by G. , Whitney
“I think you’re reading too much into that.”
“I know that I’m not.” He walks over to his duffle bag in the corner and pulls the strap over his shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore, Penelope. I’m sorry.”
“Tim, there’s nothing going on between me and Hayden.” My voice cracks. “We’re really just friends.”
“Do you always get this emotional when you talk about your friends?” He puts on his jacket. “Better yet, if he wasn’t suddenly leaving town with little notice, would you even care that I was breaking up with you?”
Silence.
“I thought so.” He walks out of the kitchen, slamming the door on his way out.
I wait until he leaves before ordering an Uber to Hayden’s house.
Even if he rejects me, it’s worth giving it a try.
When I arrive, I find myself face to face with a For Sale sign in the grass.
There’s also a bright yellow note on his door.
Please leave all packages with my neighbor.
She has my new address.
Thank you.
If you need to reach me, you can call me at 555-8756.
What the hell?
It’s a new phone number, and I’m wondering if by “new address,” he means that he’s going to surprise me by showing me the realtor listing of his house later.
Where is he staying now, though?
“You’re here looking for your friend, hun?” His redheaded neighbor calls out from her porch.
“Yeah. Can you tell me where he went?”
“He’s in the sky by now, I suppose.”
“The sky?”
“New York City,” she says. “His flight is this afternoon. Got a love letter you want me to send him?” She smiled. “I’m sure he’ll think that’s really cute.”
I rush toward the Uber and fling the backdoor open. “Can you take me to the airport, please?”
Half an hour later, I weave my way through the crowds at Sea-Tac International, looking for Hayden.
Two gates later, I spot him sitting at a Starbucks.
“Hayden…” I step in front of him. “Hayden, what the hell are you doing?”
“Going to New York,” he says. “I told you that I was leaving.”
“No, you told me that you were thinking about leaving. Last time I checked, you usually call and talk to me about major things in your life before jumping on them, because they affect me, too.”
He stares at me blankly, as if I’m speaking a foreign language.
“You’re leaving, just like that?” My voice cracks. “When were you planning to tell me?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t need to know. It’s my life.”
“What?” I push at his chest. “It’s my life, too. You’re my best friend.”
“We’ll always be friends, Penelope.” His eyes are cold, and his voice is flat. He’s nothing like the man I was talking to in the theater the other day, nothing like the man who has become my support system.
“Why are you acting this way with me, Hayden?” Tears prick my eyes. “Why are you really leaving me?”
“I’m not trying to act any way with you at all.” He grabs my wrists, holding me still. “I’m behind on my app and I’m running out of money, and investors who are willing to help me fix it. I’m in a bad place.”
“A place so bad that you can’t talk about it with me?” My heart aches. “Tell me the truth, Hayden.”
“I need to leave so I can work on my app,” he says. “There’s nothing else to this.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t see why I’d need to.” He shrugs. “You’re doing pretty good for yourself now. I’ll still call and text you, of course.”
“Of course.” Tears fall past my cheeks. “You’re being an asshole, Hayden.”
“Come again?”
“I thought you said you’d always be there for me.”
“I’ll always mean that.”
“Then an apology for blindsided me with this goodbye would be a good place to start.”
“Apologies never change anything, Pen,” he said. “They just state the obvious.”
“Okay, then.” I step back. “Well, obviously fuck you. Fuck you hard.”
“Penelope, don’t be like this.”
“You and Travis are the most selfish bastards in the world,” I say. “You two don’t care about anyone else but yourselves.”
“Pen—”
“I hope you fail,” I say, not meaning that at all. “I hope you go fucking bankrupt and don’t make any friends, because you don’t deserve them.”
He still isn’t showing any shred of human emotion, and I can’t bear to look at his face for another second. I tear off the silver chain he gave me in Sochi, the one I’ve worn ever since, and toss it at his face.
“I don’t want to hear from you ever again.” I walk away without another word, letting the tears fall down my face.
It hurts to know that my love for him is unrequited, but deep down, I know that it always will be. That its best to pull up the anchor and cut the chain, to sail across the sea and find someplace else I’m wanted.
I know that he was never my boyfriend, but “breaking up” with him hits me harder than all of my other breakups combined.
Break Up #16
The One That Started the Cold War
Penelope
Back Then
* * *
Several months later
Chicago, Illinois
With the exception of “How are you?” “Happy Birthday,” or a “Congratulations on being ranked number one again,” message that is delivered through my brother, Hayden never reaches out to me.
He doesn’t text.
He doesn’t call.
He moves on with his new life in New York like I never existed, and I do the same. At first, it’s hard to get used to not seeing him in the stands to watch me perform, even harder to resist the urge to call him at night and talk.
Some days, I want nothing more than to hear his voice, but I refuse to reach out and end a Cold War that he started for no fucking reason.
Why the hell would he just leave me like that?
“You skated like a drunk duck throughout your entire warmup today.” My coach moves in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Do you feel like winning today?”
“Yes.” I glare at him. “I do.”
“Then, do you mind taking to the ice?” He points to the rink. “It’s your fucking turn.”
Shit. I suck in a breath and force a smile.
“Hey.” My coach gently grabs my arm. “Think about whatever you thought about when I goaded you with Frankie, and you’ll wash every girl here off the map.”
I nod and make my way to the center of the floor.
I shut my eyes and wait for the music to play. I’ve used Hayden as a muse before and I have no choice but to do it again.
He’s all I see whenever I shut my eyes, no matter how hard I try to get him off my mind.
As I start my routine, I hear a new addition to the soundtrack: audible gasps from the audience and their shouts of approval are louder than usual.
While I’m dreaming of Hayden coming back to say sorry, or him sitting in the stands and telling me that he loves me, I go up for the hardest jump in my program—a quadruple lutz, and I land it with ease. I complete a triple salchow and add back-to-back quadruple lutzes for the hell of it.
I launch into a triple toe loop and fall into the rest of my routine. I nail every spin, every twist, and as I attempt my fourth quadruple of the night, I feel like I’m flying—and for a few seconds, I’m untouchable.
My blade doesn’t touch the ice like it should once I complete my final, though.
And suddenly, I’m not flying anymore.
I’m crashing …
Forty
PRESENT DAY
Hayden
Penelope: FUCK YOU.
We’re over.
Penelope: Do not ever call me again.
Penelope: THIS is ME breaking up with you since you didn’t have the balls to be honest and take responsibility for what is 100% your fault.
Okay, maybe I made the wrong decision.
My chest felt as if someone had set it afire, and my pillow kept attracting some type of wet spot on it every night.
“Taylor!” I called out for my housekeeper.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter?”
“It rained in here last night, didn’t it?”
“No, sir.” She looked confused. “It doesn’t typically rain indoors.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” I picked up the pillow and tossed it to her. “Can you take this down with you to the laundry? I think it got rained on.”
“You were crying, sir.”
“So, you agree that it was raining.” I picked up my phone, and she rolled her eyes. I waited for the door to close before scrolling down to Penelope’s name.
I was tempted to hit call, but I held back.
Since I knew her down to her marrow, I was well aware that there was no need to initiate any conversations. At some point today, she would start calling to leave angry breakup voicemails.
Despite all the lessons I’d taught her over the years, she still had an issue mastering that particular one.
Before I could consider a better move, the doorbell sounded.
“I’m coming, Taylor.” I groaned, knowing she’d locked herself out again. I swung the door and found myself face to face with Travis instead.
“Damn,” he said. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you, Travis. You looked like shit not too long ago.”
“You’re welcome. Who died?”
“No one.” I ushered him inside. “I thought you were my housekeeper.”
“Oh. I just ran into her on the elevator.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Seriously. Who died? Tell me.”
“No one. I broke up with the woman I was seeing.”
“How shocking.” He laughed, but I didn’t join in like usual. It took him a while to realize there was nothing funny about this. “Have you been fucking crying?”
“No. Taylor used some new cleaning supplies that I’m allergic to, that’s all.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked.
Not with you. “Not really.” I walked over to my liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of vodka.
I needed to change the subject. Fast.
“Is your agent working on a new date for the trilogy yet?” I asked.
“After all the drug tests come back.” He leaned against the bar. “You’re scaring me, man. I’m not used to you showing any emotion when it comes to supermodels like Anya Sterling.”
“Anya Sterling?”
“Yeah. That’s who you broke up with, right?”
“Sure.” I didn’t feel like correcting him. The last time I saw Anya was sometime last week. She’d drunkenly fallen out of a damn cab, and she was on the verge of embarrassing herself. I’d helped her up to her suite and waited in the hallway until her manager arrived.
“I swear, you and Penelope have the worst luck when it comes to the opposite sex.” He shook his head. “I could barely talk to her yesterday. She was sobbing out of control over this last guy. So much for him being good for her, you know?
What? My chest twinged in guilt. “What did she say about him?”
“I don’t recall.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t translate through her tears.”
“Could you please try to recall?”
“Why?” He tapped his fingers against the countertop. “Shouldn’t you already know this? Surely she’s told you more than me.”
“That’s usually how it goes …”
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Are you two upset with each other or something?”
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“When’s the last time you talked to her?”
“Feels like forever ago.”
“And what was your girlfriend’s real name?”
“Pen—” I caught myself. “You don’t know her.”
“Oh, I think I do.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s Penelope, isn’t it?”
I didn’t respond, didn’t react. This was a far cry from how I wanted this scene with him to play out, but the film was already down to its final frame.
“You’ve been fucking my sister behind my back?”
“No, I’ve been dating your sister behind your back,” I said. “Big difference.”
“Were you ‘dating’ her in Vegas? When that other woman was screaming your name in your room hours before my fight?”
“There was no other woman,” I said deadpan. “It’s just been your sister.”
“So, now you’re going to lie to me?”
“Travis …” I didn’t have time for this right now. “We need to do this some other day. I’m going through some emotional shit, and no offense, but you’re not the guy I want to talk to about it.”
“When were you planning to ask if dating my sister was okay?”
“I wasn’t planning to ask you shit,” I said. “I was going to tell you a few weeks from now, and you were going to deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” He glared at me. “Is that what you just said to me?”
“There’s not an echo in this room.”
“When did you start grooming her then?” His face reddened.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“She was a fucking minor when I—” He shook his head. “Did you sleep with Penelope when I left her with you in Seattle?”
You’ve officially lost your goddamn mind. I shrugged. “Can we talk about this when you get that murderous look out of your eyes? Preferably like adults?”
“Of course, we can.” His left fist hit my eye first.
Then his right.
Caught off guard, I stumbled backward and grabbed onto the counter.
“Let’s talk some more, huh?” He seethed. “Say something else.”
He didn’t give me the chance. He opened one of the kitchen cabinets and slammed it against the side of my face.
He did it again and again until I fell to the floor.
Then he stood over me and fucked me up harder than he’d ever fought any opponent.
No referees came in to save me.
Forty(B)
Seventy Two Hours Post Breakup
My blood dripped onto the marble floor, and my voicemail system tormented me by playing Penelope’s messages on repeat.
I tried to open my eyes a bit wider, but it was no use.
Over the past several hours, I’d managed to string a few things together—albeit very little since I was pretty sure my skull was fractured.
One, my first former best friend thought I was a pedophile.
Two, my far more important best friend thought that I’d cheated on her with a supermodel.
Three, my fucking voicemail machine was officially broken, and it was the first thing I was going to have destroyed once Lawrence or Sarah showed up looking for me.
“I hate you, Hayden Hunter,” Penelope’s voice came through the speakers again. “I. Hate. You. I hope your cock falls off and you lose every dime in your bank account. Those things are all you’ve ever cared about anyway.”
Beep!
Jesus Christ.
Forty One
Present Day
Hayden
“I thought I told you to leave me here to die.” I looked at Sarah as she adjusted the bandages around my legs.
“‘I was planning to, but I saw that I wasn’t in your will, so I wouldn’t gain anything from your death.” She poured a glass of water and set it next to me. “Now, if you’d told Lawrence that, he might’ve obliged.”
“What day is it?”
“Healing day.”
“What day of the week, Sarah?”
“Healing day.” She smiled. “It’s a new addition.”
“Fine. H
ow many days have I been like this, then?”
“Lots.”
Okay, fuck it. “Where’s my phone?” I asked. “I need to call—”
“Penelope?” She shook her head. “She won’t answer you.”
“Can you give me my phone so I can test that theory for myself?”
“I’ll give you the whole thing whenever you’re well again.” She pulled it out of her pocket, and then she took out the battery before tossing it to me.
“Sarah, give me my entire phone.”
She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Then she left the room.
I tried to get up, but it was too hard. My legs were still too numb.
“Sarah!” I called for her, but there was no answer. Before I could try again, the Behind the Scenes: Journey to the Olympics program appeared onscreen.
They panned the compound in Utah, then the interior facilities, and then Penelope.
The sight of her made me risk the pain of sitting up. Dressed in a bright red Team USA windbreaker, her hair was pulled atop her head in a messy bun, and her skin was glowing.
“It’s an honor to be here,” she said to a suited reporter. “I’ve truly missed being a part of this world, and I’m hoping to guide the incredible Katie Folds to her best performance yet when the games begin.”
“Well, we’ve more than missed you.” The suit smiled. “Years later, and we still haven’t seen anything like The Perfect Feather in this sport. You were one of a kind. Truly.”
She smiles uneasily, and I can see a hint of pain in her eyes.
As he gushed about her accomplishments, several highlights of her career began to play onscreen.
The last one, one of her nailing four back-to-back quadruple lutzes in Italy and pumping her fists, merged into what happened once the music ended: Her running toward me in tears of joy.
