Page 44 of Aim for Love

My friends won’t stop bugging me about how I’ve “gone local” or whatever, like this town and Hunter have sucked me into some kind of parallel universe without my own volition. I can handle my friends’ concerns. We’ll soon be separated by time and geography and they will forget to worry about me.

Most of the other people from the tour are here, even the younger guys I’ve tried to avoid on every outing. They’re mostly keeping to themselves tonight, so maybe they finally got the message I’m not interested. Tyler and Zoe came to the tournament, along with Tom. There’s no Scott. I’m worried about the way Hunter is holding my dumb decision against his friend. He shuts me out when I bring it up, and there’s no way to ask about it privately in front of all the people readying for the tournament.

For now, I’m annoyed that Nora and Sophie are somehow better at axe-throwing than me. Me, the person who’s invested actual time in learning!

Well, Nora used to play baseball and Sophie grew up playing soccer, so those things might have helped them build the muscle memory Hunter’s always talking about.

I try to comfort myself with logic as I watch them throw and hit the target every time.

We’re playing a round robin bracket, so even when I’m terrible, I don’t get knocked out. It was Hunter’s idea and I wonder if it was for my sake.

By the second round of matches, it’s obvious that I’m in last place. By a lot.

“You don’t have to keep throwing,” Sophie tells me. “We’d all understand.” Her sympathy makes me want to prove that Icando this. If I keeptrying, surely I’ll get a different result.

“No, want to,” I insist. I’ve had more beer than I intended due to self-pity and I’m a little woozy when I stand to take my turn. I grab the table.

“Seriously, Mollie,” Nora says. “Why don’t you sit this one out.”

I glare at her. “I candoit. I’ve been practicing.”

“You’re only doing it forhim,” Nora hisses, like everyone’s not standing right there, close enough to hear even a low comment.

I’m afraid to look, but out of the corner of my eye, I sense Hunter jerk away. Like he doesn’t want to be involved in this at all.

“That’s not true,” I say, my eyes prickling.Oh no. I can’t drunk cry right now. Not because nothing is going the way I want, despite my best efforts. Not because Hunter thinks I only do things because other people want me to. It’s not true. It can’t be.

“You’d never even thought of axe throwing before and now you’re like a groupie,” Nora replies. She glances around at everyone looking and looks a little regretful. “Sorry, it’s true. This isn’t you. It’s him.”

Hunter walks away. He leaves the group, grabs his jacket, and exits the venue.

“Nora!” I grit out. “You’re the one who wanted me tofind my thingthis week. And now you’re angry I’m doing something you wouldn’t do?”

“I wanted you to find yourself, not find a bandwagon to hop onto,” Nora says stubbornly.

Sophie puts her hand on our friend’s shoulder. “Nora…”

The rest of the group is dispersing, finding this heated argument more awkward than expected. Someone grabs the empty beer pitchers and walks away with them. A few people go back to axe-throwing. I hope someone went after Hunter.

Nora isn’t done. “Do you even like him or are you just unhappy?”

Glaring at her so hard a twinge of a headache starts behind my eyes, I bite my tongue. Because I know she’s wrong, and I can’t articulate why. Sure, Hunter prompted my self-reflection. And he’s on my list of things I want. But there’s a lot more on it. Things that connect, that form a vague outline of the life I want. I can’t see it clearly yet. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard and I’m worried no matter how much effort I put in, it will be like axe-throwing and I’ll never get what I want.

“Iamunhappy,” I say, and start to cry. “Why are you trying to take some happiness away from me?”

“Oh…” Nora and Sophie both surround me, hugging me tightly in a friend sandwich.

“We don’t want you to make decisions while you’re unhappy that mess up the rest of your life,” Sophie says softly.

“I’m trying to make the rest of my life better,” I sniffle. “It’s not abouthim. It’s about me.”

“OK, boo,” Nora says, resting her chin on the top of my much shorter head. “I’m sorry. I should have listened more instead of going off like that.”

They let me sniffle softly for a few more minutes, and then Nora—being Nora—can’t help herself. She makes her point.

“You should still break up with him and come home,” she adds. “I’m not wrong about that. You need some distance.”

I wipe my nose on her shirt in response.

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