Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T he next few days were a blur of paint and misery. My nights were filled with flinging mediums at a canvas, while rage burned through my soul. During the day, I struggled to focus on my classes that weren’t painting-related. They were important, but a large part of me couldn’t see the point of it all anymore. The only reason I didn’t drop out yet was because of Dad. He would have been disappointed if I didn’t finish my degree. The isolation and growing rift between Robby and me didn’t help my thought process, either. I avoided more of his phone calls and they were becoming sparse. Last night, he fired off a slew of heated messages that told me if I didn’t start responding; he was going to stop trying. It was for the best. Our relationship would quietly dissipate, just like the rest of my life.
The quad was empty for a Saturday, with plenty of students opting to hide from the cold in their dorms or off-campus housing. This morning, I woke up early, which was surprising considering the amount of tequila I consumed the night before. With the loss of my ability to go back to bed, I ventured to the on-campus coffee shop for a bagel and a fancy coffee .
Both could be made in my apartment—sans the fancy for my coffee, but I had this urge to get out for once. Making myself scarce on campus had become a habit since the accident. Whispers and gossip followed wherever I went on campus. You’d think that with being in college, the rumor mill would no longer exist, but it does. If anything, it’s worse now. Students don’t have the threat of administrators looming over them anymore. Now they can be even more cruel and unwarranted in their pursuits of misery.
The hangover receded as the fresh air stung my lungs. I loved campus at this time of year. The leaves crunched under my boots and birds sang happily. By all accounts, it was a perfect day. I entered the coffee shop to find it blissfully empty. I relished these moments, and a rare, small smile crossed my face. An iced pumpkin spice latte would be the perfect pick-me-up. Quickly, I placed my order and moved to wait at the opposite end of the counter. The chain coffee shop wasn’t much and student workers ran it, but it had great bagels and decent coffee.
“Sunshine!”
As I turned around, Hunter startled me by yelling that stupid nickname. His face held a goofy grin when he came and joined me. My eyes flit down at his appearance, cataloging the pair of jeans that looked custom made to his body and a BU hockey hoodie. His eyes sparkled, noticing my perusal.
“Like what you see?” He murmured, bumping his shoulder into my own.
I rolled my eyes. “Nope.” I said, popping the ‘p’.
He dropped it, thankfully, and turned the subject to the game today. “You’re still coming tonight, right?”
I nodded absently. Now that I committed, I received multiple excited texts from Jackson about it. If I flaked out, it would crush him. I couldn’t do that to him.
“Wanna wear my jersey?” he teased .
I whipped my head towards him, my jaw gaping. He had to be kidding, but the look in his eyes spoke of his sincerity. It was an extremely serious thing to give your jersey to a girl. It was like a fraternity guy giving his girlfriend their letters. When you wore their jersey—an actual team jersey—it was like telling the entire world you were endgame. You might as well give a girl an engagement ring while you’re at it. There’s only a handful of guys who have given out their jerseys on the team. It was usually seniors who were about to ask their girlfriends to marry them after graduation.
I scoffed. “Stop being a prick.” My coffee order was called, and I moved to pick it up.
Hunter laughed. “Maybe I want to see you wearing my number?”
I looked at him, once again trying to figure out his angle. “You know that’s serious. Knock it off.”
“I’ll get you to wear it one day,” he promised.
I shook my head, “Whatever, in your dreams.” I made my way around Hunter, but he grabbed my elbow at the last minute. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. At least come to Hockey House after?”
Hockey House Saturdays were legendary, and the night after a game? That place would be wall-to-wall people. They’d sell out of wristbands by Pub Wednesday.
“I don’t think I’d get a wristband,” I tried, hoping the lame excuse would work.
“You and I both know you don’t need a wristband. You’re always welcome.”
I contemplated his offer. Jackson would be excited to see me at the house again. Before the accident, it was normal to stop by. It wasn’t religiously, but I’d swing by after a victory and have a celebratory drink with Jackson before moving on for the night. That was also back when I had friends and wasn’t a social pariah.
“Come on,” he continued, “You know Jackson would love it.” Hunter’s eyes pleaded like a puppy’s. The way his gray eyes sparkled in anticipation of my answer drew me in and I was a goner.
“Fine,” I conceded.
A toothy grin broke out across his face, making a dimple appear in his left cheek. It was funny, I never noticed that before now. It added to his charm and made large butterflies flap in my stomach. I shoved away the thoughts, not wanting to entertain how a dimple could suddenly make me feel like that.
“You won’t regret it, Sunshine.”
“Already am,” I grumbled, walking away. Do it for Jackson , I told myself. This was all for him. I needed to be better for him when I could. But damn, when did Hunter St. James’ charms start working on me? We get along like oil and vinegar, it’s how it has been since freshman year. I snorted to myself. I’m not sure what kind of game he was playing, but I wouldn’t be falling for it.