20. Chapter 20

She's officially avoiding me. And you want to know what's messed up? I expected this. This is why I have never acted on my feelings. I knew she'd run scared. I knew this, and yet, I still kissed her. All because of a stupid dare. It's not in junior high anymore. I could've walked away. Walked away, took a shot of tequila, or, hell, even gave her a quick peck on the lips. Anything but a full-blown kiss the way I did. The way I spilled all my feelings out in that kiss. And if only it was the kiss. I'm pretty sure none of this would be an issue if we hadn't fooled around at her parents'. That's what freaked her out. I know it.

And what sucks is that I swear she felt the connection between us too. She melted into that kiss like my lips were the only thing keeping her standing. And she's the one who showed up in my bedroom at her parents'. She's the one who said we weren't thinking, just doing what felt right. And her coming on my lips felt right. It felt fan-fucking-tastic.

"She's mine," I growl.

"Only she's not," Grant chimes in.

Shit, I said that out loud.

"She's not yours because you won't tell her how you feel."

"I want to give this a go, but she needs to be sure. Everything will change. Hell, it already has," I said, taking another drink of my Corona.

The guys and I are at a Mexican restaurant for Taco Tuesday. We don't normally do back-to-back nights out, but sometimes it happens. And don't think I'm not turning down the alcohol. Tomorrow"s practice is going to suck, but I don't care at this point.

It's a tradition that we started halfway through freshman year when we needed some more bonding. Brynn started coming with us sophomore year, along with some of the other guys' girlfriends. She hasn't missed a Taco Tuesday since she started coming. We reserve the back half of the restaurant and fill it up with hungry football players. There's usually a handful of guys who have a competition of who can eat the most tacos. Typically, it's the linemen who do

"What did she say?" Grant nudges my arm, getting my attention to continue the conversation.

"Nothing really. Asked me if she could spend the night in my bed. Then we took things to third base. Both of us fell asleep together."

Grant's head snaps my way, eyes getting big.

"Dude, she slept in your bed? With you?"

"Yep," I answer, shoveling the last of my rice into my mouth. There's nothing better than Mexican restaurant rice.

"Hmm," Grant hums to himself. "She's never done that."

"No shit. That's why I'm so damn confused about why she's avoiding me. I mean, why now?"

"Maybe she's worried it was just a weekend thing. Maybe she has feelings for you, but doesn't want to say anything in case you don't feel the same," Grant finishes his thought just as Will slides across from the table.

"What's got you lookin' like a sad sack, Boyd?"

Clenching my jaw, I glare across the table, as I take a deep breath.

"Mind your own fucking business, Davis."

"Speaking of fucking, where's Brynn?"

He smirks. Actually smirks at me.

Pushing myself to my feet, my chair topples over, and Grant is right there in my face, holding me back. There's nothing more I want than to punch that goddamn smirk off his arrogant face. The prick.

Hands on my chest, holding me in my spot, Grant speaks low enough for only me to hear. "Walk away, Q. We're not doing this here."

Pumping my shoulders up and down, I tip my head back and forth, giving it a couple of good cracks. Deciding I'm over this night, I reach into my pocket and toss out a wad of cash, which is more than enough to cover my bill.

"I'm out," I say, turning for the door.

Heading outside I pull my phone out and order an Uber. Closing the app, I check my notifications, hoping there's a message from Brynn apologizing for being a no-show. But that's the thing with hope, it always lets you down. There's nothing from Brynn. Before I have a chance to put the phone away, my mom's face lights up the screen with an incoming call.

Hitting the accept button, I answer. This night can't get worse, might as well see what she wants.

"Quinton, honey?" my mom asks.

"Hey Ma, what's up?" I ask, running my hands down my face and over my thighs.

"What? Can't a mother call her son?"

Well of course, moms can call their sons. But it'd be nice to have a real conversation and speak to you when you're not just calling to invite me to something. I think all of that, but I wouldn't dare say it. This woman would have my ass if I actually said those things.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," I answer with an excuse.

She continues, her voice changing into an overly concerned parent.

"Baby, is Coach working you too hard? Just remember it's all going to pay off when the NFL comes knocking."

A deep sigh releases.

"Yeah, I know. Not to cut you off, but I'm calling it an early night. Did you need anything?"

"Can you come to dinner tomorrow night? Your dad and I would love to see you this week."

"No, I can't tomorrow night. We've got a mandatory study hall with the team. Can't miss."

"Studies come first, of course. How about Thursday? I think your brother will be able to come on Thursday too." Her voice gets excited.

She loves having us all at home. Which I totally get. Someday when I have kids, I want them to be around my table. But the difference is going to be that I want them there because I love and support them, not because I want to use my twisted love to brainwash them into doing what I want.

"I'll make it work. See ya Thursday," I respond, even though dinner with my younger brother is the last thing I want to do.

We see each other enough. Hell, we play football together and live together. I don't want to spend my free time with him too.

"Great, honey, see you Thursday at six," she says as a goodbye.

Abigail Boyd doesn't say goodbye. She hangs up whenever she deems the conversation over.

Pulling up my messages one last time, I fire off a text without even thinking.

Immediately, I feel regret for sending it, but, fuck it, I can't take it back. The Uber car pulls up. After sliding in, I shut my door with more force than necessary. The driver eyes me, but no one speaks. Instead, I drop my head to the headrest and shut my eyes.

Wednesday couldn't drag on longer if it tried.

I didn't sleep for shit. My mind wouldn't shut off, and my alarm went off way too damn early. My eyes were no sooner closed and then it was five a.m.

Weightlifting sucked. Normally, I love weightlifting. I love pushing my body to its limits, seeing how much weight my body can handle. It's exhilarating. Not only do I push myself, but my music drowns out my thoughts. Only this morning, Coach wouldn't let us listen to our music. He put on some motivational podcast. It motivated me to hurry the hell up, get my reps in, and get the hell out.

Practice sucked. My head was off, thanks to a shitty morning start. I've never had any issues shutting off the outside world before. But apparently, this whole "Brynn avoiding me" bullshit is getting to me. We haven't talked since Sunday. She's posted on her Instagram Stories, but will she return a damn text message? Nope. At least not to me. And Cody. The two of us sat together in the Union for breakfast. He said she's ghosted him too. Coach was on my ass the whole practice for my shit performance. He threatened to bench me for Saturday's game if I don't get it together.

Will Davis sucked. No surprise there. I can't even remember what he did, but his arrogance and locker-room trash talk are enough to make a nun swear. But did Coach threaten to bench his ass? Nope, just mine.

And mandatory studying sucks. All I want to do is get some extra sleep and call it a day. Hell, maybe head to Brynn's to talk to her face-to-face and sort this shit out. But instead, I'm heading inside Liberty Library to sit here for a two-hour study session. It should be illegal to force people to attend study sessions, especially when said person doesn't need it. Unlike most, I take my studying seriously. I've got shit to prove on and off the field.

Reaching the top of the fourth-floor steps, I do a quick glance across the floor. That's when I see bright-blonde hair, pulled up in one of those big clips, oversized, round glasses that make her look so studious. And she's chewing on the inside of her cheek. It's a little tic she does that I feel straight to my groin.

Do I go over there? Or do I ignore her the way she's ignoring me? The inner debate starts, but I quickly push that shit aside. It's a no-brainer. That's why in the next second, my feet are carrying me to her. Stopping right beside her desk, I watch her eyes pause from her reading and glance down to my feet. Her eyes slowly drag up my legs, raking across my stomach, before coming up to meet my eyes.

"Hey, Q," she whispers.

We are in a library, after all.

"Wilder. Wasn't sure if I should approach or ignore you."

She folds in on herself. She looks defeated. And I hate that. Brynn isn't easily defeated. She's tough and strong. Independent and vocal. Not resigned and quiet. She brings that cheek back between her teeth, and her eyes well up with unshed tears.

"Shit, Brynn." I squat down so we are eye to eye, even though she's trying to avoid looking me in the eye. "I was being a dick."

"No, no you weren't," she interrupts me. "It's just a bad week, okay?"

Her eyes find mine, and so much is told in that look. There's pain, sadness, and vulnerability in that look.

That's when it hits me. It's anniversary week.

"I didn't even think." I rub my hand down my neck.

"I didn't come out and say it. After this weekend and everything that happened on Sunday night, I just needed a minute to breathe. But then Monday came, and it brought anniversary week. Chloe and Macy got into a nasty fight. It's awkward at home. And I'm just trying to survive. We had a huge exam tonight. That's why I didn't come last night. A bunch of us met here to study, and I just didn't think." She rushes out all of these excuses, and honestly, I don't need it.

I should've known that this was going to be a hard week for her and let her be.

"When I got home last night, I was going to text you, but then I saw your text. I decided I was just going to get through tomorrow, and then we could talk."

"I shouldn't have sent that text." I blurt out. Placing my hand on her thigh, I bring my other hand up to her face, pulling her chin up to look at me. "We'll talk later. I'm sorry for being a dick."

Brynn flings her arms out, wrapping them around my neck, pulling me into a hug.

"Thanks for understanding. Sorry, I shut down. It's a bad habit."

"It's all good," I answer, because it is. I get it. We all have our own way of grieving, and I'm fortunate enough to not have any clue about what's going on in her mind. I press a quick kiss to her temple before standing up. "I'm late for studying."

She smiles up at me, and I walk away, leaving behind my girl.