Page 10 of Hold Me Closer
And yet, I've never been able to move on from the boy he used to be, either. I still dream about him. I still miss him. And I'm still mad as hell. Part of me—a big part—believes he chose football over me and just didn't have the nerve to tell me. Had he said that was his choice, I could respect it. But he didn't say that. He tried to act like he was doing it for me, like leaving me behind was for my own good.
He left me and claimed he did it for me. You don't quit on people you love. But he quit on me. Before he ever gave us a chance, he ran. And I just had to accept it. He didn't even tell me until he'd already made his choice. There was no changing his mind. There was no talking it out. He just…left. After seventeen years by my side, he walked away like it was so freaking easy for him.
And when I needed him most, he didn't even care enough to show up. I was drowning, and the only person I needed couldn't even pick up the phone. That's the part I can't forgive or forget.
I was never his first choice. I was just something to do until he had better options. As soon as they materialized, he dropped me and never looked back. I should be over that. I should be over him. Ihatethat I'm not.
"He got into another fight during his game tonight," Zoya says quietly.
"Don't," I warn her. "I don't want to hear it."
"Nadia, you can't ignore his existence forever."
"Just stop," I growl, spinning away from her. "Why can't you guys ever just leave it alone? This is why I never come home. Every single time I do, all I hear about is him!"
"That's not true," she says quietly.
"Yeah, it is." If it's not her talking about him, it's Mom and Dad, or Innessa, or his parents and siblings. He's freaking everywhere back home, steeped in every memory I have of the place. He haunts me. At least here, he isn't everywhere I look. At least, he wasn't until a few months ago when he was traded to the Sabres.
Now, my safe place feels a lot less safe. Los Angeles is plenty big enough for the both of us, but it feels miniscule with his face all over the place.
I'm mad as hell about it.
"If you came to talk about him, you can go," I mutter to my sister.
"You know that isn't why I came. I came because I miss you," she says.
The hurt in her voice makes me feel like a jerk. Hell, maybe I am one. I've been hurting the people I love for years, all because I can't move on from the boy I loved. It's messed up.I'mmessed up. And I can't even blame him for that because I did it to myself.
He broke us, but he tried to fix it. And I wouldn't let him. I was too damn hurt to be fixed. And then I had my accident, and everything fell apart. When he didn't show up, I was just…too far gone to reel myself back in. I've been drifting ever since, unanchored and unmoored. He was my anchor, my lighthouse. I never realized exactly how much he grounded me until he wasn't there to do it anymore.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Between the nightmares and anxiety and the flashbacks, I just…crumbled. I should have been packing for college. Instead, I was checking myself into aninpatient facility for PTSD treatment because I couldn't even get in a car without panicking.
He didn't show up then, either. And I've never been able to move past it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, wheeling around to face Zoya as guilt pricks at me. "I'm a jerk."
She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, giving me a tiny smile. "Maybe a little bit, but I love you anyway."
I fling my arms around her, squeezing her tightly. "You're my favorite slightly younger sister, you know that, right?"
"Damn straight I am," she laughs, resting her head against mine. "Now, please do me a favor and don't sing that damn song first? I want to dance out there. I can't dance if you make me remember that I'm mad at him, too."
"You're allowed to forgive him, you know," I whisper.
"So are you."
I swallow hard, glancing away when her eyes lock with mine. "He doesn't want my forgiveness, Zoya. He forgot about me a long damn time ago." I'm the only one still clinging to the past.
I doubt he ever even thinks of it at all.
An hour and ahalf later, beads of sweat roll down my back from the hot lights beating down on me as I shimmy across the stage, belting out the last few notes toGoodbye, Gone. The crowd is electric, their energy thrumming through the nightclub. Everyone is on their feet, dancing along.
My guitarist, Jareth Grayson, plays along as I hold the last note, slowly letting it fade. His note fades with mine, leaving an eerie moment of complete silence in the club before the crowd erupts into cheers.
I exhale a relieved breath, grinning from ear to ear. It's been a good night, better than I anticipated, given that most of what I gave them tonight was brand-new material. If their response is anything to go by, the new album is going to fly off the shelves.
"Thank y'all so much," I say when the crowd finally settles down. "I'll see you on tour in a few months, right?"
