He leans close enough that I see his eyes glaze over. “No. Cherry… I just figure we let this settle down for a while, not visit each other until—”
“We barely see each other as it is. What’s the point, if we have even less than this?” I have to blink to keep from tearing up. I won’t. I will not beg. “Please, Ethan. Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” he rasps. “It’s so fucking ugly here, Fi.”
My breath hitches. “So that’s it? You’re just going to push me aside?”
He blanches. “Please don’t think of it like that. I’m trying to protect you, Cherry. Even if that means from myself.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Ethan. I need you to want me.”
“I do want you. You’re the most important person in my life.”
An ugly sound leaves me. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Dexter.”
“You are,” he says with feeling, his cheeks flushing dark. “You are everything to me.”
“Then don’t push me away!”
He sits back in his chair with an audible thud. When his gaze comes back to me, it’s filled with pain. “I know you don’t believe me, Fiona. But there is no one, no one, I care about more than you. I cannot let these fucking vultures go at you. Do you get that? I. Can’t. Do. It.”
A single tear breaks free from his eye. He doesn’t wipe it away but looks at me, pleading.
And suddenly, I’m so angry I can’t speak. My nails dig into my thighs as I breathe through my rage.
“Fi.” Dex’s voice comes from a distance. “Fi?”
My lips press together as I swallow down a scream. Finally I look at him, but all I see is the red haze of my own frustration. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
Dully he nods. “Okay. I understand. I’ll call you later.”
And my rage grows.
“Don’t…” I suck in a scream. “Don’t call me. Don’t text. Just…don’t.”
I slam the lid on my computer and shut off my phone. For a long time, I lie on my bed, stare blindly up at the ceiling, and think.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dex
Another day. Another practice. I don’t give a shit about anything. And it shows. My offensive line coach hands me my ass after my shitty footwork and slow reaction time letting yet another defensive end get to my QB.
If it was a game, I’d be riding the bench. As it is, I’m relegated to the sidelines to run ladder drills. I’m thankful for it. Practicing complicated footwork keeps my mind occupied, my body moving. I keep at it until I’m the only one left on the field. Push myself until my body feels like warm Jell-O.
Because there’s a void threatening to open up and consume me if I stop to think.
Fi.
Finn blinks as if I’ve told him I have VD. I think I might be wincing too; I do not need the entire locker room knowing my business.
“Well, hell,” he says finally. “I don’t know. Isn’t it our job to fuck up?”
From across the way, Ryder snorts. “First of all, you never ‘handle’ a woman. She handles you. Your job—” He points at the both of us. “—is to hold on tight, go along for the ride, and pray you don’t fuck it up.”
“What makes you an expert?” Finn asks. “Last time I checked, you haven’t been with the same girl for more than one night for like…ever.”
“Four sisters, asshole,” Ryder answers as he looks in the little mirror he has attached to his cubby. He runs his hand through his damp hair. “And raised by my mom. I know women.” He catches my eye in the mirror. “What did you do?”