Page 65 of The First Kind of Love
I can barely see in front of me. I can’t breathe out of my nostrils. It feels like my heart’s breaking all over again, but I’m the one committing the act. There has to be a way I can balance my two lives. I’m not ready to say goodbye to Fulton. I haven’t even given our relationship achanceoutside of Cabo.
Josie and Faye both come over to console me, and Faye offers me a box of tissues as if her maternal instincts had suddenly kicked in—or she heard my obnoxious caterwauling from across the room. I take a tissue from her, pay my thanks, then blow rather harshly into it.
The organ in my chesthurts, and there’s an anchor in my stomach that keeps pulling downwards. “I don’t know how to live my life when?—”
“When you’re living for yourself rather than others?” Faye finishes, the understanding in her tone like a salve to the open wound on my heart, staunching any further bleeding.
I don’t, and I’m afraid that it’ll destroy me. I’m afraid of being out of control. I’m afraid of having my routine messed up.I’m afraid of change—and Fulton’s a bigger change than me potentially losing the entire shop.
“What am I even supposed to say to him? What am I supposed to do about his offer?” I panic, glancing around at the circle of girlfriends who’ve all put a pause on partying to comfortme, still a newcomer to the group.
Josie wipes a few confetti casualties off her skirt. “First, I think you need to be truthful about how you feel. Then, I think you need to at least try and hear him out.”
Fulton deserves the truth. He deserves to know why I blew up at him out of nowhere. All those words I put into his mouth…they weren’t true. And it was low of me to pin my own insecurities on him. I won’t let the night end like this—I won’t.
Even though my makeup is running, there’s a caffeine-deficient throb in my forehead, and I’ll be blindly walking into the Reapers’ man cave with a half-baked plan, I still have enough motivation to pull myself from my sulking.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I ask timidly.
And suddenly, the 90s playlist that was playing in the background is lost beneath harmonious laughter—the kind that crinkles noses, debuts dimples, and burns cores.
Aeris throws me areally? look. “Love, an ocean couldn’t keep you and Fulton apart.”
20
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING
FULTON
“Another,” I demand, slamming my glass down on the hardwood and wiping the back of my hand across my lips.
“Dude, are you sure? You’ve had like?—”
There’s a primordial kind of anger inside me, swimming in the acid in my stomach. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’m mad, I’m sad, I’m hopeless. None of my teammates deserve to bear the brunt of my bad mood, but I can’t help lashing out at anyone who gets within five feet of me—or anyone who isn’t Shiloh.
I’m such an idiot. She was trying to vent to me about her problems, and I just invalidated her feelings by throwing money at her. I was truly trying to help…but I was so insensitive. Not everyone’s lucky enough to be as financially stable as I am. How am I supposed to help her when she doesn’t want my help? How am I supposed to just sit by and watch her family’s business go under when I know I could’ve done something to save it?
I’m not doing it because I get my pickle tickled whenever I play hero; I’m doing it because I lo…likeShiloh. I like her a lot.
I’ll be lucky if I even see her before the wedding tomorrow. This wasn’t how I wanted our trip to end, but it seems like she’s already decided that for us. Shiloh said it herself—we’re not together. She neversawus being together. She never gave us a chance. She neverwantedto give us a chance.
The sensible part of my brain is still working—a miracle, really, given the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed—and it bellows a warning through my entire body like the faraway chime of a death knell. I’m on my way to getting shit-faced, but it’s better than having to feel the aching pain in my chest.
I full-on growl at Gage, spearing him with an icy look as the last of my patience bleeds dry. He doesn’t say anything to de-escalate the situation, but he does flinch a little. I’m unstable, and if I’m not cut off soon, I’m not above crashing Aeris’ bachelorette party and begging Shiloh to speak to me.
This night should be all about Hayes. Hayes is a great guy—he’s always been there for me when I needed him, and he’s a team player at heart. Sure, he has some anger issues and was once forwarded an opposing player’s hospital bill for breaking his ribs in three different places, but that’s beside the point. Hayes plays every game like it could be his last. He’s the perfect teammate, but he’s an even better friend.
Come on, Fulton. Just put on a happy face for the evening. You’re always bringing down the party, whether it’s a game you don’t want to play or your weird-ass aura or turning in for the night way earlier than everyone else.
When Gage hesitantly places another glass of whiskey in front of me, it barely even touches the table before I’m chugging it and deliberately scorching the lining of my throat. I’m not drunk enough. I can’t stop thinking about the way she grabbed my hand and refused to let go on our flight, the way she told me that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my eccentric behavior and that I don’t need to change for anyone, the waywe kissed on the beach after our Jet Ski date, the way she looked at me when I was detangling her hair.
Fuck, I miss her.
A frown resides on Gage’s lips, and his arm twitches like he wants to reach out and give me the good ol’pat, paton the shoulder. But he doesn’t. Probably for fear of getting his arm ripped out of its socket.
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asks, gesturing to the invisible storm cloud hanging over my head.
Apparently, the hit of adrenaline I was hoping for has been permanently delayed because now my heart’s sadly ker-thumping like I’ve been drugged with heroin. “Not really.”
