“Let it go,” he whispers harshly. His eyes drop to my lips for a split second before returning to mine. “You tried, but I’m letting you off the hook. I’m not your problem anymore, Jordan. Go find someone else worth saving.”

Brody

I rap on the door of my family home with shoulders hunched and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Of course when I downed half a bottle of Jack last night I hadn’t been thinking about the horse ride I promised Annabelle today. My mind had been stuck on my confrontation with Jordan last night. Her disappointment was so thick I could taste it.

Jordan’s expectations had been too high. It only made the fail that much more spectacular, not to mention humiliating. And like the dick that I am, I handled it with all the finesse of a ball fumble at the Super Bowl.

Jamming hands in the pocket of my jeans, I turn and blindly face the street. Mr. Lewis is trimming the edges of his lawn like he does every Sunday. The old dude is a neat freak—never a leaf out of place or a blade of grass straying from formation. I have him pegged as retired military, but it’s unconfirmed. He’s never given me the time of day, not in the fifteen years since he and his wife moved to the neighborhood. Maybe it’s because my father’s a politician, or maybe he sees me as your stereotypical self-entitled jock. Either way, I don’t blame him. I’d keep clear of our family too if I had the choice.

Yet I don’t see old man Lewis move slowly down the drive, weed whacker steady in his hands. I see honey hair and rich golden skin, blue eyes fierce and infused with emotion. I see an angel sweet enough to tempt the devil from the dark side. And now she’s gone, I remind myself, my mind going to our argument from last night.

“I’m not trying to save you,” she told me.

My callous reply echoed down the hall for everyone to hear. Only it was just us. Jaxon and Damien disappeared inside the apartment, leaving Jordan and me to fight it out. “Then you should have no trouble leaving, should you?”

Her spine snapped straight, her strength bottomless. I had no idea where she dug it from. It made me want to shake her. Lose control, Jordan. Shove me. Curse. Shriek and call me names. Make it easier for me to push you away.

Jordan jerked her arm free of my hold. She didn’t come at me. Of course she didn’t. Her integrity was stellar. It only lowered me further.

“Goodbye, Brody,” she forced out through gritted teeth.

Turning, she walked away, her long-legged frame striding toward the stairwell and out of my life. This was what I wanted. But it wasn’t. “Wait!”

Jordan halted and looked at me. Her eyes were overcast, their light hidden behind a thick cover of cloud. Behind her the hallway was dark and empty, the lighting for shit. I knew the parking lot was no better. I walked toward her. “You came here alone?”

“Yes, I came here alone.”

My jaw tightened. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Brushing past her, I moved inside the stairwell. Jordan clattered on the steps behind me so I knew she was following. “Contrary to what you might think,” she said to my back, her disdain abundantly clear, “you don’t actually have the right to tell me what to do.”

I snapped like a rubber band. With an abrupt turn, I halted on the step, my fingers curled on the handrail because fuck it; I’d had too much to drink and I’d probably tip over. Jordan faltered, stopping before she smacked into me. With me one stair below, it brought us to eye level. “You came here uninvited, alone, late at night, in the damn dark! What were you thinking? Oh, wait,” I bit out and she backed up a little, “you weren’t!”

I was riled but I didn’t want an argument, so I gave her my back and kept moving, my pace down the stairs a clipped jog.

“What was I thinking?” she hissed, her indignation rising as she jogged after me. “That you were handling this like a bloody man-child! Is pushing everyone away and getting drunk the only way you can cope with disappointment? Was failing that exam really the end of the world?”

“Yes!” I shouted. We emerged into the cool night, and I spun around. We glowered at each other for a bitter, heated moment. “My world! My football career. I’ve barely kept my head above water through college,” I continued to yell. “Three long, hard years of my GPA sitting on a knife’s edge. If I fail, my eligibility to play is gone.”

Jordan took a step toward me. “So get an academic waiver! Meet with the university president. Speak to Professor Draper and retake the goddamn test.” She jabbed me in the chest, hard and forceful. “You have options, and instead of using them, you blow a game and drown your damn sorrows with beer kegs like it’s all too hard.”

“It is too hard!” I shouted. “I did everything you asked of me, and I still failed, so what’s the point of retaking the test? This isn’t some feel-good movie where I graduate because you tutored me for a few months. In real life the guy doesn’t get the girl and the team doesn’t win the championship. Real life is ugly and raw, and it fucking sucks.”

“So you’re just going to give up?”

“Goddammit, Jordan!” Frustration blackened the edges of my vision. “I’m not giving up. I’m trying to accept my limits!”

Fed up, I snatched the keys that hung slack in her fingertips and started for her car. My legs moved sluggishly. Admitting defeat hadn’t made me lighter. It was a cement brick around my neck, weighing me down.

“I’m sorry!” Jordan’s voice cracked. If I was wondering how far I could push until she broke, this was it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I stopped in the middle of the parking lot. My head tipped back and my eyes closed. All my anger fell away, disappearing into an abyss. Resignation rose in its place.

When I turned, Jordan was frozen to the pavement. Shadows cast half her face in darkness, but pale lamplight exposed the glimmer of tears. One spilled over. Bile climbed my throat as I watched it trail down her cheek. I swallowed the bitter taste and forced myself to speak.

“You believed in me. You made me believe in myself. Damn you for that.”

Old man Lewis breaks me from last night’s memory by revving his weed whacker. My eyes follow his progress. He reaches the end of the drive, his edges now in impeccable formation. After cutting the motor, he glances over. For a fleeting moment he stares, brows drawn as if I’ve presented him with a puzzle.

Surprised, I lift a hand in casual salute. He doesn’t acknowledge me. Striding back toward his open garage, he hangs his weed whacker up on special built-in rungs and takes down his leaf blower.

Hearing the door open, I turn back. Hattie greets me with a smile, bright yellow dish gloves covering her hands.

“Hey, Hattie.”

She steps off to the side, letting me through. “Mr. Brody.”

“Just Brody,” I instruct her like I always do.

Hattie nods her usual agreement, but she never cedes. “They’re at a charity luncheon today,” she informs me, anticipating my question.

My next breath is a little calmer when I step inside the sterile foyer.

“Is that Brody?” Annabelle shrieks from upstairs.

My heart lifts. “Yeah it’s me,” I call back. “You ready to go?”

My sister’s room is the only space in the house that doesn’t feel cold and empty. The walls are baby pink. Lacy frills cover her bed, hand-painted fairies trim the walls, and a chandelier dripping in pink crystals hangs from the ceiling. When it comes to Annabelle, it’s not about spoiling her every whim, it’s about promoting all things ‘pretty.’ With the redecoration complete, she messaged me a photo. It looks like Tinkerbell threw up in my room. I hate it.

“Oh she’s ready to go, alright,” Hattie mumbles under her breath. I catch a slight twitch in her lips before she disappears down the back of the house.