Even though I haven’t spoken a word to Emily this semester, I look at Kenna and lie straight to her beautiful face. “Like I said, I have nothing to say to you. You need to move on. Your attempts to reach me have all gone unanswered. It’s starting to look pathetic. Now, if you excuse us, we’ve got a victory party to attend. Be sure to send Carson my condolences on his loss tonight.”
“No need. I’m right here,” Carson chips in as he sidles up beside Kenna. “What the fuck, G?” His voice drips with anger, matching the rage fueling me.
“Don’t take it personally, Carse. I’m sure there will be plenty more losses in your college career. The first one always stings the worst.” My tone is detached—condescending.
Carson’s eyebrows furrow beneath his beanie. “Jesus, G. Do you think I give a fuck about the game right now? Why the fuck are you talking to my sister like she’s a desperate bunny?”
Kenna cowers at his question.
“If she’s going to act like one with Nelson, then I’ll treat her as such.” I don’t wait for a response from either of them. Grabbing Emily’s hand, I drag her after me. I need a stiff drink. Better yet, I need to drown in a bottle.
McKenna
I feel self-conscious wearing my jersey to the party Carson said Griff would be at, so I put on one of the oversized sweatshirts I purchased last week. My bump is still barely visible, but I don’t feel like drawing more attention than I’m already going to.
Besides, I don’t think Griff liked that I wore the jersey in the first place. Even though we aren’t together, I will always love and support him, and I just wanted him to feel a little less alone tonight—that he had someone there to cheer him on since Katie couldn’t be. How naive of me to believe he wouldn’t already have hundreds of fans with his name and number on their backs.
My heart aches thinking of how he looked at me outside the locker rooms. I don’t even recognize this version of Griff—arrogant, detached, rude, empty.
Carson and I are walking to the house party. “How did you know where he was?” I question Carson.
“One of his teammates, Tanner Miller, played on Team USA with me, so I texted him and asked where the party was at tonight,” Carse replies.
“I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t give me five minutes to talk alone. Even if he is with Emily again, he could talk to me. He acted as if I meant nothing to him—like we hadn’t known each other for over fifteen years.” I quickly swipe a fallen tear from my cheek.
Carse takes a deep breath and then blows out a white cloud into the cold Boston air. “I can’t say I would be recognizable if you had died that night, Mack. I’m not excusing his actions or words—I’ve never been more pissed off and disappointed than I was tonight.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I think you’ve got to go in there and not take no for an answer. You’ve got to do it for my little papaya.” He points to my stomach and then adds, “But seriously, who even knows whatthe fuck a papaya is? I had to Google it once it came up on the app yesterday.”
Laughing at his antics, I wrap him in a tight hug. Well, as tight as my little bump will allow.
“This is the place.” Carse nods to the house in front of us. It’s a brownstone, similar to Griff’s, just a few blocks down from his, actually.
We walk through the front door, and I’m surprised to see how spacious it is. We walk toward the large kitchen island that is filled with alcohol and mixers.
Loud music makes hearing what Carson is saying hard. Leaning in, he shouts, “Go find G. I’ll be right in here with Miller if you need me.”
I nod back at him before leaving the kitchen in search of Griffin. It doesn’t take long to find Griff. He’s in the back corner of the living room, flocked by a group of guys whom I’m guessing are teammates and a few girls.
Taking a deep breath to ease my nerves, I shift through the crowd to get to him.
I tap Griff’s shoulder. When he turns and sees it’s me, his face surprisingly lights up with one of his signature smiles I’ve missed so much.
I’m so thrown off by his reaction to seeing me that it takes me a moment before I say, “Griff, I need to talk to you. Can we go into another room?”
He quickly nods his head up and down. “Sure, anywhere you want. Anywhere. Do you want something to drink?” I’m thrown off by the complete one-eighty he’s taken since we talked a few hours ago at the rink.
Griff stares back at me with blown pupils and sweat coating his forehead then rubs his hand up and down my arm, before grabbing my wrist and dragging me down the hall to what looks like a den.
There are a few guys sitting together and taking drags off a joint. “Out, now,” Griff commands.
“Who’s the bunny you’ve got there, G? Think I can take a turn later? I don’t mind Turner’s seconds,” one of them says.
Griff’s grip on my wrist tightens, causing me to wince in pain.
“Griff, stop. You’re hurting me.”
“Don’tfuckingcall her that. Don’t evenfuckinglook at her. Get the fuck out. All of you, now,“ Griffin growls.
The guys seem to get the message because they quickly leave the room and shut the doors behind them.
