“You’re my boyfriend and I love you. I will see you as much as I possibly can, but you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m hearing him out. That’s all.”
“You have a big heart, Stas,” I mumble, pulling her body back to mine, instantly feeling better now she’s back in my arms. “I don’t want him to break it, more than he already has. I don’t trust him, but I trust you and your judgment. I’ll be there for you whatever you decide.”
She drifts off to sleep quickly, and I listen to the soft sound of her breaths, letting them soothe me as much as they can. It doesn’t work and I fall asleep thinking about how much I absolutely do not trust Aaron Carlisle.
* * *
The smellof fresh flowers is overpowering every single one of my senses, and I’m itching to get back in my car. The florist is taking her sweet-ass time wrapping up the peonies I picked out, and I’m painfully aware of JJ milling around behind me, mumbling to himself. “What’re you grunting about?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I want a hot guy to buy me flowers.”
I stare at him, waiting for his signature smirk to break, to know he’s joking. “You’re serious?”
“I’m just saying, flowers would be nice, y’know? The people I date always expect me to buy them flowers. It’s always, ‘JJ, wow, your dick is so big,’ or ‘you’re so smart,’ or ‘JJ, that was the best sex of my life.’ It’s never, ‘JJ, I bought you some flowers.’ Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He kicks at something invisible with his foot and wanders off to look at some sunflowers.
When I turn back to the florist, she’s stopped working to listen to JJ’s flower tragedy too. I’m shaking my head as I reach into my pocket for more money. “Can I make it two bouquets, please?”
I still have the sickly sweet floral smell stuck up my nose on the drive back home. JJ has a shit-eating grin on his face as he clings to his light blue peonies, Anastasia’s pink ones resting between his knees to prevent them from getting damaged.
Manipulative little shit.
I’d love to say my desire to buy my girlfriend flowers is only because I love her, but if I’m honest, they’re guilt flowers.
Beautiful, expensive guilt flowers.
I don’t like how I talked to her last night, and while I apologized and I regretted what I said immediately, in my head I wanted to say a whole lot worse.
I wanted to shake her and remind her of all the horrible things Aaron has said to her, all the ways he’s made her feel awful. Make her see exactly why he should be in our lives as little as possible.
But that’s not fair because she knows. I’ve held her while she sobbed over his words; she knows exactly why she should stay away from him. I can’t pretend there isn’t a huge chunk of me that simply doesn’t want to share her with him.
Skating with her basically every day for six weeks has spoiled me. Waking up beside her, cooking with her, even down to working out and studying with her has spoiled me.
What if she makes up with Aaron and she doesn’t need me?
I want to build a life with her—one that’ll exist when Maple Hills is a memory—so this feels like we’re about to go backward. Every instinct is telling me to cling to her, interfere, protect her, but I know it isn’t right. I won’t be that guy; I won’t just cave to myself after Anastasia has worked so hard to work on herself. She deserves the best version of me, and that version trusts and supports his girlfriend.
He also buys her flowers when he’s a dick.
JJ and I went to see Coach Faulkner, and luckily, he was in great spirits. He always is after two weeks without us. He’s a family guy through and through, and despite how fucking terrifying he is, he’s a soft girl dad, so he loves having the holidays off with them.
He doesn’t talk about his girls much. Imogen and Thea are at least in their late teens now, but I’m too scared to ask—even if it’s to be polite.
Faulkner confirmed what Brinny said, which was both a relief and a stress. Aaron got a clean bill of health while he was back in Chicago for Christmas; Brady emailed him this morning to say everything will be back to normal tomorrow.
“Cheer the fuck up,” Coach demanded when I wasn’t as overjoyed as he was expecting. “If this is about that girl, Hawkins. I swear to God…”
“She’s my girlfriend, sir.”
He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Just what you needed in your senior year—a girlfriend. For the love of God, make sure you use protection. I mean it, for both of your sakes, wrap it up.”
JJ snorts beside me, until Faulkner spears him with one of his famous glares. “Don’t even get me started on you, Johal.”
FORTY-THREE | ANASTASIA
For the first time,I’m relieved to be waking up alone.
The conversation I had with Nate last night weighed heavily on my mind as I fought to sleep. When he nudged me this morning and said he was going to see Faulkner, I didn’t fight to keep him in bed.