Boyfriend Bargain(20)

He made me cry for weeks. He made me think I was less than, like there was something about me that wasn’t good enough.

And I can’t forgive that.

I won’t be the girl who accepts a guy who cheats on her.

I won’t be the girl who accepts a liar.

Taylor and Poppy follow me as we get up and walk out of the Tipsy Moose.





16





Zack





“You’re quiet, Zack. How do you feel about the upcoming game?” The question comes from Dr. Cole, my sports psychologist. A stocky man with a goatee and discerning eyes, he’s leaned back in his leather chair, pen and notebook in hand. He has a long list of elite athletic clients ranging from NBA basketball players to superstar tennis players. We’re in his spacious office in the city, and he’s been talking for the past few minutes about my progress—or lack thereof.

I think back over these past weeks with him. My therapy is a cognitive behavioral treatment where I practice relaxation training and stress reduction.

I’m staring out the window, my mind drifting to Sugar and that kiss last night. She’s consuming me, the way her lips pucker when she’s thinking, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks after I kiss her. This crazy thing we have is mutual, which scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. I guess what Veronica said is true; my bedroom has been a revolving door of girls since freshman year, but I never lied to a girl or cheated while we “dated”. The truth is, hockey is number one with me, and there’s never been a girl worth sharing that spotlight with.

I know, we just met, we just fucking met, but something about her—

“Zack?”

I look up at Dr. Cole. He’s giving me a quizzical look, and I realize I’ve been silent too long. I clear my throat. “I’m practicing my breathing, doing self-talk, setting goals, eating right, running, lifting in the gym, writing letters. I’m doing everything…” I stop and stare down at my hands. “But I’m already dreading the next game. I’m terrified I’ll spiral. The dread is always lingering, right there below the surface, and if one little thing sets me off…”

He nods at me. “You’re a topnotch athlete, and you didn’t get that way with just your physical attributes. You have the good mental control, and now you just have to polish your adaptability. You love a challenge, right?”

I rub my jaw. “You make it sound easier than it is.”

He gives me a sympathetic, wry grin. “Life is never easy for a person with anxiety. These feelings may never go away, which is why you need to steel yourself against the dark thoughts, be prepared, and hone your methods of coping like a blade against a stone. Use those things that give you dread. Face them. Accept them. Overcome them.”

I take a deep breath. I can face them, even accept that I have a problem, but overcoming? Yeah, that’s the heart of the issue.

The truth is, part of me has always been anxious; it’s just that lately, it’s winning.

The first time I took the ice my freshman year at HU, I got dizzy and clammy and thought I might pass out, but I hung on and shoved it away. I used the energy, wrestled it, and poured it into my game and I won, I fucking defeated the anxiety. I’ve always been able to beat the darkness—until now.

He must see something in my expression. “How are you feeling about Willow this week? Anything different?”

I level my gaze at him. “She’s dead because of me. She’s never going to college or getting married or having kids…” I halt, my gut churning.

“And you still blame yourself?”

My jaw tightens, anger and grief bubbling. “Therapy isn’t going to fix a mistake I made, sir. I killed her.”

“A car accident killed her.” His reply is swift and sure.

“Because I wasn’t there,” I insist.

He puts his elbow on the desk. “You’re not a mind reader and you can’t control people. Even if you had been at that party, she would have left eventually. She would have taken the same curve in the road. You are not an all-knowing deity who can decide someone’s fate just by showing up at a party.”

But…

I wasn’t there. If I had been, maybe she would have waited until the rain stopped, maybe I would have driven her home, maybe we would have resolved all our shit—

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Stop. Stop. Stop.

“Zack?”

I inhale a deep breath and look up at him.

“You deserve hockey. You deserve happiness.”

He’s been saying those words to me since the day we started this.

I look back out the window.

“I want you to repeat those words to yourself when you wake up tomorrow. Then say them again when you go to bed. Say them whenever you feel like you’re spiraling down that hole. Okay?”

I give him a nod, but I’m not sure I agree with him. Magic words won’t fix me.

I watch a couple on the street at a bus stop. They’re young, maybe my age, and there’s a suitcase between them. She leans her head on his shoulder and stares up at him with big eyes. He smiles down at her and kisses her…and I’m wrapped in envy.

I want that, that…that…love.

I could have that.

I could.

But do I deserve it?





17





Sugar





The night of Eric’s party arrives the next week and I’m getting ready, my mind already on Z. I’ve seen him a couple of times since the Tipsy Moose, but it’s been brief. We met in the student center for lunch one day, and he took more pictures of us and posted them to his social media. “This will keep the girls away,” he said with a smile, but I knew they wouldn’t. He’s the kind of guy girls will crawl on the floor to be with. As we were leaving that day, me off to the library and him to hockey, Reece and Veronica showed up and Z visibly stiffened, his entire demeanor changing. There’s a weird energy when they’re around, and it pricks at me, makes me wonder what the backstory is there.

Don’t get your heart broken, Sugar.

Poppy eyes me critically, her lips spreading into a wide grin as she takes in my figure in the dress I picked out to wear. The color is a deep merlot, silky and stunning and clingy, and of course, it came from her closet. She’s two inches shorter than me and a size smaller across the boobs, but because it’s a halter dress that ties around the neck, we had some leeway. She claps, her face filled with glee. “I wish I had your boobs.”

“No, you don’t. Have you seen me try to jog? Scary.”

She tugs her cardigan around her slim shoulders. “I’m flatter than a pancake. I would die to shake those things in some guy’s face and watch him melt…”

“You’re beautiful, Poppy!” And she is with her shiny, dark, almost black hair and blue eyes.

She shrugs. “Meh.”

I grimace as I look at my reflection. “This dress is as subtle as a freight train. It practically screams look at me.”

“No, that’s the shoes,” she says with a grin.

We glance down at the strappy gold two-inch heels. They match the delicate gold necklace with a glittering rectangular quartz pendant around my neck. My toenails are painted a wine color and my fingernails match, all thanks to Taylor. I huff out a laugh as I look at my long legs in these heels. “I’ll be taller than all the girls and some of the dudes.”

“So? Hockey guys are huge. It’s perfect.”

The deep V of the neckline falls far enough to reveal my considerable cleavage, and I tug at it until she pops my hands. “Just leave it. You look like a siren.”

I twirl around. “If I bend over, my ass is going to show.”

“Don’t bend over.”

“Or do bend over,” Taylor says slyly from his spot on my bed. “Get you a little something when no one is looking.”

I shake my head at them both.

Taylor applies a thin coat of mascara to his lashes, snaps the mirror closed, and gives me a long look. “Honestly, I know you hate dresses, but you look good enough to eat.”

“It’s because I’m so dang tall. Nothing looks right on me, so I just stick with leggings or skinny jeans.”

“Leggings should be outlawed. Just wait until you get that law degree and get a nice job—then you can get your dresses tailored.”

Poppy plops down in the beanbag chair underneath my window, crossing her legs in the air and swishing her feet back and forth. She sends a disdainful look around my dorm room. “I feel horrible you have to live here. I would have loved to be your roomie, but we all assumed you and Bennett…” She shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Where is Julia anyway?” Taylor asks.

“I rarely see her so I assume she’s staying over with someone.”

I touch my hair, which I curled into soft beach waves that brush against my shoulders. My eyes are accentuated with shimmering grey shadow, and the lids are lined in black eyeliner. I inhale a deep breath.

“I’m nervous,” I say, putting on more Bad Girl wine-colored lipstick.

“What’s one party? Just picture yourself in law school next fall, learning all that lawyery stuff,” Taylor says.

“Those classes will be hard, I assure you.”

He waves me off. “Why, you’ll be just like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. All you need is a cute little puppy and a friend who’s a manicurist to teach you how to bend and snap.” He stands and demonstrates. “Bend and snap! See? Easy peasy.”