Page 77 of The Girlfriend Goal
"There is no Rachel and you," I said, stepping closer. "There's just you not listening when she tells you to leave her alone."
"Lance," Rachel warned softly.
"Interesting," Brad said, looking between us again. "Very interesting. Tell me, exactly what kind of 'project' has you so protective of my ex?"
"The kind that's none of your business," I shot back.
"Everything about Rachel is my business," Brad said, and the possessiveness in his voice made my hands fist. "We have history. The kind that doesn't just disappear because she wants to play hard to get."
"I'm standing right here," Rachel snapped. "And I'm not playing anything. We're done, Brad. We've been done. Accept it and move on."
"See, that's where you're wrong." Brad smiled, all teeth. "I'm back for good. Plenty of time to remind you what you're missing."
He looked at me then, and I recognized the challenge in his eyes.
"We're leaving," she said firmly, tugging me backward. "Brad, don't contact me again."
"We'll see," he called after us. "Plenty of time to change your mind."
Rachel dragged me out of the venue and didn't stop until we were halfway across campus. When she finally released my arm, I could see her hands shaking.
"How long have you known?" She whirled on me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How long have you known he was coming here?"
"Hey." I caught her shoulders gently. "Look at me. He doesn't matter."
"God, Lance, you don't understand what he's like. How he gets in your head. Makes you doubt everything about yourself."
"Then tell me," I urged. "Help me understand."
She looked around, then nodded toward a nearby bench. We sat, and she tucked herself against my side like she was seeking shelter.
"It started small," she began. "Little comments about my schedule, how I prioritized soccer over us. Suggestions that became arguments that became ultimatums. He had this way of making everything my fault. If I missed his game for practice, I was selfish. If I studied instead of hanging out, I didn't care about him."
I stayed quiet, letting her talk while fury built in my chest.
"He isolated me from my teammates. Convinced me they were jealous, that they didn't really support me. By the end, he was all I had, and he knew it. Used it." She laughed bitterly. "The night before my biggest game junior year, he picked a huge fight because I wanted to get sleep instead of going to his frat party. Kept me up until 4 AM alternating between calling me selfish and begging me to forgive him for getting upset."
"God, Rachel."
"I played terribly. We lost. And somehow he made that my fault too—if I'd just gone to the party like he wanted, Iwouldn't have been stressed, wouldn't have let my team down." She shook her head. "It took Jared’s intervention and him literally sitting me down with a therapist to realize what was happening. That's how far gone I was."
"He's not getting near you again," I said fiercely.
"You can't protect me from him," she interrupted gently. "That's not how Brad works. He's too smart for outright threats or violence. He'll be charming and reasonable and make me look crazy if I complain. He'll show up at my games, my classes, always with plausible reasons. He'll text just enough to stay on my mind but not enough to be harassment."
"Then what do we do?"
She looked at me then, something vulnerable in her eyes. "We?"
"Yeah, we," I said firmly. "You think I'm letting you deal with this alone?"
"We're supposed to be taking things slow," she reminded me.
"Fuck slow," I said. "This is more important than our timeline. You're more important."
Her eyes filled with tears she'd been holding back. "I can't do this again, Lance. I can't let him get in my head. Not when I'm so close to everything I've worked for."
"Then don't let him," I said simply. "He only has power if you give it to him."
