“Oh, hey, Coach,” I call out. “Not what it looks like.”
His dark brows knit in a displeased frown. “It looks like you’re taking a shower in front of your girlfriend. In my locker room.”
“Okay, then yeah, it’s what it looks like. But I promise, it’s all very PG. Well, except for the fact that I’m naked. But don’t worry, no kinky shit is going to happen.” I grin at him. “I’m trying to win her back.”
Coach’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. I can’t tell if he’s amused or pissed or ready to wash his hands of this whole thing. Finally, he nods and opts for option number three. “Carry on.”
Coach shakes his head to himself as he ambles off, and I turn back to Hannah in time to see her trying to sneak away.
“Oh, hell no,” I announce. “No way, Wellsy.” I snatch my towel and wrap it around my waist as I stumble out of the stall. “You’re not running off on me.”
“I came here to yell at you,” she stammers, her gaze dipping to her feet. “And now I’m done yelling at you, so…”
She yelps when my wet hands cup her cheeks to force her to look at me. “Great, you’re done yelling. Now I want you to talk to me, and you’re not leaving until you do.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Tough cookies.” I search her agonized expression. “Why did you break up with me?”
“I already told you—”
“I know what you told me. I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now.” I set my jaw. “Why did you break up with me?”
A shaky breath leaves her mouth. “Because we were moving too fast.”
“Bullshit. Why did you break up with me?”
“Because I wanted to see other people.”
“Try again. Why did you break up with me?”
When she doesn’t answer, frustration blasts through me, and I react by crashing my mouth down on hers. I kiss her roughly, desperately, the days and weeks of missing her catching up to me and pouring out in the form of deep, hungry kisses that leave us both breathless. She doesn’t pull away. She just kisses me back with the same unchecked passion, her hands clinging to my wet shoulders like she’s lost at sea and I’m her life preserver.
That’s how I know she still loves me. That’s how I know she missed me as much as I missed her. And that’s why I wrench my mouth away and whisper, “Why did you break up with me?”
Her anguished gaze locks with mine. Her bottom lip quivers, and as several seconds tick by, I wonder if she’s going to answer me. I wonder if—
“Because your father told me to.”
The shock almost knocks me off my feet. As my equilibrium turns into a seesaw, I drop my hands to my sides and stare at her, unable to comprehend what I just heard.
I swallow. Then I swallow again. “What?”
“Your father told me to end it,” she admits. “He said that if I didn’t, he’d—”
I hold up my hand to silence her. I’m too stunned to listen. Too enraged to move. I force myself to breathe. Long, calming breaths that help steady my wonky balance and clear my foggy head. Then I exhale in a slow rush and run a hand through my damp hair.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say quietly. “You’re going to wait outside for me while I get dressed, and then you and I are going to—I don’t care where we go. Your dorm, my car, anywhere. We’re going to go somewhere, and you’re going to tell me every word that son of a bitch said to you.” I take another breath. “You’re going to tell me everything.”
*
Hannah
Garrett doesn’t say a word as I recount everything that happened between his father and me. We’re in my room because the arena is closer to the dorms than it is to Garrett’s house, and he was in too much of a hurry to have this conversation. But all he’s done so far is loom over me with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, listening intently as my confession spills out of my mouth like confetti.
I can’t stop talking. I recite his dad’s threats verbatim. I explain why I went along with them. I beg him to understand that I did it because I love him and want him to be successful.
And through it all, Garrett says nothing. He doesn’t even blink.
“Will you please say something?” I mumble when I’ve finished talking and he still hasn’t said a word.
His gray eyes fix on my face. I can’t tell if he’s angry or annoyed, if he’s disappointed or upset. All those emotions would make sense to me.
But the response I get?
Makes no sense at all.
Garrett starts to laugh. Deep, husky rumbles that bring a frown to my lips. His brow relaxes and his arms fall to his sides as he sinks down on the bed beside me, his broad shoulders trembling with mirth.
“You think this is funny?” I demand, genuinely offended. I’ve been a total misery zombie this past month, and he finds it amusing?
“No, I think it’s a damn shame,” he says between chuckles.
“What’s a shame?”
“This.” He gestures between us. “You and me. The whole fucking month we missed out on.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
My throat closes up. “Because I knew what you would say.”
Another chuckle pops out of his mouth. “I highly doubt that, but okay, humor me. What would I have said?”