She rushes out of the kitchen. Everything in me wants to go after her, but I don’t want to do anything to trigger her even more. I couldn’t handle it if something were to happen to her.
I look down at Lucas on the ground, before forcing myself to leave the kitchen. If I stay . . . I will hurt his ass.
I shove the back door open and fight to catch my breath. I never wanted Tripp to have to see me this way. I’ve always done my best to keep her away when I had fights. I always told her about them, but never let her watch.
“Fuuuck!”
I’m outside for less than three minutes when I hear Tripp’s car start up and pull out of the driveway. My first instinct is to freak out, but I quickly stop myself. There’s only one place she’d be going if she needed to get away, and that is Tara’s.
I’ll give her a little time to calm down and then we need to talk. I need to apologize and tell her how I feel.
I need to tell her that I’m in love with her . . .
HAVING TRIPP WALK OUT THAT door has been one of the worst feelings of my entire life. I never thought I’d see the day that Tripp walked away from me, not wanting to be near me. It kills me, and I’m not afraid to admit that I can’t handle it.
It’s been four days now, and the longer that she’s gone the more it causes an ache in my chest. It feels so heavy that it sometimes feels hard to breathe. I feel like a piece of me is missing. The problem is, I know exactly what that piece is, but that piece isn’t ready to come back to me yet, and I’m afraid that forcing it will only push her further from my reach. I’m not willing to lose her forever.
I’m sitting at Monty’s by myself, checking my phone every few minutes to see if Tripp has responded to any of my messages yet. I asked her to meet me here so we could talk. It’s the one place that I thought she’d agree to.
Looking down at my phone I notice that there’s still no response, and my heart sinks for what seems like the millionth time since Tripp stormed away.
Slowly exhaling, I toss my phone into the wall beside me and run my hands through my hair, tugging. Suddenly, eating seems like the last thing I want to do, so I shove my plate aside, grab my cracked phone, and toss some cash on the table.
I’ve been sitting in that spot for three hours now and the disappointment that I feel can’t be denied. I can’t sit here anymore because it hurts too much. It’s pretty clear that she doesn’t want to see me right now.
Lost in hurt and anger at myself, as well as my idiotic decisions over the last few weeks, I drive home, grab my guitar, and play to myself for hours. It’s my only for sure escape.
Every so often I look over as if expecting Tripp to be there, listening beside me, but she’s not. I never thought there’d be a day that would happen, and I never want to feel the emptiness that it brings again.
I need to do something before it’s too late. I know that now more than ever . . .
I LOOK DOWN AT MY phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Seeing Alex’s unanswered message causes an ache in my chest that I can’t explain.
It kills me. I almost can’t take it, but I know that if I cave and see him now, it’s going to hurt way too much when we realize that we need to move on and put the last few weeks behind us. I’m not ready for that disappointment and I’m afraid that what’s left of my heart will die.
Running my fingers over his message, I click reply and stop to stare at the screen. I stare at it for a while, trying to figure it out. How do I say no to Alex? How do I tell him that I’m not ready to lose him yet . . . or that I’m in love with him and can’t live without him?
I don’t. I can’t, so I toss my phone aside and bury myself under the blanket, holding back the cries that have been burning in the back of my throat all day. It feels raw.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly into the air. “So sorry.”
I never meant to lose you . . .
TRIPP HASN’T BEEN HOME IN eight days now. Eight fucking days! She hasn’t been at work either. I’ve been texting her pretty much every hour for the last few days, but all she’s been sending back are short, one worded answers. At least that’s an improvement from before. I hate that she feels she has to do that with me. It just shows me how truly confused and stressed out she must be feeling at the moment. I want to fix that, but she’s not giving me the chance right now, and I refuse to tell her something this important over a fucking text message.
Lucas just walked in the door from work or who the fuck knows where. We haven’t spoken since that day and we have been working to avoid each other. He gets ready to walk into the kitchen but stops and grips the doorframe when he sees me standing shirtless, dripping with sweat.
I’m pretty sure he knows not to fuck with me right now.
“Tripp won’t answer her phone still. Good job, shithead.” He releases the doorframe and walks over to the fridge, pulling out a beer. “I’ve called her like ten damn times just today. Nothing. I have to hear her fucking voice on a recording.”
I steel my jaw and pour my bottled water over my head, not having shit to say. I have to admit that I’m happy to hear that she’s not answering for him.
He continues talking when he realizes that he’s about to have a one-sided conversation. “I had a feeling there was more to your friendship all along, but I needed to know before things between Tripp and I became serious.” He pauses to open his beer and tilt it back. He sets it down hard. “You might not believe it, but I love her too, dammit. I’ve given Tripp her damn space for the last twelve months, hoping that she would see me with other women and realize that she was ready to have me to herself. Not one time has she shown any kind of jealousy when it comes to me with another woman. Never.”
I shake my wet hair and grip the counter.
“I was jealous as shit to see you two together, but I had to know if I was right about you two. I needed to know if she loved you, and after that night I know for a fact that she does. She doesn’t love me, man. It sucks, but it’s mostly my fault. I guess it’s true what they say . . . Never let your girl have a male best friend.”
I tilt my head his way. He’s gripping his bottle so tightly that his knuckles are white.
“Alex fucking Carter,” he grumbles. “You’re the reason she was never ready in the first place. It was you that she was afraid of losing all along.”