Jocks like Rider can suck a dick, because I’ll certainly never get down on my knees for a douchebag.
Blinking rapidly, I wish I could take back everything I just said. Because I know I shouldn’t care this much three years later.
He clears his throat again. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. I’m not denying that, but what I’m trying to say is that it had everything to do with me and not you.”
The oldit’s not you, it’s mebrush-off. Nice. What every girl wants to hear after she’s been ghosted.
I shrug, desperate to wrap myself in my dispassionate armor again. “Whatever, Rider.” The words are right, but I’m hot and sweaty and ready to crawl out of my skin.
I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, but what am I supposed to do? Admit he broke my heart? Tell him I was devastated? Sure, when hell freezes over in South Texas.
A thick silence descends, and I’m two seconds from leaping out of the Jeep and tracking down Bree so we can get out of here when Rider turns in his seat so that we’re face to face.
“Look, I don’t mean to dredge up the past. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry I hurt you. That it wasn’t my intention. I… I didn’t think we were that serious.”
I’m too incensed to respond. He didn’t think we were serious? Isn’t that every man’s lame excuse when he’s an asshole and blows off some unsuspecting girl?
I wish I were one of those aloof women who could pretend I wasn’t hurt, but I’m sure he can read me. No matter how manyGlamourandCosmoarticles I read about playing it cool and being detached, I have yet to master that female skill.
Before I can tell him to go fuck himself, his voice softens. “I also wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened when you were a kid. That had to be tough.”
My jaw tightens, and I blink back the heat in my eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t need your pity.”
I’ve had a lifetime of pity.That’s the new girl. She’s the foster kid. Just look at her clothes. Poor thing. So skinny too. Bet they don’t feed her. She doesn’t have parents, but her aunt finally took her. Someone had to.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I determinedly stare out the window, grateful that dumb wetness in my eyes disappears.
I never tell people I’ve been in foster care because the second you do, they start giving you side-eye, like they’re afraid you’re going to steal the silverware.
Deep down, I always wondered if that’s the real reason Rider ditched me, and he just didn’t have the balls to say it.
I swallow, hating how bitter I feel. Hating that being a foster kid tainted my world view so much.
It’s why I try to never think about that time. Why I’ve busted my ass here. Why I work as many hours as humanly possible. Because I’ll never be that poor again or that dependent on another person. I can do it myself, thank you very much.
The passenger door opens, and I’m so grateful to see Bree, I could cry.
And that’s the biggest problem of all. Being around Rider brings all of my emotions to the surface, but I won’t let myself fall apart. Once was enough.
11
RIDER
Laden with a dozen Target bags,I open my front door and pause.
All of my roommates are on the floor of the living room, playing with Poppy.
And they’re trying to get her to crawl through… an obstacle course of Amazon boxes?
“What the hell is this?” Even I know she shouldn’t roll around on that dirty floor.
I drop the bags, exhausted from being woken at four this morning and that fucked-up conversation with Gabby. But it’s still the early afternoon, and if I hustle, maybe I can be productive. God knows that essay isn’t gonna write itself.
Knox hops up. “You should see her. She kinda scoots on her belly. It’s so fucking funny.”
