Dirty Little Mistake (Hard to Love #2)

Chapter 31

Camryn

O ne week later...

The smell of sweat and leather filled my nostrils as I threw my glove-covered fist forward. The punching bag swayed with a dull thud, the chain creaking overhead with each impact. Each punch released a fraction of my built-up anger, the rhythmic sound echoing in the empty gym.

It had been over a week since I'd seen Trystan, but every time his name appeared on my phone, every new text or email that came through, every new voice message that popped up, made the very raw anger surge forward like it was yesterday.

"So," I threw another punch, "fucking," and another one, this time harder, "stupid." That about summed up how I felt about myself.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the gym mirror and quickly looked away, unable to meet my own eyes. The person staring back—flushed, disheveled, eyes rimmed red—was a stranger I couldn't recognize anymore.

My long-standing, naive infatuation with Trystan had not only clouded my judgment but had decimated my common sense—a mistake I vowed never to repeat.

I pounded the bag harder, my labored breathing competing with the hum of the air conditioning unit. My arms felt like spaghetti, and my abs ached as I pushed through the burn, grateful for the solitude of my aunt and uncle's home gym.

This hurt had consumed my life for the last week. I got sucker punched sparing in the ring by a newbie boxer, and I'd fallen doing a jump I'd done since I was seven and nearly ended my chances of performing at the end-of-year showcase. This was my final showcase, and that showcase was eighty percent of my grade.

Through the gym's high, dirty windows, I could see the sun setting, painting the sky in fiery colors that matched my mood.

I had to release my grip on this fantasy—the idea of him.

I have to let this go.

I have to let him go.

My phone buzzed against the scratched metal table, rattling next to a half-empty water bottle and a frayed jump rope. My lip curled into a snarl as I threw another punch, the impact reverberating through the walls.

I didn't need to look to see who it was. I already knew it was Trystan.

It buzzed again. My jaw clenched as I threw all of my strength into the bag, missing and nearly tumbling to the ground, but I managed to wrap my arms around the bag. My breaths came faster and harder as I couldn't fight the pain anymore.

A sob caught in my throat, surprising me. I tried to swallow it back, but it was like trying to stop a dam from breaking with my bare hands. My vision blurred as hot tears spilled over, leaving trails down my cheeks. I pressed my forehead against the cool leather of the punching bag, my shoulders shaking with each silent, heaving breath.

I'd never felt more alone in my life.

For the last week, I'd avoided everyone because I couldn't face any of them. I couldn't talk to Kaia about this. Trystan was her stepbrother, her best friend.

My phone buzzed a third time, and my chest heaved. I pushed off the bag, ripped off my gloves, and stormed to the table, jerking my phone up.

Trystan.

I hit the end call button and opened his contact. My finger hovered over the 'block' button, trembling slightly. I knew I would have to see him again someday. He was my best friend's stepbrother. It was going to happen, but right now, I needed to heal, and I couldn't do that seeing his name every three seconds. With a deep breath, I pressed it. The screen flashed confirmation, and suddenly, it was as if a weight had been lifted from my chest.

It was like an instant feeling of relief, like I'd just taken my power back.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I half-heartedly smiled.

Owen.

Sighing, I slid right and hit the speakerphone button. "Hey." I'd been avoiding his call for over a week.

"I know you're home," he said into the phone. "Your car is outside. Please come open the front door."

"You're here?"

"You don't hear me banging on the door?"

"No." I shook my head like he could see me. "I'm out back in the gym."

"Stay there," he ordered. "I'm coming back." And he disconnected before I could protest.

I quickly wiped away my tears and patted my face, trying to hide the fact that I'd been crying. I was standing there second guessing my wardrobe choices of black leggings and a black sports bra when the door flew open, and the six-foot hockey player burst through wearing a pair of fitted faded jeans and a team shirt with a matching backward ball cap on.

"Wow, she lives," Owen said, a mix of relief and irritation in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair. "Kaia was about ready to file a missing person's report."

"I'm fine."

His gaze swept over me. "You are obviously not fine because people who are fine don't disappear from their friends and family."

My gaze met his, and I swallowed hard. He just called me out, but he was right. I wasn't okay, but I didn't know how to tell him I wasn't okay. I didn't know how to inform the man in front of me who made it very clear how he felt about me that I'd chosen Trystan over him, and he'd broken my heart. Not to mention, Trystan and Owen were friends, and I didn't want to be the reason that changed.

"Come on, Cam. Just... talk to me." My chest rose and fell with deep, rapid breaths. Owen sighed. "Look, Camryn, I?—"

"I can't," I blurted out, the hurt in my voice evident. "I can't talk to anyone about any of this. I have to deal with this myself."

Owen's expression darkened. "Is this about—" He took a step forward, and I instinctively backed away. His jaw clenched. "Cam," he said, voice low and controlled. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

"No." I sighed. "Not like that."

"Then why can't you talk to anyone?"

"Because it's Trystan." I hung my head. "He's Kaia and Jax's family. He's your friend, and you have feelings for me. I don't want to cause a problem."

He stepped forward again, this time faster than I could step back. "Cam, it's... it's okay to not be okay sometimes." Owen's voice softened. I glanced up, catching his concerned look.

"Yeah, but?—"

"No, listen," he interrupted gently. "The people who care about you? We're here for this stuff. And before anything else..." He paused as if choosing his words carefully. "I'm your friend, okay? You can talk to me."

"Right," I scoffed, raising my eyebrows. "And you won't go all hockey-player-rage on Trystan?" Owen's nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. His silence spoke volumes. "I just... I can't be the reason everything goes to shit, you know? I don't want anyone picking sides."

Blowing out a heavy sigh, he nodded like he finally understood what I was saying.

Owen rubbed the back of his neck. "Kaia's pretty freaked, you know. Radio silence for a week... that's not like you."

"I know," I frowned. "I was going to call her tomorrow. I just needed to work some shit out tonight." My gaze dropped to my phone, and for the first time in seven days, it wasn't blowing up. "But," my eyes lifted, meeting his, "I think I'm good now."

"Yeah?"

Smiling, I sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

"So, you want to get out of here and get a drink? We can go just you and me, or I can invite everyone."

I knew Kaia was worried, but I just couldn't answer her questions tonight. Tomorrow would be better, though. "Just us tonight."

"Okay." He smirked. "Go get dressed and meet me at my car."