Page 77 of Full Split
“Oh, come on. You can’t really think this relationship is sustainable. You’re almost forty. He’s twenty-one and a player.”
“That’s not fair, West.”
Weston scoffs. “Do you think you’re special? You think you’re any different than the string of guys he plays with to make himself feel better? You certainly fit his type?—”
“You need to watch your mouth, son. You can disagree with what’s happening all you want, but you’re not going to disrespect?—”
“Who? Yourboyfriend?” Weston laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t come crying back to me when he gets bored and drops your ass. Because I will never forgive you for taking my best friend away from me. And I’ll never forgive him for what he’s doing to you.”
I don’t hear what, if anything, is said next. I can’t listen to any more.
I can’t.
I turn and run out of the building.
I find myself in the giant soaking tub. I don’t know why. Maybe my pathetic ass wants to feel close to my best friend. My best friend who apparently thinks very lowly of me. The only person I’ve ever counted on, but this whole time he didn’t have a very high opinion of me.
I can’t decide if realizing everything was a lie, that we weren’t as good of friends as I thought, makes things better or worse.
He’s wrong, though. Not about me and all those guys before. He was pretty spot-on about that.
But he is wrong about me and Wyatt. Heisdifferent. AndIam different with him.
All those guys were just a distraction, a replacement for what I couldn’t have. If I’d ever had any inkling that I had a chance, I would have waited for him. I also probably would have pounced the moment I turned eighteen.
But how could I have known? It would have been impossible, because there literally wasn’t a chance until that night Weston sent him to pick me up. And yeah, it wasn’t the healthiest start to a relationship. I know I was wrong, and I did my best to make that right.
It doesn’t matter though. He’s mine now, and I’m his. And no one is going to change that.
Not even Weston.
Not even my own broken, bleeding heart.
I slip under the water and stay there, watching the bubbles escape one by one, until there are none left, and my lungs burn. Until the weight in my chest doesn’t feel quite so crushing.
Hands come crashing into the water, yanking me up by the shoulders. I startle and accidentally suck water up my nose.
I come up sputtering and coughing.
Wyatt is there, eyes wide with panic, thumping me on the back and telling me to breathe.
“What the fuck?” I finally choke out. “Jesus, Wyatt. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Sorry, I just— I thought—” He takes a breath. “I saw you run out of the building. I know you overheard me arguing with Weston.”
I don’t meet his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
He crouches beside the tub, dressed in dark slacks and a polo with Sid’s gym logo stitched over his heart. He looks like a coach. A wet coach, since he decided I needed saving from the bathtub. It hurts my heart that he worried about me that much.
He leans in and kisses my forehead.
“He’s wrong. I’d never do that to you.”
“I know you better than that,” he says, sounding so sure. So positive and trusting that I won’t let him down.
I break. “I didn’t know he felt that way about me. Maybe he’s right about some of it?—”
