-management issue, but he has a control problem. He has a psycho problem. They aren’t the same.”

  The only thing I’ve taken from these sessions is, even though I thought I was a happy guy, I wasn’t. Things have never been good, so not only have I not been okay, but I have crap coping skills. I didn’t deal with my shit. I covered things up with bad habits. But, I’m not that guy anymore. I’m manning up. It’s hard to make a major shift overnight, but I am.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” I barely get the word out; my jaw locks up so hard it hurts. “Yeah, I am. I’m not trying to force her into anything. I’m not hitting her, threatening her, calling or texting her. She asked me to let her go and even though it’s fucking killing me, I am. The only thing I’ve done is watch her perform at a public location. It’s not even remotely the same.”

  Vaan finally nods. “Fair enough, but don’t let your anger become an issue for her. I think you have a lot to offer. Take this week. See if you’re in love with her or the idea of her. We won’t meet for the rest of the week.”

  As soon as she stands, I jump up and grab my bag. Getting out of here is necessary, but I make sure not to slam the door, no matter how much I’d like to.

  When I get outside, the sun feels like it’s mocking me. It feels like a cosmic joke for the sun to be out when I’m so dark on the inside where the black pit inside my chest is a black hole sucking up all the light, and Rayne has the missing pieces.

  The idea that I’m in love with the idea of her is insulting. It’s her. How smart she is. How talented. She’s funny, brave…

  I love the way she talks with her hands or gets emotional at stupid commercials and songs. I love her stupid cat memes, how she cares if I’m recycling, and a million other things. It’s the way she pushes herself. The way she helps others get the best out of themselves.

  She got the best out of me even though I let her down.

  She has every reason to be vindictive. She isn’t. She could use my team against me. She doesn’t.

  She could have let me get busted, and she didn’t.

  No, it isn’t the idea of her I’m in love with. I have nothing to show for having had the perfect girl, other than knowing it’s my fault I lost her, and the guilt of feeling I should be there for her and I’m not.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rayne Mathews

  They have a game tomorrow.

  They’re still winning. He’s still a star. Everyone still wants a piece of him.

  I came through the doors today and the half-naked tramps were still waiting, hoping for a shot at a football player. The same girls who practically laughed in my face after our breakup are still chasing him like bloodhounds.

  While Mike, Kevin, and Wyatt still take advantage of the easy access to free sex, Ty passes them by like they’re annoying gnats. Add that to Bay walking me in and out of class like they’re not there, and they hate me.

  The Blackmanions are still stalking us both online, harassing me with images and threats. His picture is being taken everywhere, obviously without him knowing, and posted all over the place, including my profile. They’re trying to humiliate me, hurt me. And it works, every time.

  It’s been a month and the distance just feels worse. When he comes in a couple minutes after I sit down…he looks like me. Hollowed out. Sad.

  I try hard not to watch, but the girls cause a commotion as he tries to get past them. They’re not happy that he doesn’t stop. They’re grabbing hands, and demands don’t stop, even as he tries to get by. It makes me sick to my stomach to see the way they throw themselves in his face, ignoring what he wants. He doesn’t even look at them.

  From across the room, it’s clear he isn’t okay. He’s lost weight. He looks almost gaunt. His once healthy face is too sharp, cheeks too prominent. He’s too much like me…broken.

  When he finally gets past them, his gaze rises, meeting mine. Black circles under his eyes stand out against the golden skin, a look of loss and longing that burrows into me. His hurt is so stark, I have to turn away.

  He’s sorry.

  He is sorry.

  Even as my heart races, I finally get it. Tegs is right. He cared. I felt it. I know it.

  It’s a gut-check, but I don’t know how that changes anything, except that I don’t have to hate either of us anymore.

  I don’t have to hate myself. I don’t have to hate him.

  I wasn’t stupid to believe him.

  And without the venom from the betrayal to keep me moving, the pain in my chest makes me want to curl up on the floor.

  “You okay?” Bay’s whisper pulls me back to the front of the room, while the professor begins to drone on, not noticing the rumble of conversations happening.

  Locking my eyes on my laptop, the nod I give is a lie.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tyler Blackman

  “Come on, Cyborg.” The girl who’s been in my face all night whines, as if she has something I want. As though if only I’d look at her, I’d want her. As if I didn’t already look and dismiss.

  The short skirt she’s wearing does nothing for me. Neither do the tits hanging out of her top. She screams desperate, something I’ve learned to avoid. I’ve paid dearly for not ignoring the fame whores, the jersey seekers. These girls don’t know and don’t give a shit.

  Rolling my eyes, I dismiss her. “I’m not interested.”

  The Carson is packed with buzzed and drunk coeds trying to score, and the stench of desperation is making my skin crawl. From the lawn to the basement, the noise and smells are too much and not enough to pierce the blank hopelessness I’m trapped in.

  I don’t want to be here.

  “Cyborg, cheer up, you won.” Her over-excited squeal and bouncing tits, while I try to push away from her, say how little she cares about what’s happening to the person in front of her. It’s not me she wants, it’s the uniform.

  I sure as fuck don’t want you.

  “You need to find someone else, I’m not playing with you or anyone else.”

  McVey had to threaten me to make me come tonight. Everyone’s here to celebrate our win today, but I’m not into it. It put us in the running for the championship, except I don’t get the same joy from playing I did before. Not that anybody cares. No one’s listening.

  They liked me as the party boy.

  No one likes this version. The guy who just goes to class and does the job on field and nothing else. The one with nothing to say and no interest in the drama or social aspects of being on one of the best teams in the country.

  They aren’t interested in who I am, not really. They never were. I’ve accepted that and am returning the favor. I’m un-fucking-interested.

  “Since when?” Her whine through caked red lips
drags my attention back to the bitch at hand. “We all know you’re a machine in the sack.” Her nails find their way to my abs, making me as sick as her words do.

  Another fucking reminder I acted like an asshole. Months later and it’s still all anyone cares about. Her finger leaves my skin itchy and tight. “Excuse me?”

  One good thing about counseling is I know the signs when I’m losing it. Triggers. Warning signs to remove myself.

  “We all know that’s how you got your name.”

  Throwing her hand off me, I growl in her face. “Don’t touch me, and tell the rest of the fuck toys to hunt someone else.”

  Her painted face morphs into shocked rage, not that I care if she calls me out. I’m not making their damn lies my truth. Her and the rest of the jersey chasers can chase someone else. I fucked up, but I wasn’t fucking everyone when I was with Rayne. It’s been a long time since I was available, but even then, I still had some fucking discretion.

  Behind her, a tall figure seems to appear out of nowhere. McVey taps her on the shoulder and whispers in her ear.

  The subtle pop of her chest as she smiles at him after she sends me a glare makes me smile into my beer.

  “Anything you say, Bullet.”

  She doesn’t know she’s been handled and dismissed by a master, leaving us together in the corner of the basement without him promising her a thing, allowing him to sit next to me without a distraction.

  “Still not feeling it?” he asks, but he knows the answer. It’s all over my face.

  I fucking told you I didn’t want to be here!

  “Why am I here?” The beer in my hand has been my shield from having to say something rather than my entertainment. My next forced swallow is of disgusting warm hops. I’ve given up drinking away my problem, but faking a drink allows you to avoid conversation with pretty much anyone.

  “Because you’re part of this team.”

  He waves the long neck of his beer around the big basement, currently stuffed with our teammates, girls, basketball players, and others, everyone looking to watch and be seen.