"I told them they sucked as parents," I continue. Jax's eyes widen even further, and his jaw drops open. "I told them they need to get over themselves and get over the idea that only certain careers are socially acceptable. I tried to explain that I love this sport, and that I'm really good at it, and that they should love me enough to support me even if they don't understand that." I swallow the hurt that tries to make an appearance with the final piece of the memory. "I told them I don't want to talk to them until they can do that."
Jax winces as he puts the pieces of the puzzle together. "I assume they haven't called, then." When I nod in confirmation, he goes back to arranging his ingredients on the kitchen counter, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm glad. It's long overdue that they hear the truth about how badly they've treated you. You did the right thing." He hesitates before looking over at me. "You know that, right? You did the right thing."
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. I know Jax is right, but the knowledge still makes my chest feel hollow. "I know," I say softly. I take a deep, stuttering breath. "It just sucks."
Jax nods in understanding. "I don't know about your dad, since he might be too far gone into his bullshit by now, but your mom will come around. She's not a bad person, Tristan. She'll figure it out. Just give them some time."
His words are so close to Remy's that the sudden, piercing reminder makes me suck in a sharp breath. I take short, shallow gulps of air as my heart rate begins to increase. I try to distract myself by returning to the eggs cooking in the skillet.
Of course, Jax notices the change in my behavior. I can't see how hard he's analyzing me right now, but I can sense his hesitation. He's trying to decide if this is the time he needs to push me, or if he should back off.
I can't decide which I want him to do, either.
"That's not all, is it?" he finally asks softly. As soon as he asks, I realize I wish he hadn't opened that door.
But even I can admit a partial truth. "No, it's not. But the rest of it I just need to get over. Nothing worth talking about."
He nods, and for a second it appears like he won't push further, even though I can tell he wants the last word. In the end he can't stop from taking it. "Maybe you don't need to get over it," he mumbles before busying himself with the prep work in front of him.
I stiffen at his words. I haven't been able to tell if he's figured out that my mood has to do with his best friend. Something obviously happened while he was gone, but at the same time I doubt Remy is moping in a corner somewhere. So Jax technically only has the timing and my change in mood to go on.
But he's also the most observant fucker I know. And something about his words just now makes me think he knows more than even I do. I sneak a glance at where he's cutting up some vegetables.
Maybe you don't need to get over it.
Does that mean I can still salvage this thing with Remy? She made it pretty clear when she left that she had only been interested in me for sex. In that aspect she was obviously into me—you can't fake the kind of physical connection we had. But is it possible she wants more than that? Why would she say what she did if she wanted more?
I shake the tempting thoughts from my head. I can't bring myself to really hope that Remy has feelings for me. If I do, and it turns out that she's telling the truth about only wanting me for sex, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Even now I'm only barely staying above water because I'm stuck in a place where I know I felt something between us, but I'm also not 100% certain she wasn’t just using me for my dick. I'm trying not to crash and burn but also trying to limit hope.
I once again swallow every emotion swirling around in my heart and go back to faking my normal, stoic self.
* * *
Another week goes by without seeing Remy. Eventually, I'm able to stop myself from checking the doorway every five minutes. My workouts are just as hard, I'm just as exhausted, and I'm even more confused than I was in the beginning.
Part of me is beginning to wonder if those ten days even happened. Did I misread the situation so badly that I made up everything that I thought we felt while Remy was living in the house? It would explain how easily she was able to shove me under the rug and forget I exist.
But the hole in my heart is still there, and it still aches. I still can't see a short brunette on the street without my breath catching. I still can't look at Jax's room—or sometimes even my own—without remembering Remy's presence in the house. I still can't wake up without a stab of pain that she's not there with me.
It's Friday afternoon and I'm finishing up my last private lesson of the day. I have another hour before open mat starts where I’ll oversee the students that want to come in and train on their own. I decide to use the time the same way I've been using any free hour the past few weeks: I throw myself into a workout.
Within minutes my gloves are laced up and I'm pounding on the heavy bag. The sound of my fists hitting the leather reverberate through the room, though it’s not loud enough to drown out my chaotic thoughts.
The harder I hit, the more the chaos in my head dulls. There's something so primal, so honest, about fighting that I've realized in the past few weeks that it's hard to feel sad while you're doing it. The only things you can feel are determination or anger. Or sheer numbness, if you're exhausted enough.
For the first time in weeks, my numbness melts to anger. Anger at these insane emotions that Remy stirred in me so suddenly. Anger at the confusion over our relationship—and lack thereof. Anger at the fact that I'm hung up on a woman that doesn't want me back.
How can it possibly feel this bad? We didn’t spendthatmuch time together. I shouldn’t be so depressed over her rejection or so obsessed with the thought of making her mine. I shouldn’t have reacted with anything but short-lived shock that she turned me down. How can wanting to explore the possibility of a relationship with someone cause this much of an ache in my body?
I realize with a shock that I'm in the same position that every girl that's ever wanted to date me was in—wanting more but getting rejected because the other person is only interested in sex. When I would break up with a girl, I thought I was only hurting her idea of our potential. I was just stopping the fairytale before it could get started and inevitably run off the tracks. It's not like I was letting them fall in love with me and then breaking up with them.
My eyes widen and I pull back from the punch I was about to throw.
It's... not possible.
I'm not that guy. That kind of thing doesn't happen to me—I’m too rational and too focused on my goals. It's impossible.
...isn't it?