28. Booker
Booker
I’m going straight to hell.
Exactly where I belong.
I’ll never forgive myself, never forget the look of betrayal that fractured across Maya’s beautiful face before she ran away—it just might break me completely.
“Dude…” Drew says from the doorway, Beau’s arms slung over his shoulder. “That was fucked up.”
“That really was,” Claire adds, pushing away from me and wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize sincerely. “I shouldn’t have done that—shouldn’t have put you in the middle.”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, Jay. Using me to make someone else jealous is messed up,” Claire reprimands. She’s been traveling the world, just got back from Australia, and popped in for a surprise New Year’s visit.
Drew drags Beau further into my room, and I walk over, helping to deposit the drunk bastard on the bed.
“What the fuck just happened?” Beau slurs, looking between me and Claire, head bobbing and eyes unfocused.
“Don’t worry about it, big guy. Just go to sleep,” Drew says, pushing him over onto a pillow. I’d laugh if I weren’t so busy loathing myself.
Claire showed up at the house to catch up about an hour before people started arriving for the party.
As the crowd grew, I had initially brought her up here to use my bathroom when the one downstairs was occupied.
Then, I’d asked her for a photo, knowing the more I posted with other people—other girls—the more real it would look when I tell Ross that Maya and I aren’t together.
My plan had been to tell Maya I can’t be with her, block her number—to stop myself from calling her—and go back to avoiding her.
Revert back to the way things had been before.
Drew was to run interference, telling her I was with other women or whatever, and do his best to keep her away.
He hated it, hated agreeing to lie to her, but agreed in the end, knowing it was for her safety.
I’d planned to party more, go out more, and post more—on my real account, not the anonymous one—so that by the time Spring break rolls around, I’d have months worth of proof that I don’t spend any of my spare time with Maya Winchester.
Ross will, inevitably, punish me for not bringing her home like he told me to, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay to keep her safe.
But when she walked through that door, I knew, looking into her eyes, I wouldn’t be able to resist her if she tried to get me to change my mind again. Going back to the way I had been before wouldn’t be enough. She broke down my defenses once, and she’d do it again.
I had to up my game. I couldn’t just push her away, because she’s strong enough to push back.
No, I need to make her hate me. She needs to hate me as much as I hate myself for dragging her into my mess of a life.
She needs to hate me enough to choose to stay away herself.
And with Claire in my arms, in my room, Maya at the door, I knew the perfect opportunity had fallen right into my lap on a rusty, broken fucking platter.
“So, who is she?” Claire asks, peeking out the bedroom door to double check that Maya’s really gone.
The room is silent, except for Beau’s heavy breathing, while I try to think of the best way to describe who Maya is to me, but Drew beats me to the punch.
“The love of his life.”
And he’s hit the nail on the head.
Even if I could have a real girlfriend, if it was possible for me to be with someone without worrying about my father’s lingering presence, I wouldn’t want anyone but Maya. I’ve loved her for nearly my entire life, whether I accepted it or not, and I will love her until the day I die.
But I don’t say any of that out loud.
My hand skims over my jean covered thigh, feeling the still-sore skin from the tattoo I let her mark me with, knowing it’s the only piece of her I get to keep.
“She’s nobody, and I needed things with her to be over,” I say, not looking either of my two friends in the face.
“Book…” Drew starts, but I don’t stay to hear what he wants to say.
“We should probably go back down to the party,” I interrupt, walking out the door.
At the top of the landing, I come face to face with an angry girl with long black braids, her palm connecting with my cheek before I can do so much as blink.
“Chloe, no! Don’t hit him!”
Maya appears, having chased her friend up the steps, tears streaming down her face, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her away from me with a look of horror.
But I can’t even be upset; getting slapped is the least of what I deserve.
“Stay away from her,” Chloe seethes, pointing an angry finger in my face before she turns, dragging Maya down the steps and out of the house.
Out of my life.
“Hey, you good?” Drew asks, a hand on my shoulder, looking at my face where I’m sure a red hand-print is blooming.
Shrugging him off, my feet make their way down the stairs, to the kitchen, where I commandeer a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and head out to the back porch to be alone.
New Year’s Day, waking up and remembering what I did hurts worse than any physical pain I could imagine. Hearing from Beau that Colt had some sort of mental breakdown and was being readmitted to the hospital was the icing on the cake.
January
Winter break ends, and I swear the last month has felt like the longest of my life. I’m almost grateful when classes start back up.
It’s my last semester at St. A’s, and they’re almost all filler courses at this point. I only needed one more credit for my degree, but I had to take a full course load to keep my scholarship.
I came to Saint Augustine’s for hockey and to be close to my mom’s grave.
I, technically, have more money than I know what to do with, since Ross does pay me to keep up appearances.
He wants me to have nice clothes, nice equipment, a nice car.
I’ve never had any other goal except to play for the NHL and make enough to potentially get myself a lawyer good enough to battle his.
So, with that being said, I chose to get my degree in business and financial management.
Basic, but also the only thing that would, realistically, benefit me and my future endeavors.
Wednesday afternoon, I walk into my Business Finance class—the one course I need to graduate—and am stopped in my tracks by the sight a curly blonde bun. Maya sits on the far left side of the room, against the wall, as if she picked the spot that is least likely to get her noticed.
What the fuck is she doing in a business class?
Of course, I can’t go over and ask her. And I can’t drop the class if I want to graduate.
I pick a desk on the other end of the room and text Drew.
Drew
Me: What is Maya doing in my finance class??
Drew: How am I supposed to know the answer to that?
Me: It was a rhetorical question
Me: But also figure it out.
I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t turn to look. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to keep my head facing forward during the three-hour lecture.
By the time it’s over, I’m looking forward to going to practice and being able to release some of this frustration on the ice.
Colt actually shows up to watch for the first time since everything happened. His memories have mostly come back, and he looks so much better than he has for the last couple of months. His time away seemed to have done him good.
The next few weeks unfold in roughly the same manner, falling back into the same routine I held for the last three years. Class, practice, games, bars. We win three games in the month of January, and our record holds just on the cusp of qualifying for a spot in the NCAA tournament.
After each of our wins, we end up at Ale Mary’s, and I make extra sure to be social, be seen, and be photographed.
And, not that it matters anymore, but I never take anyone home. I wasn’t big on random hook ups before Maya, and now they no longer have any appeal whatsoever. Hell, I may be celibate for the rest of my life, because the thought of touching anyone else makes me want to vomit.
Drew, bless his nosy ass, somehow figured out that Maya decided to take Business Finance as an elective this semester, because she has been thinking about starting her own tattoo business in the future.
Which means, once a week, for the next four months, I’ll have to see her and pretend it doesn’t kill me inside.