Page 7 of The Last Kind of Kiss
I’d rather not relive the gory details, so I give a pretty threadbare response. “Yeah.”
God, I feel sick. She hates me. A core-deep hatred that isn’t some cutesy enemies-to-lovers subplot. A core-deep hatred that she’ll probably hold against me until the day she dies because I, one, treated her like my girlfriend and then told her I didn’t want a relationship, and two, showed up at her audition and pretty much shoulder-checked my way back into her life.
Hayes drums his thumbs against the steering wheel, evidently unsure whether to give me space or coddle me. Usually I’m the one doing the consoling in my friend group. I’m the one who my hockey teammates come to for advice. I’m the levelheaded captain who knows best.
Right now, I’m far from it.
“Right. What did she say?” he follows up, his tone inflating with a softness that’s usually only reserved for his fiancée, Aeris.
“A lot of swear words.”
A loud laugh ricochets against the interior of his car, but upon my obvious lack of amusement, he clears his throat. “Sorry. Um. What else?”
“I mean, she pretty much suggested that I quit,” I say, despair throbbing deep in my belly, the weight of her supplication on haunting replay in my head—like the most abrasive-sounding record scratch in existence.
Hayes’ lips ruck into a frown, and while his sympathy is appreciated, all it seems to be doing is agitating the guilt lodged in the hollow cavern of my chest. “Bri, she can’t ask that of you. You earned this job just like she did.”
“I don’t care about the job, Hayes. I care about her. And if me being there upsets her this much, then maybe it’s for the best if I let someone else take my place.”
“You were the one who ended things, remember? You can’t keep reshaping your life around a girl who doesn’t want to fit into it anymore.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” I yell at him, waving thosewords around like a loaded pistol and not caring who the barrel’s aimed at.
Hayes slams on the brakes, sends me flying into the glove compartment, and makes a sharp left turn into some abandoned parking lot. I groan and bounce back against the seat as he pulls the car diagonally across a parking space, kills the engine, then flicks off the headlights.
“It is what you’re doing,” he says in a much calmer voice. “I’m just trying to help you. You’ve been there when I’ve needed you, and for once in your life, you’re actually struggling to fix one of your—very rare—mistakes. Now I get to be here for you. I can’t just sit by and watch you destroy your life like this.”
“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” I grumble.
“This campaign is a huge deal for you—for the Reapers. Think of the exposure it would bring to the team. Quitting would be a mistake. Besides, would you really rather have some NBA star taking your place and getting all cozy with your ex?”
Ugh. Not that it’s any of my business, but no, I wouldnotlike that. In fact, I like that so little that sticking my dick in a blender would be more joyful. Yes, this campaign could be huge exposure for the team. Yes, I’m still protective of Lila, even though we’re not together anymore. Yes, Hayes is annoyingly right and I’m one ill-advised decision away from shaving off all my hair during a public meltdown. It’s been a year. A YEAR. I should be over her and under someone else, but I’m not. I’m still thinking about the future we could’ve had together.
“I know, okay? I know I have to put myself and the team first. But it fucking kills me to see her. It kills me to see what I could’ve had if I wasn’t a goddamn coward.”
Hayes settles his hand on my shoulder, sympathy crackling across his expression, his sky-blue eyes softening. “You’re not a coward. You’re still grieving,” he corrects.
I didn’t just break things off with Lila because I got bored, orbecause I realized we didn’t work out, or because I’m a gigantic asshole (though it looks that way now). I got…scared. When things got serious, I got scared. The feelings I felt for Lila were coming on like a freight train, determined to plow me down, and the only escape I found for myself was to swan dive off the tracks.
I’ve only ever been in one serious relationship with someone. And that was three years ago when I was in college. It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill love story. It was anI’m-going-to-marry-this-girl-one-daykind of relationship, complete with firsts that I never imagined myself sharing with another person. She was my first love; she was my first time; she was my first everything. And I was going to make her my last too.
Summit Kirstin. The smartest girl in my Psychology 101 class. The kindest girl on the dance team. The same girl who hated my guts until I found her trying to run her way across campus to make it to her midterm on time. I was coming back from my last class of the day, and I nearly ran her over with my bike because she was zigzagging around like a crazy person. And when I (so valiantly) steered clear of her and ended up ramming into a tree trunk, she stopped and breathlessly told me to watch where I was going.
This was twenty-one-year-old Bristol, alright? A lot less wise and a whole lot douchier. I basically told her to buzz off and abstain from running in thebike path, to which she gave me her whole spiel about being late. And then, for some unknown reason, I offered her my bike. She may have cussed me out, but that didn’t stop her from eventually relenting and riding my bike across campus. When I met her later that night at the library to retrieve my “stolen” property, everything changed.
At least, it changed for me. When she wasn’t threatening to turn my testicles into a kebab with her pencil, she had this gorgeous smile that lit up every room she walked into. She hadthese deep amber eyes that twinkled whenever the sun hit her just right. I was in love with her. Unconditionally, irrevocably, in love.
We were together for two years, and two years may not seem that long, but it was long enough for me to know I was going to make this woman my wife. I remember it like it was yesterday. 6:07 p.m. December twentieth. The roads were crowded with out-of-towners for the holidays. I had my apartment—a sad shack that I shared with Hayes—completely decorated, rose petals and red streamers and too many champagne bottles littered all over the place. The ring was a small, dainty thing bought from endless shifts working at a café on campus, and although it didn’t have a whopping shiner on it, I was hoping Summit would love it. She always preferred hidden beauties because they took more effort to love.Real effort.
I wasn’t trying to be overconfident, but in my gut, I knew she was going to say yes. So I waited nervously on the bed, ring in my pocket, listening to the deafening thump of my heart as I imagined all the milestones we would share together in the future. A small, woodsy wedding. A honeymoon in the Netherlands. Two kids: a boy and a girl. Years of growing old together and reminiscing about the early days.
We had our whole life ahead of us.
OrIdid.
Summit was on her way back from work, but it was taking her longer than it usually did. It was a fifteen-minute drive. She was forty-five minutes late. I had no idea where she was or what was going on. So I called her, and when she didn’t answer, I flooded her phone with text messages.
And when she took her eyes off the road for asecondto respond to me, a truck came barreling into her side and killed her on impact.
