Page 83 of The Comeback Pact

A fissure opens in my chest. My insides start pulling apart. I have to separate what I feel from what is right. A part of me will always love Kenna, but love isn’t enough. Love brings hours upon hours in closets, and then years later, betrayal.

It’s better this way.

WestB: I guess so.

And that’s the moment I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

Kenna

Chlorine burns my nostrils.Drops of pool water hit my back and roll down.

A pang of loneliness smacks me. I’m in the rear of the visitors’ locker room, facing a wall of lockers, gripping my phone like I could choke it.

Fucking football players.

I should’ve known.

He turned his back on me so quick. So fucking quick. The worst part is, I didn’t even see it coming. Not with him. But I guess I should’ve because they’re all the same.

It’s over.

At least I know now.

His words from yesterday come back to haunt me. The way he’d cupped my cheeks… He stared at me like I was his everything.

I love you.

Well, he definitely doesn’t know what love is.

Two Hours Later…

Sydney clicks her glass with mine. We fought over the soundtrack of my “fuck him” party, but I won since I’m the belle of the ball.

I throw back a shot, setting the empty glass on the coffee table. “I really thought he was different,” I say for the umpteenth time.

It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, Sydney always answers the same way: “Me too. You sure he hasn’t called?”

I check my phone again. “Nothing.”

She frowns. “He had me fooled.”

“You and me both.”

“Aidan’s texted me, but I’m not responding in solidarity.”

I lift the empty shot class and make her click hers with mine again. I’m not usually a drown-my-sorrows-in-alcohol type of girl, but when Sydney suggested a “fuck him” party, I was all for it.

We turned off the TV and made a pact we wouldn’t get on any social media whatsoever and we would talk about nothing but what a dick West Brooks is.

The thing is, I can only think of things to say about what’s happened in the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours. It’s not like I have a whole laundry list of complaints. Other than selling me out to the media, everything was fine.

Not that selling me out is something I should gloss over.

I throw my head back and groan. “Who does that? Did he think I would be okay with it?”

Sydney nibbles her lip.

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