Page 92 of Hidden Goal

I shrug. “After the third call and the fifth text, I turned my phone off.”

Her lack of response somehow speaks louder than anything she could say. “What, you're not on the Noah train anymore? Not going to tell me to call him back?”

“Do you want to?”

What I want is to understand why all of my feelings for him didn’t stay at the restaurant the second I ran. I’ve spent the last two days replaying every laugh, every vulnerable moment, and everything in between. When I decide I’m done with someone, that’s it. I walk away and never look back. But walking away from Noah doesn’t feel freeing in the way it’s supposed to. It feels painfully unfinished. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the hold around my heart is tighter. There’s an ache in the center of my chest that I fear no amount of rubbing can cure. It’s a pain I recognize. It’s the kind of pain that you only experience when you lose someone you love.

Chloe hands me a tissue and I inhale a shaky breath, sinking further into the couch. How did I let myself fall in love with someone that I swore would never even get a shot with me? Emotions clog the back of my throat, making it difficult to breathe, and I focus on the soft rub of Chloe’s hand over my legs.

After a few minutes, my chest still aches, but I refuse to stay on this couch and wallow any longer. I crack my knuckles, filling the silence. The longer I sit here, the redder my vision becomes. I might be on the path to forgetting Noah, but there’s still someone I can take out some anger on.

And I’m a girl who needs to deliver a verbal ass-whooping right now.

I pull up outside the Redline Arena, and my boots hit the pavement on a mission. I don’t stop for a polite smile when I see the cleaning crew, and I sure as fuck don’t stop to return Maverick’s high five as I bulldoze my way past him.

“Sass!” He calls out behind me, but I don’t stop. “Hey.” He catches up to me in two long strides. “He’s not there. He got sent home yesterday.”

“Well, your first mistake was thinking I was here looking forhim.”

“Come on, Sassafras.” I look up at the guy I’ve begrudgingly started to like. His lime-green gum sits between his perfect row of straight, white teeth, and his cocky grin never falters. “He’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

Two days worth of unanswered texts and fifteen calls that went straight to voicemail told me that, but I’m choosing to bail before he can cut me out. I don’t need to hear it.

“Well, you can tell him that you saw me and that I’m alive if you want. Or not.” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter to me. We’re done.” I turn my head, not trusting myself to stay composed in front of him.

“Aw, come on. Cut him a little slack.” His hand wraps around my elbow.

“I gave him more slack than I’ve ever given anyone, and you know what he did? He hung me with it.” I hit my chest with my finger, hoping to cut off the cracking in my voice. “If he’s so desperate to talk to me, he knows where to find me, but my guess is he doesn’t have the balls to do what he needs to do to my face.” I sniff and twist my mouth, more upset now that I just laid myself out in front of him.

Maverick stares at me, his brow furrowing.

“Look, for reasons I can’t explain, I like you, Hall. So, dous both a favor and let go of my arm so I can leave before I say some shit that I can’t take back.”

He holds his hands up and takes a step back.

At least I have some humanity left in me. When I look at his defeated face, my throat burns and I fight back tears.

“Peanut!” My dad beams before he notices my scowl. “Well, this doesn’t look like a happy visit.”

He motions for me to sit in the seat across his desk, but I’m too pissed and too wired to sit still.

Nothing makes sense inside my head right now. It’s just a wild field of hurt feelings and pent up anger.

“Did you call Shelly from the rugby department?” I yell, skipping the pleasantries.

He drops his gaze to his desk, at least having the decency to look ashamed. “Look, Pea?—”

“Don’t ‘peanut’ me!” I scold. “Did you call her and play Geppetto, pulling all your little strings to get me that job?”

When he looks up, his eyes are pleading with me, and I know the answer.

“I was only trying to help,” he says. “Is there a reason you didn’t want to tell me?”

“Because of this!” I throw both arms toward him. “You think I want an internship that I didn’t earn? You think I want to show up somewhere every single day and wonder if someone else was better for the spot, but I got it because of who my dad is? How can I sit here and torch everyone who has ever used me because they wanted something from you and then turn around and use you to get what I want?”

His expression hardens. “Who has used you?”

A resigned sigh fills the room as I dig my palms into my eyes and drop into the leather chair across from him. My first time visiting the campus arena was this semester. I've never been inside my dad’s office, but there's a lingeringscent in the chair that immediately calms the dragon inside me.

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