“Nell,” I growl.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, though. You know, silly girl that I am, I actually came to your football game today.”
That rattles me. “You were there?”
“I was. But I left before the game started. I just didn’t feel like having to endure hours of watching you endanger yourself, to watch you put a sport above me, above yourself, above everything.”
“I didn’t.”
“You can justify it however you want, but I don’t want to listen to it.”
“Nell.” I drop her wrists to clasp her cheeks and force her eyes up to mine. “I didn’t play.”
She frowns, and that indentation between her brows pops up, and she lifts her chin stubbornly. “I saw you. You were in your uniform. Warming up. You were going to play.”
“I was going to, yeah. I had planned to play, and then as soon as the game was over, I was going to come find you. But then I realized that I couldn’t expect you to listen to what I had to say if I wasn’t willing to listen to what you said. That fight . . .” I shake my head and drop my hands from her face. Taking a step back, I say, “It was my fault. I wasn’t really listening to you. I was hearing what I wanted to hear. Things between us were getting real, fast. And it scared me. And then you were trying to tell me to be realistic about playing with a concussion, but I just heard Lina telling me to be realistic about football. About my dreams.”
Nell crosses her hands over her chest, and with her chin tilted up, she looks strangely vulnerable despite the fire in her eyes.
“So I have her to thank for why we got together, and why we broke up.”
“No.” I shake my head, fighting the urge to press her against the wall again. This would be so much easier if I could just kiss her, and that kiss could tell her all the things I’m doing such a shitty job of getting out of my mouth. “It’s not like that. You might have reminded me of Lina in the beginning, but not anymore. And what we have, what I feel, it’s not because you’re like her. It’s because you’re not. I should have known that you would never say that kind of thing, but that word . . . ‘realistic’ . . . it’s some kind of trigger for me. And all I could think was that you were going to end it, just like she did, because you’re so much better than me, Nell. And I don’t fucking deserve you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop wanting you.” I do cross to her then because I need to touch her, have to. I run my knuckles over her cheek, and her eyes flick down to the floor. “I didn’t play today. I was on the field for a handful of seconds before I walked off and told Coach Cole everything. I didn’t play, and I should have listened to you, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Nell.”
My voice is raspy by the time I finish, and I’m barely fighting off all the emotions clamoring for control.
When her eyes don’t lift to mine, I start to panic. I back away and pace along the length of the Ping-Pong table for a few moments, dragging my nails over my shorn head. I cross to the closet where I’d deposited my bag as soon as I came into my room and saw Nell. I unzip my duffel, and the spiral is lying there on top of my clothes and shoes and other junk. I pick it up and turn back to her.
“Ah, hell. I’m not good at this kind of thing, Nell. I know how to joke and flirt and screw around, but I haven’t had much practice being serious in a while. I don’t know how to get the words out, how to find the right ones. Not when there’s so much I want to say, and so many ways I could screw it up. I’m sorry that I yelled at you and started that stupid fight. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen about the concussion. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lina. But mostly, I’m sorry that I let you go at all. I should have stopped you when you walked away or pulled you into my lap again in my truck or followed you back into your apartment. Anything but what I did.”
She lifts her chin, not quite to its normal haughty heights, but enough that I can tell she’s still holding back.
“Okay,” she answers.
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay. I accept your apology.”
But she doesn’t look like it. I’d thought if she accepted my apology, we’d be kissing by now. Why aren’t we kissing now?
“Damn it. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I? Just . . . read this, okay? I wrote it during the game, and it says it better than I can.”
I shove the spiral at her, no finesse, no charm, just fear and panic and desperation. She opens it to the first page, and her eyebrows furrow.
“Oh, not that one. That’s the only notes I ever took in my Spanish class. It starts on the next page. Sorry.”
She flips the page, and I can’t help but feel like she’s holding my heart in her hands, and it’s just as fragile as the paper between her fingers, just as easy to tear in two.
Chapter 29
Nell’s To-Do List
• Yeah . . . I’ve got nothing.
His handwriting is messy. Slanted and hurried, and it’s nearly as hard to decipher as he is. My hands are shaky, and my heart won’t work properly no matter how many calming breaths I take.
Ways to Prove that you love Nell De Luca
1. Tell her. Every day. Three times a day. As many times as it takes.
2. Never choose anything else over her. Not football. Not your own stubbornness. Nothing.
3. Be there whether she wants to go skinny-dipping or wants to study. Make sure she knows that she’s the adventure, not anything else.
4. Always tell her how amazing her food is (okay . . . that one is partly for you, too, because it means you get to keep eating her food).