Chapter 3
INTERCEPTION: DEFENSE CATCHES A PASS MEANT FOR OFFENSE.
For a moment I let my mind drift as the conversation outside continues.
Bryce and I’d both accomplished so much in our respective careers—him obviously being the star quarterback for the Oklahoma Lightning, me being an in-demand travel photographer for National Geographic, Condé Nast Traveler, and Travel + Leisure.
Tears drip down my face when I realize the relationship I thought we had was just as much of a fantasy to me as the idea of visiting the places I take photos of to the average person.
They’re nothing more than items on a wish list.
Just as I’m coming to that realization, I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.
My heart skips a beat. My head whips up, and I meet the eyes of my best friend, Amy.
Behind her, stands Emery and Christin—all my girls.
Their expressions range from shock to absolute fury as even more disgusting comments waft in from the outdoor patio.
“I’m going to kill him,” Amy hisses.
“Not if I get to him first,” Emery vows.
Christin says nothing, but I’m certain she’s imagining the different ways she can eviscerate Bryce while still protecting me. Then, her bright blue eyes narrow on my face. “Are you staying to be abused by this piece of shit?”
Am I staying? As soon as the question penetrates my mind, I realize I’ve been sitting here cowering in the dark as if I have something to be ashamed of regardless of what I may look like compared to any “Box Seat Barbie” or “Cleat Chaser.” The person who should feel shame and disgust is the piece of shit holding court outside.
My eyes flick over to Amy’s restrained fury to Emery’s unilateral support.
Then, I glance down at the third finger of my left hand. The overhead lights catch on the three-carat diamond gracing my left hand, and there’s no question.
I realize I’d rather be alone than pledge the rest of my life to a man who disrespects me—me or any woman—like this. I twist my engagement ring off my finger. Then I reach for the crystal bowl of vomit.
Immediately, Amy protests. “Don’t clean that up!”
Christin agrees, “Let him find it.”
Emery sneers, “I think you should spread it in his bed.”
A ghost of a smile flashes across my lips right before I drop my engagement ring in the middle of the bile.
Fortunately, more raucous laughter roars up at that exact moment, covering up the approving cheers from my posse. Amy asks, “Are you going to leave it here for him to find?”
“I have a better place to put it.” Carefully, I stand before guiding the girls down the hall and into Bryce’s office while balancing the remains of my bad romance sloshing from side to side.
Opening the door, I set the bowl in the center of his desk, right next to the papers he printed out for training camp.
On his desk are a few carefully curated photos of the two of us from the time we were in college all the way to our most recent engagement photos. I nod at Christin. “Mind getting those out for me?”
Her smile twists into something evil as she removes each of the photos from their frames, carelessly tossing the metal and glass over her shoulder.
As she does that, I dig around in the drawer and unearth a red Sharpie. Writing in big bold strokes on Bryce’s training camp printouts he laid so meticulously on his desk:
Our wedding is off. Feel free to give my ring to “Barbie.”
Dropping the pen into the bowl, I lift my head and hold out a hand.
Christin slaps the photos into them. I quickly tear them into little pieces and dump them into the bowl–floating lost.
Much like I am, right now, I think to myself. Gathering myself together, I ask, “Now, who wants to help me get my suitcases packed and out?” I run my tongue over my teeth, “After I brush my teeth.”
Three hands immediately shoot up.
“Then let’s get to it.”
Even on the worst days of our relationship, I never imagined this would be our end.
I curl up near the toilet as a precaution while my best friends pack the few items I’d managed to put away in our—his—room before the party.
The scent of his cologne mingled with my perfume lingers.
Before I went downstairs earlier, it reminded me of the way he devoured my skin, like an animal scenting its mate.
Now, all it’s doing is mocking me for not realizing sooner how he rutted into me, not caring one damn bit about me or my needs.
Turning my head, I dry heave into the toilet. At the sound, Amy pokes her head in. “You hanging in there? We don’t have too much more.”
I hold up a hand to keep her at bay. My emotions and stomach lining are far too close to the surface for me to be talking right now. Instead, I lower my head onto my crossed arms on the toilet seat and listen to the sounds that conclude the destruction of my high school love.
Who knew it wouldn’t be fighting or screaming but the clattering of hangers?
Drawers slamming shut? Cardboard scraped against metal as it slid out, and then someone dropped a frame into the bed’s center.
I’d asked my friends to strip every part of me from Bryce’s life, and they were taking me at my word.
There’d be nothing left of me here because he didn’t deserve it.
Through all the chaos occurring just a few feet away, I keep breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. My mind keeps telling my lungs to do this simple task as if it’s the only function they can manage.
My heart hasn’t quite caught up with the game plan.
It’s withering away every time something in the other room triggers my mind to review the audio of what I heard.
Part of me wants him to walk in, flash his amiable smile, and say I misunderstood everything. But the larger part of me doesn’t care if he will. He doesn’t get to apologize for his choices and his cruelty.
Emery pops her head in, holding up the sweatshirt I used to sleep in. “You want this?”
I stare at the first Oklahoma Plains University sweatshirt I bought—with Bryce by my side. Shaking my head before I can change my mind, I declare flatly, “No. There’s too much of him tied up in it. I’ll buy a new one.”
She nods before tossing it onto the pile of picture frames. And just like that, another piece of him—of us—is over.
Discarded.
Occasionally, people in the back make loud exclamations during the next two hours. The girls are loading my bags into the car when I make my way down the hall to the spot my heart broke.
I feel a presence behind me. With a deadened voice, I wonder, "Think I need to be concerned about Bryce coming after me for the cleaning bill?” Amy wraps her arm around my shoulders before snarling, “Let him try.”
Soon, all my girls, my team, have wrapped their arms around me as shouts punctuate the air from the backyard, followed by the occasional yell.
Instead of being angry, I’m numb. I have no desire for further destruction. No need to destroy anything precious of Bryce’s when the thing that should have been most precious to him should have been me.
And look at how he treated that?
With one last heartbeat of silence memorializing the life I’m saying goodbye to, I walk out.
Never to return.