“You would never hurt me. That’s not who you are.” She pauses, lowering her voice. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I thought you were a threat to me.”
If only it were that simple.
“I’m pretty sure my mom didn’t think my dad was a threat to her when she married him, and look how that turned out.”
“You’re not thinking rationally right now,” she says, holding up a hand. “When you calm down—”
“I don’t need to calm down. I know exactly what I’m saying.” I shove my fingers into my hair to keep from reaching for her. If I let myself touch her, even once, my resolve will splinter. “I knew dating was a bad idea, but I did it anyway because I’m a selfish asshole, just like my father. I thought maybe I could be different, but fuck. It hasn’t even been a month and I’ve already hurt you.”
My gut clenches at the realization.
Like father, like son.
“You didn’t hurt me, Cooper. Look at me.” She sweeps an arm down the length of her body. “I’m fine. No scrapes, no bruises. Nothing.”
I drag in a breath, willing my heart rate to slow.
“You got lucky this time. There won’t be a next time.” I won’t allow it. “I mean it, Quinn. We’re through.”
Tears well in her eyes, but I don’t look away. I deserve this. Deserve to have that painful image burned into my retinas so that every time I close my eyes, I’m reminded of Quinn.
Reminded that, no matter how much I care about her, she deserves better.
“Can someone please explain why half of my seniors are not in the media room where they belong?” Coach Collins barks, storming down the hall with his clipboard in hand. “Y’all are worse than the damn freshmen.” He glowers at us, and for the first time, I don’t have a snarky reply. “Go line up in the tunnel. We take the field in five minutes.”
Coach retreats down the hall, grumbling about the fact that he shouldn’t have to babysit seniors and my roommates hustle after him, leaving Quinn and me alone.
I wait a beat, searching for the right words to say goodbye, but come up empty.
It’s just as well. There’s nothing I can say that will fix this, fix us. My actions today spoke volumes.
I turn and follow my teammates, each echo of my cleats on the tile floor a blow to my chest, chipping away at my heart until it finally splits right down the middle.
When I reach the tunnel, I line up with the other seniors. I’m the only one who doesn’t have an escort.
It doesn’t matter.
I did the right thing. I just have to get through the Senior Day presentation and then I can get back to focusing on what matters: football.
The Defensive Coordinator gives us the green light, and the guys ahead of me march out one-by-one with their families. When it’s my turn to take the field, Quinn falls in step with me, her hand brushing mine.
I don’t look at her. I can’t. It hurts too damn much.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” she says quietly. “Or look at me. But you shouldn’t be alone on the field tonight.”
Her words land like a punch to the gut. Because despite everything that happened in the hall, despite the fact that I walked away without so much as saying goodbye, she still showed up.
Shame burns the back of my throat, but I swallow it down. “Just so you know, this changes nothing.”
50
QUINN
I swipea tear from my cheek as the countdown clock on the corner of the tv screen races toward zero. Though I’m curled up on the couch in my apartment, the excitement in the stadium is almost palpable when the final score is announced. As predicted, the Wildcats defeat Maryland, finishing the season 11 and 1.
Given the day’s events, it’s somewhat anticlimactic.
Nothing like getting your heart smashed to bits to put things into perspective.
