“So you want war.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t, but I won’t tolerate this shit much longer. You can be sure of that.”
“I understand. Like I said, I’ll talk to them again.”
“When they get back from their party. Why didn’t you go with them?”
“It seems like I should’ve gone with them after all. I hoped… You hate me.”
“You said you hate me, or did you forget?”
“I don’t only hate you.”
“That inspires a lot of confidence.”
“It is what it is,” he says simply. “Since we aren’t getting anywhere, I’m gonna get going.”
“Have a few other girls to call up?” I ask even though I immediately regret the question because if he is going to have female companionship for the night, I doubt the chick will have the same hang up as I do and not jump into bed with him.
“Seriously?” he snaps, and he hangs up on me.
I probably deserved that.
* * *
The next day has me going to the library after lunch because I have a ton of research to do. It’s almost time for dinner by the time I leave the library, and I am exhausted. My brain hurts from all of the information I now have crammed into my head, and my entire body feels drained.
My feet drag, and I walk leisurely, not sure if I should head straight to the café or go to my room. There’s a very good chance that if I don’t go to the café now, then I won’t eat any dinner because I might just collapse on my bed and be dead to the world until morning.
Several students are entering the library. Most of them I don’t recognize, but one I do, and I duck my head and turn away, hoping he hasn’t seen me.
“Katie.”
I flinch and debate ignoring him, but that might make things worse, and at least he doesn’t sound angry with me anymore. I turn but can’t bring myself to smile. “Ace, how are you?”
“Have a study date.” He tilts his head toward the library.
“That surprises me. I would’ve thought all of your dates would include dinner, wine, candles…”
“I’m not a romantic.”
“No? I suppose with your being a big, bad quarterback that you don’t have to romance the ladies. They just fall in your lap.”
“Maybe that’s the case. Maybe not.” He flares his nostrils as he inhales deeply. “When your father always buys your mother presents to make up for his cheating on her and to try to assuage his guilt…”
“Fuck, Ace. I’m sorry.”
“At least once a week, he’ll come home with a bottle of wine or a jewelry box or expensive chocolates… As if that can make up for things. I don’t get it. He pushed for her to get a boob job, a nose job, a tuck here or whatever. He turned her into a doll. There’s nothing real about her, just like there’s nothing real about their relationship anymore. It’s pathetic.”
I blink a few times, uncertain if I’m shocked about what he’s telling me or if it’s because he’s sharing intimate details about his life that I never would’ve thought he would willingly share with me of all people.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s as if my father decided she wasn’t good enough for him after all.” Her shrugs. “And it’s not as if I’m good enough for my father either.”
“Why not?” I demand, indignant on his behalf. “You’re the star quarterback. You’re here on scholarship, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not like I’m the quarterback at Ohio State or Alabama. I’m not strong enough, not fast enough… If I make one mistake during a game, that’s all he harps on. It doesn’t matter if I throw five touchdown passes. If I have one interception, I suck.”