Page 133 of Scoring Lessons

And though it hurt like a motherfucker, to the point where I didn’t know where the pain began or ended, it was the right thing…for her.

She deserved more. She deserved a man who could be strong. The kind who could care for her.

That wasn’t who I was.

I could barely be strong for myself.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

She let out a breath through her nose—it was sharp, humorless. “Right. You’re sorry.” Her voice was quiet. She smacked her lips together and gave me a quick nod. “Like that fixes anything.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

“I—” The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained. “It’s like I don’t even recognize you.” She ran the palm of her hand against her mouth. “So you know what?” She raised her hands in defeat. “If this is what you want to do, I’m going to let you.” She looked at me dead in the eyes. “But I hope you realize the mistake you’re making.”

“It’s not a mistake,” I said. “I’m doing what’s best for you.”

It was the truth. She didn’t need to know why. But she, at the very least, needed to understand this.

Her eyes turned glassier. A tear almost ran down her cheek, but she didn’t let it escape. She picked it up with her finger, erasing it from existence. Before I could take a step closer, she turned and left without a word, slamming the door behind her.

My heart was screaming—pleading—for me to go after her.

But my brain was what kept me rooted, not moving a bone in my body as I watched the love of my life walk away from me.

I stood there long after the door closed. Long after her footsteps faded. Long after there was nothing left to listen to but the sound of my own breathing, like my body was trying to remind me it was still running even though everything else had stopped.

I finally sat on the edge of my bed, pressing my elbows to my knees and dropping my head into my hands.

And for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to break down.

THIRTY-SEVEN

OLIVIA

FUCK MEN AND THEIR SHITTY ATTITUDE.

For obvious reasons, I couldn’t stay at my brother’s place.

But it was a good thing that in the six months I’d been in Chicago, I hadn’t been completely alone.

Besides Wesley, I had a group of friends I knew would help me without blinking an eye.

So there I was a few hours later, on the living room couch of Valentina’s townhouse, with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around my head while we watched How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days. And Daisy was right by my side while I pet her.

“Thank you for letting me crash, Val,” I said when she took a seat next to me and handed me a frozen margarita.

I didn’t even know what time it was anymore. When I’d arrived at her place and she saw my red-rimmed eyes, she didn’t say a word. She’d only opened the door, and let me cry on her shoulder for hours until at some point I’d fallen asleep.

That was who Valentina García was—fiercely loyal and supportive, no questions asked.

She even cried with me.

Though I had the feeling it had more to do with the fact that I hadn’t seen her best friend around as of late. Which was surprising in itself, because Owens was practically her shadow.

But if she didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to force her. Especially since she hadn’t forced me, either.

The doorbell rang, and she settled me with a pitying look. “Those are the girls.”