Page 98 of Lovefool

31

LOOKS LIKE A GOOD NIGHT FOR A MORAL EPIPHANY

SUTTON

Lake is gone, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.

I drove her away. I did this. I can’t blame anyone but myself.

Fuck. Why would I say those awful things to her? None of it was true, but in the moment, all I wanted to do was make her hurt, and that’s a shitty thing for someone to do to the person they supposedly love.

I thought about going after her, and maybe I would have if she wasn’t moving so fast. It felt like the earth had come to a climactic crash. Everything was over in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t comprehend what I had just done, much less draw up a half-baked plan to fix things on the spot. I lost the best person I’ve ever met all because I was mad at the fact that she was right.

I wouldn’t put it past Buford to throw games just so he could be in charge and feel like a pro. Hell, he’s been playing suspiciously worse during matches compared to practices, and I would know, considering he’s actually quite competent. (And yes, that is the only compliment I’ll ever give him.)

If he threw the semifinal game and we lost, the team would be devastated. Maybe if I come forward with the truth before he takes the ice, they would only disqualify him. But if I keep this to myself, we win, and the truth comes out, then the repercussions will be far worse.

I sit on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands, losing my grip on the threads of my life. I continue to replay my fight with Lake. My brain pauses on the expression of indignation on her face—how tears burnished in the whites of her eyes. Beautifully wrecked as all fragile things are.

A kernel of self-hatred defrosts in the center of my chest, and hunger wades low in my belly, familiar enough that it’s easy to ignore. My fingers claw at the strands of my hair, pulling, exacting a smarting sting on my scalp that serves as an unfitting punishment.

I fucked up. My fear of letting my team down trumped the relationship I’ve worked so hard to build with Lake, and now I’ve probably lost her for good. She isn’t picking up my calls or returning my texts, and I don’t blame her because I know, deep down, that she isn’t trying to amend the difficult decisions she had to make in the past.

Using her dead sister as a leverage point? Low blow, Sutton.

You’re just mad that she had the guts to call out immorality when she saw it. You’re just mad that you’ve never once been that courageous in your whole sad, pathetic life. You presented her with this progressive version of yourself that didn’t exist. You tricked her into believing that you wanted to stand up for what’s right. You’re a hypocrite, you’re a liar, and worst of all, you care more about yourself than other people.

That’s not true. I care about Lake.

Oh, really? Someone who cares about her wouldn’t have spoken to her the way that you did. You made her fucking cry. You hurt her. You don’t hurt the people you vowed to protect.

My mental attempt at batting away all my negative thoughts is fruitless, and guilt coagulates into an insoluble blockage in my bloodstream, my vision pixelating from unbidden tears and oxygen loss. The moisture refuses to fall—some sick, twisted, self-reflective commentary on how easily I compartmentalize my own emotions to seem more stable.

I’m not.

Lake was the only person who accepted me for all my flaws.

The truth is she made me a better person.

I need to make things right, but I have no clue how to approach the situation without making it worse, which is why I have to talk to Crew. The way he is with Merit is the kind of man I want to be for Lake. I have to find a way to show her that she means more to me than winning a game.

Realization shocks my system alive like an ice water plunge. My heart never hits a calm, resting rate. It’s all over the place, carrying the weight of remorse and love and every nondescript feeling in between.

I’m going to fight for what I believe in. I’m going to make her proud.

Lake has spent her whole life alone, refusing to ask for help. I made a deal with her and myself to shoulder her burdens when they got too heavy, and now is no exception.

I want to fall asleep and hold her in my arms at night. I want to listen to her yap about her favorite things after a long day. I want to steal little glances here and there when she’s not looking. I want to smell her perfume on my clothes every time we hang out. I want to kiss her on the forehead when she’s lost to an unconscious dreamscape in the early hours of the morning.

Life without love isn’t a life worth living. All the stars in the fucking galaxy would have to die before I lose my girl.

So, I grow a fucking pair and speed-walk all the way to my captain’s room before knocking on his door, which opens on the third rap.

“Sutton?” Crew asks groggily, hair tousled and sleep sullying his face.

Levelheaded Sutton would’ve waited for an invitation inside, but levelheaded Sutton has taken an unforeseen hiatus. Reckless Sutton, on the other hand, acts first and asks for forgiveness later.

I push past him into his dark room, flick on the table lamp closest to the exit, and try not to wake a knocked-out Harlan snoring softly from a few feet away.