39. Penn
thirty-nine
penn
We fucked up.
I know it as soon as Sydney rights herself and hurries out the door, a haunted look in her eyes. We had a fragile amount of trust, and Oliver single-handedly shattered it.
No. I can’t blame just him.
It was pure terror in her eyes when she crashed into me, trying to escape, and instead of letting her breeze past, I stopped her. Turned her around in Oliver’s direction, put her on a path that messed with her in ways I don’t think I can fully fathom.
I hate that even now, hours later.
My roommate—a football player who I roomed with freshman year—is out. I’m on the couch, trying to shake the unnerved feeling of what we did this afternoon. We had a game and lost spectacularly. I have a bruise on my forearm from taking a direct hit. The angle was all wrong and came in just over the top of my glove.
Fucking stupid. My fingers went numb for a good few minutes, although it was shortly after that incident that Coach pulled me. I haven’t been able to look Oliver in the eye either.
He went to fight, as is typical after a hometown loss.
I came back here.
A bang on my door rouses me from my sulking. Whoever it is doesn’t give me a chance to get to the door, though. It swings inward, and suddenly Carter Masters fills the hall.
I glare at him. “Get out of my house.”
He laughs. “That’s the game you want to play right now?”
Well… “I don’t know,” I answer. “Want a drink?”
He shrugs.
I pivot and head to the kitchen. He trails after me, only pausing to kick off his shoes. At least he’s got that going for him. The galley kitchen doesn’t really fit two full-grown men in it, so he leans on the doorjamb and crosses his arms.
I busy myself digging in the fridge, pulling out two beers. He takes one. I take the other. We stare at each other a beat, and then he holds out his hand.
“What’s that?”
When I don’t make a move, he throws it at me. A quick jerk of his arm, his fingers uncurling to release the object.
It hits me in the chest, and I barely catch it.
The necklace.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, attacking my ears. “You saw her?”
“Saw her?” Carter repeats. “I fucking tried to put her back together after what you did to her.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” He steps into my space and shoves me with one hand. “ Yeah? ”
I go backward. I’m sure as fuck not going to protest or object to this treatment. I deserve it. I know that—and he does, too.
“I’d say sorry, but I don’t owe you that.” I grimace. “Is she okay?”
Carter lifts his chin. “No.”
I nod. “I should go to her?—”
“You think that’s smart?” He rolls his eyes. “Give me one reason not to beat you black and blue and drag you to her apartment.”
I straighten. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Carter snorts. “Fuck off. You’re not getting any extra, undeserved sympathy from her.”
Fair.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Then I’m going to hear her out. She should be listened to. I already fucked that up.”
“I’m going to be waiting outside the apartment,” Carter warns. “And if she so much as yelps, I’ll come in and make good on my threat.”
I extend my hand. “Fine.”
He points to the necklace dangling from my fingers. “And you don’t give that back to her. Not now.”
My stomach flips. He thinks I shouldn’t give it back to her? I was planning on connecting it around her throat without giving her a choice… but that seems to be my problem. Oliver’s, too. We didn’t give her an option.
I roughly nod, then push past him. I leave the necklace in my room and meet him at the front door.
“Should we talk about Oliver?” he asks.
I sigh. “One thing at a time.”
First, I’ve got to beg for forgiveness.