Chapter 7 Carrie #2
I glare up at him and try to pry myself free. He pulls on my arm, and I practically lift off the ground as he hauls me closer. I bump into his chest, and now that I’m getting an up-close look, I realize he’s pretty ripped—way more than I gave him credit for.
He still hasn’t let go of me—worse—he leans into my ear, his cheek grazing my temple.
“It’s my sister… I messed up. Bad. And this whole ‘being a better boyfriend’ thing is the only thing I can think of to even start fixing things.” He pulls back, his eyes searching. “Please, will you sit down?”
My mind usually starts racing a hundred miles an hour when I’m around him, but this time, it goes completely quiet. I nod slowly and take a step back.
Instead of letting go of my elbow, his fingers trace the length of my arm down to my wrist where his thumb gives the faintest stroke—and I shudder despite myself.
God help me—apparently, I’m so starved for human touch that a tiny, accidental brush sets off a full-body shiver.
While the poor guy is quite literally confessing his trauma, of all things.
He didn’t even mean to—I can see it in his eyes.
I settle back across from him and watch as he heads off to grab us some coffee. Now that he’s started telling his story, I’m dying to know more, but I have to play it cool. He doesn’t need to know the way to my heart is a solid plot twist.
“So.” I rest my chin on my fists. “You were saying, about your sister?”
Smooth.
“Okay, so first of all—promise not to tell?”
“Uh? Who do you think I am?”
He eyes me. “Oh, come on. We don’t even know each other; it makes sense that I’d ask.”
“We used to not know each other. Now we do.” I smile at him sweetly.
He doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Swear?”
“I swear. On the entire population’s life.”
He lets out a long sigh and starts.
“Amelia is three years younger than me. Our relationship has been crappy for years now. Worse than crappy,” he adds. “It’s basically the shittiest brother-sister relationship you can imagine.”
“How come?”
“Before this summer, I was wondering the exact same thing. We always got along as kids, and then when I started high school, I moved on.” He glances at me. “I had other priorities back then.”
“Uh-huh. Priorities with a C cup, by any chance?” I look at him meaningfully.
“Something like that…” His voice trails off as he gazes out the window.
I wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Donovan?”
He pulls a knee up to his chest. “Stop looking at me like that! It’s throwing me off.”
“Just keep talking, for fuck’s sake.”
I’m giving him attitude, but the truth is I’m pushing because I can see how hard this is for him—how much it costs him to open up.
“Our parents divorced the summer before I started college,” he continues. “Dad had literally just got the Cardinals coaching job, so he and I hit the road, and Amelia stayed back in Washington with my mom. That meant we saw each other even less.”
His parents are divorced? I’m kind of triggered, but I’m scared that if I interrupt him, he’ll clam back up.
“I don’t know if you heard, but my dad had a heart attack just before summer break. It happened at our last game.”
My cheeks flush. I can’t believe I forgot about that. “Is he doing okay?”
“He’s pulling through… All this to say, my mom came over to look after him for a month—”
“I thought you said they were divorced?” Damn it.
“Yeah, but they get along great—almost better than when they were together.”
Wow. I bite back on my jealousy. He has no idea how lucky he is. I wish things had worked out that way with my parents. It would have saved me all the heartache I’ve had to deal with since Dad left.
“Got it. But what does that have to do with your sister?”
“She came to spend a few days with us in July, too. And the vibe was super frosty, except this time, I forced the truth out of her.” He shrugs.
“I felt like she had spent years stewing over something I did, and I was done with the attitude. I wanted to hear why exactly she was so mad at me, and I was expecting some childish bullshit—but it turned out to be a pretty big deal.”
“What happened?”
Donovan tells me everything, the words spilling out of him like he’s scared to stop. His face darkens the further into the story he gets. There’s a bitterness flooding my mouth, and I’m just praying this doesn’t end the way I think it will. I lean across the table.
“Did Cooper…?”
“No.” His answer is sharp, immediate. “Luckily, he headed off for college the same year as me. If he hadn’t, who knows how things might have ended.”
He slams a fist on the table, clenching his jaw. I jump, my body inexplicably drawn toward his. I lace my fingers together under the table so I don’t reach for his.
“I had no idea, but I was, like, an enabler. Amelia started shutting down, and I headed off to SHU. I didn’t even try to figure out what was up with her—I just checked out.
She was my annoying little sister, you know?
I was her older brother, the basketball star.
” He shakes his head sadly. “I didn’t give two craps about her life, and I thought that was normal.
Now when I look back, I realize she tried to talk to me about it all—she told me she thought the guy was weird.
She actively reached out to me, but I was just too fucking blind to see.
I was selfish, and I let her down. Now, she sees me as—”
“Guilty by association?”
“Exactly.” He runs a hand over his tired face.
“She could’ve spoken to your parents about it all.”
“That’s what I said, but she just laughed at me, like I’d made the dumbest suggestion ever.
” He sighs. “I mean, it’s true—my dad was all about his career at that point, and my mom was working day and night at the hospital.
Plus, they were on the brink of splitting up.
It was mostly on me to look out for her, and I fucked up.
” He shakes his head. “She always put me on this pedestal, too. I didn’t watch out for her. And honestly, I hate myself for it.”
My chest tightens, then rage kicks in. “What happened to that sick fuck Cooper?”
“He actually got hit by a car in San Diego in his sophomore year. He died on impact.”
“Karma’s a bitch.”
My eyes widen.
“Sorry, that was a horrible thing to say.” I wince.
He shrugs, tracing the grooves in the wooden table with his fingertips. “I didn’t tell a soul, you know. Not my parents, not my friends. Nobody.”
“You can trust me.”
“I know. And it’s weird, because we’ve only barely met.” He flicks a quick glance my way. “I spent the whole summer going back through those years, looking for excuses—ways to justify my behavior.”
I nod slowly. “And what about your sister? Is she holding up?”
“She says she is. Boxing is basically her outlet now, and she’s been dating this guy for a year, too. A nice guy, apparently,” he adds.
“Is she still mad at you?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “I must’ve apologized a hundred times already. I sent messages, I tried calling, but it’s like there’s this door that slammed shut. She needs time, and there’s nothing I can do to speed that up. I want her to know that I hear her. And that I want to make up for it.”
“I don’t have siblings, so I can only imagine how painful it must be to lose your sister’s trust like that. I’m sorry for her. And for you. I’m sorry for both of you.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
The light shifts in his eyes. A faint glimmer of sadness. I want so badly to reach over and take his hand in mine.
“I want her to forgive me, but for that to happen, I need to show her that I’ve changed.” He straightens up. “You know what the worst part is? Up until I found out, I was still a selfish dick whose only priority was his next hookup.”
I shrug. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s how most people roll. Trust me, you’re never too old to change…”
Hear that, Dad?
“I was the worst big brother, and it kills me that I can’t change the past.”
“So, your plan is to become the amazingest boyfriend ever to prove you aren’t a complete lowlife anymore?”
“Sounds kinda stupid now that you say it out loud.”
“I just don’t understand what it’s got to do with girls,” I caution.
“It makes perfect sense to me.”
“Well, I guess that’s all that matters…”
Silence settles between us. I can feel Donovan’s eyes on me as I tear my napkin into a thousand pieces.
“Sorry for saying you were harassing me. I was way out of line with that one.”
“I really freaked out when you said that, but you had a point.” He holds up his hands. “I shouldn’t have been this insistent.”
“Amen to that.”
We fall quiet, both of us lost in thought.
My mind is whirring. I’ve always seen Donovan as the total write-off he just described, and I’m still semi-confused by his game plan.
Trying to buy your sister’s forgiveness by embarking on a boyfriend boot camp is the weirdest thing I’ve heard in a while, but I like how he’s being proactive, at least. He’s trying to make up for what he did wrong, and that counts for something.
Donovan glances down at his phone. “Damn. A ride just came through.” He meets my gaze. “It felt so good to talk to someone about all this. Thanks, Carrie.”
Is that it?
“No worries.”
“I’ll see you around, maybe,” he says, jumping to his feet.
“Maybe so.”
I trail him out into the street, and we stand there, gaggles of students rushing all around us.
“Have a good one, Carrie.”
He gives me a quick wave and walks away.
I was kind of expecting him to ask for my help again. Why am I disappointed he didn’t?
I watch as his tall frame recedes into the distance, and when he glances back over his shoulder at me, I’m surprised to find myself smiling at him. Should I… Nah. Forget it. And anyway—there’s nothing my books can teach him. Not really.
“Be real, Carrie,” I mutter to myself. “You’re probably the last person on earth to be giving advice, what with your dad and all your failed situationships and everything.”
Yeah. Donovan definitely reached out to the wrong person. I’m doing him a favor. I’m not—
“Wait!” I shout.
Before I know it, I’m running down the sidewalk. I’m going to regret this; I can feel it in my bones. But right now, all I can think of is getting to him before he vanishes.
“Wolinski!” I yell, louder. “Hold on!”
By the time I catch up to him, I’m gasping for breath, and he gives me a once-over. I’ve never been the sporty type, and never pretended otherwise.
I raise a hand, urging him to wait a second while I get myself together. When my heartbeat finally starts to settle, I straighten, and lock eyes with my soon-to-be student. This is complete insanity, but what the hell.
“So, when do we start?” he throws out, smiling broadly.
A part of me—the one that thinks this whole situation is flat-out ridiculous—wants to jam my fingers up his nose at his renewed confidence.
“Tomorrow. Pick me up at South Hall. Three p.m.” I shoot him a warning look. “Don’t make me regret this. And don’t even think about showing up late. My lessons don’t wait for anyone.”