Boyfriend Bargain(43)

I look down at it again, and my stomach turns. The truth batters at me, even as I try to deny it, but…her hair color, the length, the way our faces are shaped…my hands curl at my sides.

God. What is happening?

I’m falling down a deep, vast hole…

A bitter laugh flows out of her. “You can’t compete with her. You can’t be better than a dead girl. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

I let the photo fall to his bed, and I turn and make my way to the kitchen. I hear her behind me as she goes into Reece’s bedroom and shuts the door. Mission accomplished, I guess. She’s been dying to tell me this since she first saw me, and now…

I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, my heart pounding like crazy, trying to piece it all together when the front door opens and Eric, Reece, and Z come in with long faces.

“Ah, my favorite blonde—just the welcome home I need,” Eric says, making a joke that comes off as forced. He jumps ahead of Z teasingly, gives me a quick hug, and then steps back, giving me a quizzical look. “Hey, we’re the ones in a shitty mood. What’s your excuse, babe?”

Z’s at my side, easing me away from Eric. A furrow knits his brow as he stares down at me. He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong? Did something scare you?”

I wonder what my face must look like.

“Veronica’s in Reece’s room,” I say, swallowing. “But when I got here, she followed me to your room and told me—” I stop myself. I can’t do this in front of Reece and Eric.

Z gives Reece a dark look. “Can’t you control her?”

“Fuck you,” Reece mutters as he drops his duffle and heads back to his room.

Eric is digging into the donuts I put on the table, and Z turns to me and presses his forehead against mine, a needy look on his face, his gaze drinking me in. “Forget them. I missed you so much. What a fucking mess today was. Stan saw everything.”

“Nothing physical going on?” I run my gaze over him, checking for other injuries. My hands want to touch him, but I don’t. I’m barely breathing. I’m barely anything.

“I’m good.”

A long breath comes from me.

Okay. He is okay. I can see it for myself.

I try to put a few inches between us, but he doesn’t let me, tugging me back until his body is flush against mine. “Hey you, don’t run away. I’ve been thinking about you the whole way home,” he says in my ear, his nose trailing down my neck. “You smell so good.”

“Gross. Your room is just down the hall,” Eric says with a donut in his mouth.

I move back a bit, keeping my gaze down. “Uh, I just came to bring the donuts.”

Z gives me a hard look and frowns, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?”

I stare at the floor for a few more seconds then look back at him and shake my head. “I can’t…”

Eric raises a brow at us and takes off for the den. “Later, sexy people.” I hear him turning on the TV.

Z hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

I move to the table, where I grab the back of a chair. I’m swaying, as weak as a reed in the face of a hurricane.

“Sugar? What the fuck?”

I dig down deep for strength. “I saw the picture of Willow you keep in your nightstand. You never mentioned how much we resemble each other.” I’m amazed at the calmness in my voice.

Maybe I’m just numb. Maybe I always expected the axe to fall on us eventually. I think about Mama and her face all the times she’d cry and tell me my father was once again gone back to his family. Is that what my face looks like now? Devastated and broken?

His chest expands, and he looks at me before stalking by and going into his room, but I don’t follow. I hear him moving stuff around, slamming a drawer, and then he comes back into the kitchen. “You went through my things?”

“You think I went through your things? Screw you.”

I turn to the sink to fill a glass to settle my stomach, but water goes everywhere as my hand shakes. I set it back down on the counter then turn to face him. He’s dropped into a chair and scrubs at his hair, a hesitant, almost frightened look on his face.

“This…this isn’t what it looks like.”

My hands clench. “It looks like you picked me out at that party because of Willow. It looks like you’re with me because I look like her.” I think back to the photo, the eerie resemblance. I want the floor to swallow me whole.

He doesn’t say anything for so long, until I want to scream to get a reaction out of him. “Z, I look like her! Just admit it, please!”

“Yes,” he whispers.

My heart drops as I take that blow. “And you could have told me at any time about the resemblance, but you didn’t. We’ve been together since January and you never told me.”

A thick silence fills the room. He swallows and looks away. “I started to a few times, but it never felt right—”

“You knew how this would end.” I shake my head.

He whitens. “I was going to tell you eventually…”

“When?”

“After hockey…shit, I don’t know. I was afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to screw us up…” He bites his lip, chewing on it.

I laugh harshly and press my hand to my lips. “And this is why Reece doesn’t like me.” I close my eyes then open them when I hear Z scooting the chair back. He approaches me, and I step around him, because if he touches me, I might not be able to think. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

He halts and runs a hand through his hair, pulling on it. “You’re… It’s not like that. You are not her. I want you.”

“So you weren’t thinking about her? Ever? How about ‘I love you. Forever.’ Sound familiar? How about ‘If you were here, my whole life would be different’? You wrote that in a letter one week ago.”

His throat bobs. Good, good. I want him upset. He reaches out to cup my face, but I jerk away. “Stop.”

He sucks in a breath. “Please, whatever you’re thinking, just stop for a minute and let me explain, Sugar.”

I grit my teeth. He can’t see the forest for the trees. He doesn’t see what’s wrong about this. Or he does, but he isn’t ready to admit it. He’s lost, still in love with a dead girl, and I can’t help him.

I move toward the door but his voice stops me, pleading. “Please don’t leave.”

I face him. “You can’t build a relationship on a lie,” I say quietly, regaining some control, because I have to get the words out. I have to. “You’re just like every guy who’s broken my heart, Z. At least with Bennett, it was a girl I could see, but you…you picked someone I can never, ever compare to. You deliberately left me in the dark and now here we are—at the fucking end.”

His face reddens and his hands curl. “No, not the end. I refuse to let you go. Don’t walk out on me, Sugar. Not now, not when I’m already losing my shit. Please.”

“Goodbye, Z.” My voice cracks and I’m out the door and running to my car.





34





Zack





She walks out the door and I don’t follow her. I can’t. I’m shaking and this feeling of despair might just swallow me whole.

Goodbye, Z. Goodbye.

No, no, no. I plop my ass back down on a kitchen chair and take deep breaths, in and out. This can’t be fucking happening.

She can’t leave me now. I care too much.

I need her. I need her. I need her.

I lay my head down on my folded arms on the table and struggle to get a grip, to stop the pull of anguish that wants to drag me under.

A few ticks later, I hear Eric behind me, although I don’t know when he came back into the kitchen. There’s no doubt he heard most of that. I rise up and look at him, watching as he pulls a bottle of Tito’s from the cabinet and pours himself a drink.

“Make me one,” I say, my voice hoarse.

He shoots me a look but fulfills my request and sets the glass in front of me. He takes a seat on the other side of the table, a frown deeply lining his brow.

“Thanks.” I take a sip, feeling the burn.

“Sugar and your dead girlfriend? What the hell?”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “She left.” That’s not the answer to his question, but fuck, I can’t think.

“She did, and…” He pauses. “And I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this. I’m your best friend, but you haven’t said a word about a resemblance.”

I slam back the rest of the vodka, the taste bitter. “When have you known me to talk about my feelings?”

He watches me. “You okay, man?”

No. “Yeah.” I rub my face briskly. “I…just need to…” I can’t even finish it before my chest is heaving and I’m up and pacing around the room.

She walked out so easily.

“You adore Sugar, right?” He sounds a little angry.

I march over to the counter and pour another drink, emptying the bottle. I turn the glass up, embracing the burn. “How much of this shit do we have?” I ask, tossing the empty bottle in the trash.

He snatches another bottle from the cabinet, another brand—not that I care—and puts it down in front of me. “Be careful with this stuff, man. You’re not a drinker and I’m not sure where you are right now.”