Clipped by Love
Page 29
So taking a step toward her, I put the last nail in my coffin.
“Yeah, maybe so, but at least my mom wanted me,” I say, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. “We’re done here. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Shock fills her face, but just as quickly as it came, it’s replaced with rage. When she pulls back, her fist coming toward my face, I could have stopped her. I mean, she was moving in slow motion. But in a way, I deserve her fist connecting with my mouth. The room falls silent as my head whips back and pain explodes in my mouth, my head. I feel like I’m gonna puke from the lead taste of blood in my mouth, and I fully expect to open my eyes to her retreating back. But when I open my eyes, she is glaring up at me, tears flooding her beautiful eyes. I drink her in because I’m pretty sure this is the last time I’ll ever see her face.
“Fuck you,” she seethes, and I nod as she turns on her heel, pushing through the group that has gathered around us.
I want to be mad, I want to hate her, but I can’t. She is the one person who has gotten under my skin, challenged me, and I know I’ll walk away from this a better person.
Just from knowing her. But I’m pretty sure she’ll probably hate me for the rest of her life
But in some sick, comforting way, at least I know she’ll never forget me.
Ever.
Dragging a puck from the pile that’s in front of me, I suck in a breath. Lining up, I let it out the breath before I shake out my wrist. Glancing at the pipe before looking back down, I then roll the puck along my blade before transferring my weight back and shooting, pinging the puck off the side of the pipe.
I’m working on my wrist shot.
No reason, of course.
Just felt like it while I wait for Baylor to show up. I might be a tad bit delusional thinking she’ll show up. Some may even say I’m insane to assume she’d come after saying what I did to her, but I’m hopeful. I’m praying that somewhere during the night, she realized that I said it because I had to. That she wasn’t going to leave until I did. I had no choice. I was trying to protect her in a way. I don’t know. Needless to say, I fucked it all up, and I’m out here trying not to think about it. But failing.
Miserably.
I just can’t get that look out of my head. The way her eyes went wide, the tears welling up in them before she whipped back and cocked me one. I deserved it, I won’t deny that, but I’ll never forget that look. Hell, I’ll never forget her. That’s just absurd to think I would. To assume such a stupid thing. Someone like that, you don’t forget. You just can’t.
When the side door opens, I look up to see Jude coming out and down the stairs with his stick. He tried to talk to me last night, but I shut that down quickly and stayed locked up in my room. I tried to sleep, but all I could do was see the hurt in her eyes, the shock and deceit that was in them when I said what I did. I regret it. I wish I had talked to her about what I was feeling. I’m sure she might have agreed with me, but then I felt like she was too gone. I wish I could have been man enough to tell her that we shouldn’t do it and trust that I could walk her out. Instead, everything blew up in my face when all I was trying to do was do right by her.
If I could, I’d do it all over again, and this time, I would have been honest.
Not a fucking coward like she said.
When he taps the ground with his stick, I look up, seeing that Jude is by the goal. I send the puck hard to him and he redirects it into the goal with ease. We’ve been doing this since we were kids; I’d be completely surprised if he had missed. When his arms go up, I shake my head. He’s such a showboat.
“And the crowd goes wild!” he says in an announcer’s voice. “Those Sinclair brothers are lethal!”
We were, before he moved, but I won’t tell him that, he’s trying to cheer me up. So with a forced grin, I move a puck back and forth then take a shot, this time missing the pipe altogether, the puck slamming into the house. Making sure it didn’t damage anything—thank God it didn’t—I reach for another puck.
“Working on your wrist shot, I see?”
I nod, throwing another puck to the goal, hitting the crossbar this time. “Yup. Was told it sucks.”
He nods. “It does, but you can lay a dude out and slap shot like a dream, so I’m sure no one really pays attention.”
My mouth pulls up at the side as I shoot again. Baylor noticed. Feeling like a dog that’s been kicked a few times, I shoot over and over again, taking turns with Jude. He doesn’t say much, especially when I keep looking down the driveway, hoping to see Baylor walking up.
“How ya holding up?” he finally asks and I shrug.
“Ah, I’ll be okay.”
“You look sick.”
I smile. “I’m hungover. Too much Jack.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “You got yourself a nice little bruise there too.”
Reaching up, I rub the tender spot on my jaw and I want to laugh. We both have matching bruises. I gave her hers and she gave me mine. Kind of masochistic in a way, I guess.
“Yeah.”
He looks over at me, but I ignore his knowing look as I shoot again. “Hey Jay, so surely I’m wrong, but you aren’t waiting for her, are you?”
I shrug, looking over at him. “Why would you ask that?”
“Well, I heard the date being made during the showdown of beer pong, and you’ve been out here since ten this morning. Your shoulders are burnt, and you look like a kid waiting for the ice cream truck.”
He’s right, but I don’t care. “I don’t know.”
“You know she isn’t coming, right?”
“You don’t know that,” I say, reaching for another puck and shooting. When the door opens again, we both look up to see Jace and Delanie coming down the stairs. It’s the first we’ve seen of them, and I’ve been waiting. But when she looks at me, I know the answer to my next question.
“Hey, have you talked to you Baylor?”
“Yeah,” she says with a nod, glaring at me and sending me to the fiery depths of hell with her eyes. “And just in case you are confused on how to fuck off, it’s quite easy. Go throw yourself off a bridge or something.”
Well, then.
Glancing over at Jude, I say, “I guess you’re right, she isn’t going to come play.”
“Yeah, maybe so, but at least my mom wanted me,” I say, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. “We’re done here. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Shock fills her face, but just as quickly as it came, it’s replaced with rage. When she pulls back, her fist coming toward my face, I could have stopped her. I mean, she was moving in slow motion. But in a way, I deserve her fist connecting with my mouth. The room falls silent as my head whips back and pain explodes in my mouth, my head. I feel like I’m gonna puke from the lead taste of blood in my mouth, and I fully expect to open my eyes to her retreating back. But when I open my eyes, she is glaring up at me, tears flooding her beautiful eyes. I drink her in because I’m pretty sure this is the last time I’ll ever see her face.
“Fuck you,” she seethes, and I nod as she turns on her heel, pushing through the group that has gathered around us.
I want to be mad, I want to hate her, but I can’t. She is the one person who has gotten under my skin, challenged me, and I know I’ll walk away from this a better person.
Just from knowing her. But I’m pretty sure she’ll probably hate me for the rest of her life
But in some sick, comforting way, at least I know she’ll never forget me.
Ever.
Dragging a puck from the pile that’s in front of me, I suck in a breath. Lining up, I let it out the breath before I shake out my wrist. Glancing at the pipe before looking back down, I then roll the puck along my blade before transferring my weight back and shooting, pinging the puck off the side of the pipe.
I’m working on my wrist shot.
No reason, of course.
Just felt like it while I wait for Baylor to show up. I might be a tad bit delusional thinking she’ll show up. Some may even say I’m insane to assume she’d come after saying what I did to her, but I’m hopeful. I’m praying that somewhere during the night, she realized that I said it because I had to. That she wasn’t going to leave until I did. I had no choice. I was trying to protect her in a way. I don’t know. Needless to say, I fucked it all up, and I’m out here trying not to think about it. But failing.
Miserably.
I just can’t get that look out of my head. The way her eyes went wide, the tears welling up in them before she whipped back and cocked me one. I deserved it, I won’t deny that, but I’ll never forget that look. Hell, I’ll never forget her. That’s just absurd to think I would. To assume such a stupid thing. Someone like that, you don’t forget. You just can’t.
When the side door opens, I look up to see Jude coming out and down the stairs with his stick. He tried to talk to me last night, but I shut that down quickly and stayed locked up in my room. I tried to sleep, but all I could do was see the hurt in her eyes, the shock and deceit that was in them when I said what I did. I regret it. I wish I had talked to her about what I was feeling. I’m sure she might have agreed with me, but then I felt like she was too gone. I wish I could have been man enough to tell her that we shouldn’t do it and trust that I could walk her out. Instead, everything blew up in my face when all I was trying to do was do right by her.
If I could, I’d do it all over again, and this time, I would have been honest.
Not a fucking coward like she said.
When he taps the ground with his stick, I look up, seeing that Jude is by the goal. I send the puck hard to him and he redirects it into the goal with ease. We’ve been doing this since we were kids; I’d be completely surprised if he had missed. When his arms go up, I shake my head. He’s such a showboat.
“And the crowd goes wild!” he says in an announcer’s voice. “Those Sinclair brothers are lethal!”
We were, before he moved, but I won’t tell him that, he’s trying to cheer me up. So with a forced grin, I move a puck back and forth then take a shot, this time missing the pipe altogether, the puck slamming into the house. Making sure it didn’t damage anything—thank God it didn’t—I reach for another puck.
“Working on your wrist shot, I see?”
I nod, throwing another puck to the goal, hitting the crossbar this time. “Yup. Was told it sucks.”
He nods. “It does, but you can lay a dude out and slap shot like a dream, so I’m sure no one really pays attention.”
My mouth pulls up at the side as I shoot again. Baylor noticed. Feeling like a dog that’s been kicked a few times, I shoot over and over again, taking turns with Jude. He doesn’t say much, especially when I keep looking down the driveway, hoping to see Baylor walking up.
“How ya holding up?” he finally asks and I shrug.
“Ah, I’ll be okay.”
“You look sick.”
I smile. “I’m hungover. Too much Jack.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “You got yourself a nice little bruise there too.”
Reaching up, I rub the tender spot on my jaw and I want to laugh. We both have matching bruises. I gave her hers and she gave me mine. Kind of masochistic in a way, I guess.
“Yeah.”
He looks over at me, but I ignore his knowing look as I shoot again. “Hey Jay, so surely I’m wrong, but you aren’t waiting for her, are you?”
I shrug, looking over at him. “Why would you ask that?”
“Well, I heard the date being made during the showdown of beer pong, and you’ve been out here since ten this morning. Your shoulders are burnt, and you look like a kid waiting for the ice cream truck.”
He’s right, but I don’t care. “I don’t know.”
“You know she isn’t coming, right?”
“You don’t know that,” I say, reaching for another puck and shooting. When the door opens again, we both look up to see Jace and Delanie coming down the stairs. It’s the first we’ve seen of them, and I’ve been waiting. But when she looks at me, I know the answer to my next question.
“Hey, have you talked to you Baylor?”
“Yeah,” she says with a nod, glaring at me and sending me to the fiery depths of hell with her eyes. “And just in case you are confused on how to fuck off, it’s quite easy. Go throw yourself off a bridge or something.”
Well, then.
Glancing over at Jude, I say, “I guess you’re right, she isn’t going to come play.”
