Page 115 of Spring Tide

Tears well up in the corners of my eyes. “So, to be clear, you’re breaking up with me right now?”

He stares at the floor, voice dropped to a volume that’s barely audible, yet somehow, it still pierces my ears. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I am.”

“Wow.” A single tear slips free, trailing down the bridge of my nose and silently dripping onto the floor between us. “I really don’t know to make you believe that I’m in love with you. And I’m certainly not going to beg you to love me back. You want to deal with things your own way,alone, then be my guest.”

I gather up my clothes, my shoes, and my purse, slipping my pants on under his T-shirt. Reaching for the door to his bedroom, I spare him one last glance. “I really hope everything works out for you in the end.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel and slip out of the room, the silent tears streaming down my face. As I scramble down the hallway, poised to leave, the sound of Luca calling out my name rings heavy in the stale air.

But no matter how much I might want to, I can’t bring myself to turn around and face him again. There’s nothing left inside of me for him to break. So instead, I continue on, walking myself right on out of Luca’s life.

Just like he fucking asked me to.

34

LUCA

Since entering high school,I can count the number of times I’ve cried on one hand.

The first time, I was fourteen years old, a freshman who had barely made it onto the varsity football team. I was trying to be impressive in the weight room, but I ended up dropping an eighty-five-pound dumbbell on my foot. I think three whole tears leaked out.

The second time was the spring of my senior year. I had just been accepted at Dayton University, but then I lost out on a full-ride scholarship. I tried so fucking hard, but in the end, I couldn’t come up with enough money for the deposit in time. Back then, I let one solid tear roll all the way down my cheek.

The third and final time was this morning, about thirty seconds after I made the biggest fucking mistake of my life.

Watching Harper walk away obliterated me. The only thing that made it worse is that I pushed her to do it myself. It’s my own fucking fault for getting so wrapped up inside my head, for treating her like garbage, and for telling her I needed space.

Space. God, I fucking hate that word.

I should’ve never said the things I said, spoken to her the way I did. It hit me like a freight train the second after she left. I called for her, but she didn’t turn back. She kept on walking straight out of my house, out of my life, and I can’t blame her for that.

I panicked, and I fucked up. Majorly.

It’s not a valid excuse, but in that moment, the only thing I could think about was my future blowing up in my face. The detonation of everything I’ve worked for my entire life. What I should’ve kept in mind is that Harper could’ve been my future, too. Now, I’m not so sure I have enough words to earn her forgiveness.

Since then—after six hours of wallowing in my own pit of despair—I’ve managed to inject my brain with a sense of rationality. Harper’s tears were like a brutal wake-up call for me. It’s near torture, but I’ve been replaying her words on a never-ending loop inside my head. And the conclusion I’ve finally come to is that she was right about everything.

Of course she fucking was.

I don’t know what I was thinking trying to hide this at the end of our season. It’s become more than evident that I need to speak to my coach and figure out a plan moving forward—sooner rather than later.

But first, I need to try and beg for my girlfriend’s forgiveness. Even if she never takes me back, I won’t be able to get my head on straight until I apologize.

If I ever have to relive the pain of breaking her heart—of shattering her spirit into pieces like that—I might as well never play football again. Nothing could hurt me worse, which is why I had Taylor drop me off in front of her apartment just now.

I can’t let myself go another minute without trying to make amends.

Leaning on my crutches for support, I raise one weary hand to knock on her front door. After railing on me for ten straight minutes, Taylor made me practice what I planned to say on the ride over. Now, I’m afraid I’m too fucking nervous to remember a single word of it.

When Stella opens the door and first catches sight of me, her expression slips into a nasty frown, arms folded tightly across her chest. She taps one foot, impatient as she asks, “What do you want?”

I choke back the lump in my throat. “Is Harper home?”

“She’s here,” Stella murmurs, fire in her eyes. “But I’m not so sure she’s gonna want to see you. You know I had to pick her up outside of your house earlier, right?”

“Fuck, I know. I just want to tell her how fucking sorry I am.” I stare past her, blowing out a shaky breath as I hope for a glimpse of my girl. “That’s all.”

“Let me go check with her first.” She jabs a finger right in the center of my chest, lips pressed into a flat line. “Do not step inside this apartment until I come back, okay?”

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