Page 87 of The Breakaway

Twenty-Eight

Shar,

Not sure if you’re okay with me calling you that, but that’s probably going to be the least offensive thing you read in the next five minutes, so here goes.

You asked me what you did to make me “think that” about you. I have to say, I lied to you while we were cleaning. I did remember that day. I remember what I said to Logan, and I remember you walking up to us. You looked pissed, so if you were trying to pretend you didn’t overhear, you did a shit job of it. Probably don’t go into acting.

Sorry, stalling. Because I really don’t want to admit this next part. I couldn’t say it while we were all still living at the house together, so let me tell you this part first. I’m moving out. When you come back from break, my stuff will be gone, and I’ll be living over at the bighouse. Living the dream. At least I didn’t choose Axel, so I won’t have to play foosball in that creepy ass basement.

I’m sorry it took so long for me to get out of your hair. I know you hated having a third wheel there.

Okay. Still stalling.

The truth is, I said those things to Logan because I hoped it would change his mind about you. I hoped he’d give up and focus on hockey instead of trying to make you his girlfriend. I don’t know why I thought that would work, but it was one of many strategies I tried in those early weeks.

Logan doesn’t know this, but the mix tape he gave you that night at the bonfire? I made it. I didn’t tell anyone. I’d been working on it for weeks, paying attention to your favourite songs, waiting until they played on the radio. I’d planned to give it to you weeks before the invitational. Since midterms that semester. But we hadn’t talked much, and I was too nervous. So I put it in my bag and carried it around like a douche. It must have fallen out because the next I knew, Logan had given it to you that night.

I don’t blame him. He didn’t know whose it was and it already had your name on it. I didn’t know you had it till you moved in, and I heard the songs playing through the walls. At that point, what was I going to do? Youand Logan were living together. You’d been with him for six months. I didn’t want to be, like you so aptly put it, an asshole.

But that brings me to your second question. Why can’t we be friends?

You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve already figured that out by now, but just in case, let me spell it out for you:

I love you.

I’m in love with you.

I have been since September of that first semester with the Outlaws. Watching Logan with you was never bearable, but I managed. I worked out. Skated harder. Avoided after parties and that damn stairwell next to the locker room.

Until you moved in. I’ve been looking for housing since that first day, and yes. I acted like an ass. Because every day of my life I had to watch you touching him and laughing with him. It felt like my heart was being thrown in a blender every damn morning.

I had to try and sleep listening to your soft voices in the other room. That nearly drove me insane, by the way. It’s why I took that janitorial job. I could be gone at night. Didn’t have to obsess over what he was doing with you behind that door.

And trust me. I obsessed.

So. Kind of a weird note to end this on, but there’s not much more to say. Now you have your answers, and hopefully you understand why I had to wait.

I get that you love him. I hate it. But I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. Not for one second.

I hate when I see him take you for granted. I hate when he buys you shit like bracelets because he doesn’t know you hate wearing things on your wrists. I hate that he’s never gone to one of your concerts. I hate that he left you alone over the holidays. I hate what that Montana ass muncher tried with you in the courtyard, and I hate that you wake up scared in the middle of the night.

I hate that it’s Logan’s arms around you. His lips on your skin. His hands on your body.

Most of all, I hate myself for waiting too damn long to say all of this.

Merry Christmas,

Rob

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

I buriedmy face in my pillow, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. Not surprisingly, I slept like absolute shit. After I refolded the letter and licked the envelope to make it stuck again, I set it back in place on the countertop. Then I tossed and turned all night.

Now it was past ten in the morning. My palms were clammy, and I smelled like stress sweat.

Think.

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