Page 98 of Lovesick
She crouches down to stare into my eyes. “What’s going on, Mer?”
Regret wraps its ice-cold hands around my trachea. “Crew hates me,” I hiccup, my tear ducts becoming trigger-happy as they pump out wave after makeup-ruining wave. Each breath I take crushes my lungs, and dizziness bats my brain around like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Irelyn’s hands rub the length of my arms in a gesture that should mollify me but only seems to tamper my disquietude. “He doesn’t hate you.”
I can barely see her through my gauzy vision. “Yes, he does.I keep getting his hopes up about cementing our relationship, only to ultimately disappoint him in the end. He deserves so much better. I don’t even know why he’s still trying to make things work with me. He’d be so much happier if I wasn’t in his life.”
A frown crooks down the corners of her coral-pink lips. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not true.”
My horrific epiphany begets a symphony of incoherent warbles. “He’s never going to forgive me. I don’t deserve it. I’ve done so much irreversible damage, you know?”
“Are you in love with him?” she asks, redirecting my self-destructive cycle.
Am I in love with him?
For someone who’s been lost her whole life, I’ve never been more certain about anything before. I love the person I am when I’m with him—the person he’s helped me become. He’s shown me kindness when I was the least deserving of it. Love seems like such a flimsy word to express the utter gratitude I have for him.
“Of course I am,” I respond, pole-vaulting over shaky syllables.
Wow. Did I really just say that out loud? I’ve practically hurled the truth into the ozone with absolutely no drawbacks. My feelings have never been in bloom before. I don’t know how to handle this.
She goes in for a bear hug, squishing me with her arms and shaking me from side to side with the ferocity of a rottweiler. “I knew Crew was your person. The way you’re with him—he brings out this side of you that’s been dormant for so long. You can’t give up on that. Things are going to be tough sometimes, but if you really love him, navigating those obstacles together is what’s going to make you both stronger.”
My tremulous heart is overindulged with love, and warmth is quick to fill every nook and cranny of my body, dousing myinsides in liquid gold. Sparkling. Invigorating. Ochre light splitting open the heavens and offering me a happily ever after that was never promised for a sick kid like me.
“What if it’s too late to tell him? Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“Oh, love. If the way he looks at you is any indication, you’re going to be stuck with that boy for the rest of your life.”
Is Irelyn right? Could Crew love me too?
Come on, Merit. Would a boy wholikesyou wash the vomit out of your hair? Would a boy wholikesyou scale the side of your house just to talk to you? Would a boy wholikesyou put his whole career on the line so he could be with you?
Oh my God. I need to talk to Crew before it’s too late.
27
A CATWALK CATASTROPHE
MERIT
Aweek later, and tonight’s the big night.
Hours of preparation, crying spells only allayed by Minnesota’s famous chocolate chunk milkshakes, and a million and one practice speeches have all led up to this very moment.
The grand pavilion has been transformed into an auction house, its stone walls—the ones with stenciled heraldic signs and stained-glass windows—draped in mahogany lacework. A myriad of antique chairs are positioned facing the magnificent catwalk, while tables have been set up around the perimeter brandishing Mustang merchandise, a spread of finger foods, and cellophane-wrapped gift baskets including amenities from local businesses. A few areca palms flank the various exits, and the overhead lights have softened to a warm, golden glow, saturating the space in an ambience pantomiming that of the Roaring Twenties. Prosperity, elegance, the inner workings of high society.
I had to dig out my floor-length black dress for this occasion. It’s sexy in an understated way, you know? A high leg slit, tasteful cleavage, form-fitting material that’s incontestablygorgeous. I don’t even know if Crew will be here to see it. I haven’t heard from him at all. I’ve left him at least thirty voicemails and fifty text messages begging him to talk to me.
The catwalk is an extension of the pavilion’s built-in stage, so the players have their own space to relax before the auction starts. I fidget with my earpiece, making sure it’s nestled securely in my ear. Under no circumstances will I let anything derail this event—and I meananything. This is the last thing I have control over, and I’m going to keep my promise to Mrs. Burke to put on one hell of a show…even if it kills me.
Public speaking has never been a source of unease for me, but then again, I’ve never had to address a room full of upper-class guests that the success of this whole fundraiser hinges on. So, yeah, maybe my mind is running laps, but I’ve got this. I just have to breathe.
I watch as my mother and father take a seat in the farthest row back. My mom is wearing a gold dress, and my dad models a perfectly pressed tuxedo, looking neither impressed nor ecstatic to watch his daughter whore out his treasured hockey players.
As spectators begin to take their seats, I slip backstage to check on the team—and to hopefully find Crew. He’s the reason people are here tonight.
The players are all lined up as expected, conversing animatedly. Holding my breath, I scan each individual head until I spot one that’s taller than the others. Crew’s hair is slicked back, and his formal attire caters to every delicious bulk of muscle on his physique.
