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38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Willow

Dexter

Will. We need to talk.

That's the text I get while I'm with Tripp and his mom. It makes my skin crawl, like it doesn't fit my bones.

It's been months and I've heard nothing from Dexter. Not even as much as a drunk dial. Even if I didn't say it out loud, at first, his immediate absence hurt.

I'll never understand people who can just get rid of someone like they didn't share years of their lives together. A few months after, I had come to terms with him leaving. Now, I'm fine without him. Naturally, he's always had a knack for timing.

I don't respond to Dexter. In fact, I try to push him to the back of my mind as far as it will go, so I can be with Tripp—the one who deserves my attention. The one who makes me feel like I count, every time we're together.

"How does it feel to be undefeated, Mr. Owens?" I put a fake microphone in front of him and Wendy giggles.

"Pretty damn good," he jokes, grabbing my wrist, like I have a real mic and he needs it to be closer.

Instead of going out with the team, the three of us go out to dinner. Emilie set it up at one of my favorite restaurants, a place that specializes in small plates, that has a great track record of getting me in and out without much hassle. I know the press is inevitable, but I'll do what I can for Tripp and Wendy.

We arrive with no issue, probably since my security team has been changing up their vehicles. It's not a sustainable practice to do long-term but is doable for now.

It feels like we order the entire menu. Plus, our server brings out a few bonus chef plates. This is something that usually happens when I come in here and it's one of my favorite parts. I don't know how they do it, but they are always incredible. I don't think I've gotten a repeat yet either.

"I'm going to head home before I slip into a food coma at this table," Wendy says. She always has a driver on game days to get her home safe.

"Are we still on for lunch Thursday?" Wendy asks as she's hugging me goodbye.

"Absolutely. Wouldn't miss it." I can feel Tripp's eyes on me.

Tripp and Wendy say their goodbyes and Tripp slides into the booth seat next to me.

"Are you sure about going home tonight?" he says, running fingers on my tights, right under the hem of my skirt.

"I should. I have a label meeting in a few days and need to get some tracks squared away." His fingers keep drawing lazy lines.

Plus, I need to sort out this Dexter thing. I don't tell him that. Part of me feels guilty for keeping this from him. But I don't even know what this is. Who knows what Dexter wants?

Do I care? When the answer isn't immediately "no", a rush of guilt hits me.

"Fine. Responsibilities win this time. Are you ready?" Tripp asks, pulling my mind from Dexter.

I give him the one second gesture and take out a thank you note. He knows the drill. I leave the envelope on the table .

Tripp grabs me by the hand, and we go out the back way. Luckily, we don't meet a single paparazzi. Minus our drivers both waiting for us, it feels like we're a normal couple.

"Thanks for coming. And for wearing my jersey," Tripp whispers in my ear, nipping at my earlobe.

"Be good," I giggle.

"Only if you promise to wear that to bed." His voice is breathy and gravely low.

"As long as you're gentle. I'm particularly fond of this piece of clothing."

"Not sure if that's a promise I can keep," he jokes before kissing me goodbye.

I thought about what Dexter could possibly want the whole way home, which bothers me. I don't want him to take up space. I pull out my phone to see his most recent text messages.

Dexter

Will. Come on. Call me.

Emilie is gone this weekend since she had some friends in town. Tripp gave her tickets for the game, outside of the suite, and she's staying in the city tonight. I'm out on the patio, lighting the outdoor fireplace, when my phone rings.

Dexter.

I roll my eyes even though there's no one around to notice it. I grab a blanket and put it in my lap before I answer.

"Hello," I say, like I don't know it's him calling .

"Will. I've been trying to get a hold of you." For a fleeting second, his voice feels like a warm blanket, like the one I just grabbed.

"I saw."

"Too busy at the game?"

He couldn't even get thirty seconds in before bringing up Tripp. The feeling of nostalgia is quickly washed away.

"I was busy," I scoff and look at my nails. "I just got home. I'm also not sure if I want to talk to you. Why don't you tell me what you need so we can get this over with?" The blanket is no longer soft on my skin, but itchy. Irritating.

"I have to have a reason to want to talk to you?"

Is he kidding?

"Well, that's what your first text said. We needed to talk. And yes, kind of. We've not been in contact for months. I don't think it's a coincidence you're trying to get a hold of me now. "

"Fine. That's fair…" His voice drops off. I stay quiet. I wasn't the one who called him. "I just have been thinking a lot the last few weeks."

"I'm sure that has nothing to do with Tripp."

"When did you guys start dating?" he asks. Heat floods my face, and my lips press together, hard .

"Why does that matter?" My voice is flat, and I think I know where he's going, but I'm going to make him say it.

"Well, he did that whole thing the night of the Super Bowl. It made me wonder, is all."

There it is.

"Dexter. You left me. You were the one who decided I wasn't worth keeping. And if you're asking if anything was going on when we were together, I'm disappointed. Thought you knew me better than that."

"I don't know! I think I fucked this up. I shouldn't have left. I want to do this right. You and me, how it was always supposed to be."

Wow. I shake my head in amazement. The audacity of this man.

"It's a little late for that, Dexter. Don't you think?"

"It's late but not too late. Come on, part of you must've wondered about this."

I laugh. That's the only reaction I have for him that isn't telling him to fuck off.

"Have you lost your mind? You call me out of nowhere and insinuate getting back together? Knowing I'm seeing someone else."

"Let me swing by the apartment. We can talk it out face to face."

"No. Do not come to the apartment." I do not tell him I'm somewhere else. I'll let him think I'm still there. "You're not quite grasping how inappropriate this is. I thought you were better than that."

"I'm not. When it comes to you, I'm not."

"Dexter. Stop. It's been months. You've got something built up in your head that isn't close to reality."

"What, are you going to tell me you're actually serious with a football player?" His voice is sharp, and I know he means it as a dig. He's always been good at putting his hooks where it hurts.

"Good to know you still pack a punch. And yes, I'm telling you that."

"I don't buy it," he says with a sigh.

"You don't have to. This isn't about you."

"He just doesn't seem like a good fit for you and your—"

"Let me stop you there. You weren't a good fit. You made me run into and out of restaurants. We took umbrellas when we went for walks in public just so people couldn't take our picture. We never went out." The words are practically falling out of my mouth. "Tripp loves being with me in public and private."

"It wasn't that—"

"Then why don't you tell me what it was," I interrupt.

"Do you know what it's like? Your success, it just, it made me realize how much I didn't have or didn't accomplish. It shouldn't bother me but it did, but I promise, I know how to be better, and—"

"You petulant child." I take a deep breath, putting my head in my hands.

"What? At least I'm being honest!" He pleads but even now, he doesn't get it.

"Do you want me to give you a gold medal for basically telling me, post breakup, not hearing from you for months, and during a three-year relationship, you essentially were too jealous? You couldn't be happy for me?"

"Let's talk about it now. Get it out in the open," He suggests.

"No. I'm not doing this right now. There is nothing to dissect. I'm with Tripp. I'm happy. And I'm begging you to leave it alone. He's different."

"How is he different?" he asks. I know there's one thing I can tell him that will make it click. Even though I don't want to give him anything else, any more of time or effort, but I want him to hear me.

"I played him rough cuts for my new album. He's the only one who's heard parts of it."

At first, the line is silent. I move the phone from my ear to see we're still connected. He lets out a sigh.

"Of course, you did." I know he's upset by the way his voice goes up at the end. I can hear him pacing back and forth, wherever he is.

"I hope you find someone who can make you happy. I'm not that person."

"You don't know that, Will—"

"Bye, Dexter."

Finally, I know the truth. Dexter was looking for someone he was bigger than, someone who would shine for him.

It was never me.

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