Chapter 31 Chelsea
Chelsea
AS I MARCH away from Luca, my stomps reverberating in the quiet hallway, I’ve got my head held high and my indignation strapped to my back like two rocket launchers. But the second I turn a corner, my vision blurs with welling tears.
Suddenly, bile rises sharply in my throat.
My stomach churns.
Oh, crap. This isn’t a drill.
I look around frantically for a bathroom, but the closest door leads to an office.
Coach Perry’s, specifically. Thankfully, the linemen’s coach is still out after the recent birth of his baby boy, so there’s no chance his office will be occupied, which makes it the perfect place for me to lose my breakfast and otherwise react freely to that shattering sensation in my chest.
Mercifully, the door is unlocked, so I’m able to quickly barrel inside and shut the door behind me. With my palm plastered across my mouth, I frantically scan the room for a trash can. When I spot one, I beeline to it, already heaving, and somehow manage to hit my target and avoid a messy accident.
When I’m finished hurling, I collapse into a nearby desk chair and stare blankly at the cloud-streaked sky through the only window in the small office, my mind racing and my stomach somersaulting.
Goddammit! I thought I was finally getting to experience what all those stupid love songs are written about!
But now I know the truth: My feelings for Luca weren’t true love, like I was beginning to believe, because a man who’s willing to break my heart to make himself feel better when he’s feeling heartbroken isn’t capable of feeling true love.
I can’t believe I’d planned to tell Luca I was falling in love with him today right after he made the roster. I imagined myself kissing him enthusiastically in celebration and saying those three little words. But now, I’d sooner tell Luca Maguire, “I hate you.”
I know today’s news was shattering for him.
I get that. I’m pretty broken up about it myself.
But what I can’t believe, what I never would have believed, is that he took it out on me.
Does he blame me and my coaching for where he’s landed?
Because if so, that’s ridiculous. He’s the one who inexplicably lost it last night, not me! He’s the one who made his own bed!
Is he pissed at me for telling him about Bellamy’s offer to me? That could be it. And honestly, he might have a point there. Surely the revelation made him feel even more pressure. And that couldn’t have been good for his mental state, in retrospect.
No.
I can’t blame myself for any of this.
I won’t.
Luca did this to himself. Period. And now, he’s not only not taking responsibility for that, he’s ferociously blaming me.
How could Luca say that horrible thing about Moriarty to me? He knows I can’t stand that egotistical jerk! Also, as a practical matter, when the heck would I have had time to fuck Moriarty, when I’ve spent every spare moment fucking Luca since Moriarty’s return?
My God, I truly thought Luca had matured and calmed down impressively these past six weeks, at least enough not to fly off the handle when some trolls in the front row taunt him.
Hasn’t he been dealing with that shit for years now?
So, why couldn’t he control himself last night?
Was it something Moriarty said to him when he went over there and chest-bumped him?
Because whatever Moriarty said to him, there’s nothing that could have justified Luca losing his shit like that.
Feeling overcome with confusion and hurt, I put my forehead down on the laminate desk and sob my eyes out. I thought Luca loved me. And now, I feel nothing but stupid and gullible.
I cry for several minutes, until my head is pounding and I’ve got tears and snot running down my face.
Drowning in myself, I look around the small office for a much-needed box of tissues, and when I spot some on a nearby file cabinet, I head over there and gaze out the window while wiping up my face and blowing my nose.
As I’m gazing down at the parking lot, none other than Luca Maguire, the first man to break my heart, bursts into view.
He’s jog-walking rapidly across the striped asphalt toward his rental car, his urgent pace calling to mind a bank robber.
He’s clearly making his getaway, but he’s also plainly trying not to attract too much attention to himself, either.
Reflexively, I scoot to the outer edge of the window to obscure myself.
Logically, there’s little chance of Luca stopping and glancing up at this precise window on the third floor.
But after what just went down with Luca and me in that hallway, I’m not willing to risk any chance, however slim, of him discovering I’m watching him and then mistakenly assuming I give two shits about him.
I don’t. Fuck him. I’m done with him. Luca’s hurting?
Well, so am I after finding out the man I thought I loved was heartless and cruel in a way I never would have believed.
I can’t believe I committed the cardinal sin of falling for a fucking Wolverine!
What was I thinking? From this moment forward, I’m determined not to spend another second on this man.
Instead, I’m going to focus all my energy on nothing and nobody but myself.
On making my own dreams come true. And anybody who gets in my way, including Luca Maguire, can go fuck themselves.