Well, then I’d have to find a way to make her.
The next morning, I dragged myself into a cold shower and tried to wash away the lingering stain of shame and regret. It helped with the hangover but barely touched my mood.
Raking my hand through my hair, I glanced at my cell phone debating whether to text her. But sorry didn’t cut it and I didn’t know what else to say, not yet at least.
Not until I’d figured out some things myself.
I contemplated hiding out in my room, waiting until Sofia or Ezra came to find me. But I wasn’t a coward. At least, not usually. So I headed downstairs and made a beeline for the kitchen and coffee. Lots and lots of strong black coffee.
“You.” Sofia’s icy cold tone sent a ripple through me.
“Hey,” I said sheepishly, casting Ezra a wary glance. He shrugged, flicking his gaze back to Sofia.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Like I want to stab you with this spoon.”
“I don’t think you’d get very far with—”
“I am not joking right now, Brother,” she spat the words. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I… I lost it.”
“Damn right, you did.”
“What do you want me to say, Sis? I fucked up. You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent all night trying to figure out how to fix it?
“I saw them together and it was like my life flashed before my eyes… and I’d lost her. I’d fucking lost her, and I couldn’t handle it.”
Ezra blew out a thin breath. “Eli is a good guy. He’d treat her right and—”
A low growl rumbled in my chest.
Poppy wasn’t Eli’s.
She was mine.
She’d always been mine.
But it wasn’t that simple. Even now, even when I knew categorically that I only wanted her with me, by my side, it wasn’t that easy.
Still, the words, “She’s mine,” cut through the room, anger rolling up my spine.
“About time.” Sofia snorted, throwing me a smug look.
I sank down on a stool. “Have you spoken to her? How is she?”
“She’s upset. Obviously. Confused. Angry. Really freaking angry. She probably never wants to talk to you ever again.”
“Jesus, tell me how it really is, why don’t you,” I breathed.
She might as well have ripped out my heart with her honest, cruel words. But it was no less than I deserved.
“So what’s the plan?” Ezra asked.
“Honestly, I don’t have a fucking idea. How can I show my face over there after…” Everything.
Coach Ford had been pissed at the way I’d handled myself at the game; the way I’d let my disappointment swallow me whole. When he’d ordered us off the field and I’d taken off, he’d given me hell for it, and rightly so.