Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Give me the fucking paper, Scottie.”
Tears stream down my cheeks uncontrollably as I hold out the journal entry toward him, and he snatches it so fast that I swear he takes my heart with it.
His movements are quick and choppy with anger as he grabs his wallet from the bed and storms through my door, slamming it behind him.
My body aches from where Finn and I were most intimately connected not even an hour ago, but my heart overpowers that feeling by tearing itself in two.
I knew Finn was complicated and complex and his past has made him hard around the edges. I knew he was flighty and difficult to make stand still for a reason, and yet, I pursued it time and time again.
Professor Winslow. Finn’s brother. Instantly, more tears stream down my face, and guilt and shame tighten my chest.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Finn’s heart is shredded, and so is mine. And I only have myself to blame.
Monday, November 11th
Scottie
“Okay, everyone!” Coach Jordan announces. “Take five, and grab some water!”
We’re only thirty minutes into our two-hour practice, and I’m already ready to go home.
A week and a half of calls and texts and, embarrassingly enough, showing up at his dorm uninvited one time, have all gone unanswered. Finn’s become a ghost on campus.
On a basic level, I, of course, understand. I violated his trust in the worst kind of way. Taking the paper and not telling him about it was bad enough, but sleeping with him when he didn’t know about any of it yet was the double down that nailed the coffin shut.
Finn Hayes wants nothing to do with me. I knew it that day by the look on his face.
But he hasn’t been coming to class either, and the idea of what I’ve done ruining his entire college career is too much to bear.
I sigh and grab my phone from my duffel bag. While most of my teammates laugh and chat with one another, I busy myself with checking my phone for the millionth time today.
The only missed text is from Ace.
Ace: Don’t worry, Scottie. I’m keeping an eye on him.
Fingers to the screen, I type out a quick response.
Me: Don’t worry? I’m worried, Ace. He missed class all last week. He’s going to fall behind.
Ace: I got him notes.
Me: Has he said anything about me?
I almost don’t send the message, but my overwhelming need to know if Finn hates me for good is too much to deny.
Ace: Not really, Scottie. Mind telling me what happened between the two of you? I’ve honestly never seen him like this.
I’m not surprised Finn hasn’t told Ace what happened. He isn’t the type to talk about feelings.
But when I reread the part that says I’ve never seen him like this, I have to swallow down the urge to puke all over my white practice shoes.
Me: I messed up.
It’s the only truth I’m willing to give. I’ve already done enough pushing and prying into Finn’s life, and that hasn’t gotten me anywhere but crying into my pillow every night. Any more explanation than that would just be another violation of trust.
Ace: Well, he probably just needs some space, then. Just give him some time to cool down, okay?
I’m terrified time isn’t going to fix this.
I sink my head into my hands, willing myself to keep it together. But when my phone vibrates in my lap, I quickly glance at the screen again, fully expecting another Ace update.
But it’s not Ace or anyone else I know, for that matter. It’s a heavy fucking straw, tempting the camel’s back to break.
Unknown: You think your mom gave you Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?
I shut my eyes and drop my phone into my bag, the cruel words starting a burn in my lungs. Who the hell is doing this? And how do they know so much about me?
I don’t know what to do. Before, Finn would have wanted to know. But now? It feels so unfair to involve him at all.
Maybe I should go to the campus police, like Julia suggested. I mean, if I don’t, is this going to go on all year?
“All right, girls. Let’s run it through again,” Coach Jordan calls, clapping at Nadine when she and a couple of the other girls don’t stop talking when she does. “Come on, from the top. We only have three weeks until the qualifying competition for NCA Nationals, and we’re nowhere near ready.”
I set down my bottle and jump up, running back to our stunting formation that kicks off our routine. Kayla and Emma are my bases, and Tonya is my backspot. We work really well together so far, but I know we’ve still got a long way to go on taking this routine to the next level.
“I want full downs out of your liberties this time. We’ve got to get those clean before we move on to the doubles. Bases and backspots, I need you catching high, okay? No sagging butts scraping the floor. Flyers, I want your bodies tight, not loosey-goosey like some of you have been.”