More Than a Memory (10 page)

“
D
on’t even start
,” I warn Liam as I walk up to the table he’s sitting at with a couple guys from the team. I knew I’d find at least a few of them here.

When we got to the apartment earlier, Olivia was barely talking and seemed to shut down right in front of me—again. And while our outing appeared to do more harm than good, I knew it wasn’t just that. There was something more brewing under the surface and I hated to admit how much it hurt that she wouldn’t open up to me. Needing to clear my head, I went for a run, then headed to Cody’s for a beer when that didn’t work instead of going to class. It would have been a waste of time anyway with how aggravated I was. With every step we took forward, it felt like we went back five, and I wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

“Simone is floating around here somewhere,” Liam says, looking to the front of the bar. “She says you dissed her in public. Mentioned something about fucking your roommate.”

What is this, fucking high school? It hasn’t even been two hours and his ass already knows what went on this morning.

“Fuck, Liam, why are you so worried about what I’m doing?” I ask, unable to hide my irritation. I flag down a waitress and order.

“If I recall,” Liam continues, ignoring my outburst, “you did tell me your roommate was hot as fuck, but you also said she had a boyfriend. You dipping your stick in someone else’s pussy?”

I clench my fists in anger and one of our teammates places his hand on my shoulder. “Ignore Ashford, man. He’s pissed off and taking his anger out on everyone.”

“Yeah, herpes will do that to a dude!” another guy chimes in, holding his beer up in a mock toast.

A smile spreads over my face. “Serves your ass right. All that whoring around.” I kick at his foot on the barstool.

“It’s crabs, you pieces of shit!” He tilts up his beer and takes a long pull before turning his attention back to me. “Do you know how bad your nuts hurt from using that tiny little comb?”

I hold my hands up. “I’ve got no clue, man. I don’t sleep with questionable women.”

He huffs. “You fucked Simone.”

“Everyone here knows she’s waxed smooth, dude!” Joey says from across the table. I look over to see him fist bumping another player. “I told you to stay away from that damn freshman.” Liam hangs his head, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

Her overpowering perfume hits me before I feel Simone walk up behind me. I turn in her direction, needing to apologize for earlier, but the smirk on her face annoys me, and her words piss me off further. “I knew you’d get tired of the roommate. Her pussy isn’t as good as mine, is it?”

“I haven’t touched, tasted, or stuck my dick in her pussy, Simone, but I can tell you, I’d chose hers over yours any day of the week,” I sneer, my jaw clenching.
So much for apologizing.

“You haven’t tasted mine either, handsome. If you did, I can promise you’d never taste another one.”

“That’s because he’d be dead,” Joey adds.

A smile splits my face at their antics, calming my anger just a bit.

“Listen, Simone, we had fun together, but it’s not going anywhere.”

“Fun?” she hisses. “That’s all I was to you?”

I take a step back. “Don’t show any fear,” Liam whispers in my ear. “She can smell it.”

I want to ask him why he didn’t warn me about her being crazy, but the fire in her eyes is more imminent.

“You threw yourself at me,” I remind her. “Not the other way around.”

“I sucked your dick.”

“You sucked my dick,” Joey says.

“Mine too,” Liam adds.

I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but she knew the score. Even if I wanted to keep something going with her, the way she acted toward Olivia earlier would have put an end to that.

“You’re an asshole,” she spits. “Forget the offer from earlier. Don’t come crawling back when you want more of
this
,” she hisses, adding extra emphasis, and I cringe as she grabs at her crotch like a man.

“Nasty bitch,” Joey mutters as she walks away.

“You could’ve warned me that she gets crazy,” I say, taking a sip of my beer after the waitress hands it to me, pointing my eyes at Liam.

“Don’t look at me,” he defends. “She’s never acted like that before. You must have a special cock or something.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, falling onto the empty chair beside him.

He winces as he shifts in his seat, and I can’t help but laugh at him. “Why didn’t you just shave that shit, man?”

“I asked the same thing,” Joey says. “Says his garden is a delicate area and it should grow freely.”

“Well,” Liam says with another groan, “next time, I’m shaving.”

Joey laughs. “How about staying away from the nasty ones so there isn’t a next time?”

I nod my head in agreement.

“The nasty ones are the most fun,” Liam explains on a whine, and we both throw wadded up napkins at his dumb ass. In an attempt to change the subject from Liam’s seafood nut salad, we focus our attention on one subject we’ll never get tired of talking about: baseball.

“I don’t know about Jason, though,” Joey says, shaking his head.

“How did that base clogger even make the team? If he could hit it over the wall, his slow ass run wouldn’t be such a problem,” Liam adds.

“But he can’t. I hope coach keeps him benched,” Joey mutters, turning his beer up to his lips.

Red flashes in my periphery as a high-pitched giggle reaches my ears. I look over to see Simone sitting in some love-drunk dude’s lap. She has his rapt attention, his bright, glossy eyes gazing up at her. Simone, on the other hand, only has eyes for our table. Indifferent to her performance, I turn my attention back to my teammates.

“Which one is Jason?” I ask Joey.

“The ginger with the scraggly beard,” he explains.

Commotion from Simone’s direction draws all of our attention again, just in time to see her slap her enamored suitor’s cheek and storm off.

“Asshole,” she seethes as she walks by me.

I watch her walk away, hoping she’ll leave, but she posts up near the bar and looks over her shoulder at me. I chew at the inside of my lip as dread washes over me. Cold fingers reach out and grab my beer, the desire to wash away the sour taste in my mouth hitting hard. This isn’t going to be the last I hear from Simone.

* * *

“
I
’m not going
to give you these notes until you swear I’ll get them back before class tomorrow,” I tell Liam as I stick my key into the apartment door.

“Calm down, dude. I won’t forget your notes,” he agrees.

“That means you actually have to go to class tomorrow.”

“No shit,” he mutters as we step inside.

When I see Olivia sitting on the couch, my smile grows. My eyes skirt over her, and I blow out a relieved breath, grateful she’s back in her sweats and hoodie. Walking in with Liam and finding her in those little shorts she’s so fond of wearing would have more than likely ended with me kicking his ass.

She grins back, seeming to be in a much better mood than when I left her, but just as fast as the smile came, it drops, and all the color drains from her face.

“Olivia?” Liam says, stepping farther into the apartment. “I thought you moved home.”

Her eyes dart between Liam and I, but no sound comes from her mouth. My brows furrow at her visceral reaction to the sight of Liam, and I gaze back to him before shutting this shit down. Grabbing my bag from beside the door, I pull out all of my Economics papers and shove them at Liam while pushing him out the door.

“Dude, we have to talk,” he insists, his voice low.

“Not right now,” I say, dismissing him.

“Seriously, Bryson. That’s—”

I shut the door in his face and turn my attention back to the quaking woman on the couch. She’s staring off into space as if she’s seen a ghost, her body trembling. I sit beside her and pull her against me, much like I did last night, trying to calm her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask into her hair, my voice soft.

She shakes her head no, but doesn’t say another word, and I comfort her without drilling her for information. I don’t want to cause more stress, and I certainly don’t want her to leave my arms.

Before long, her breathing slows to the point that I know she’s fallen asleep, which I’m okay with as well.

* * *

T
he third episode
of
Survivor Man
plays on the TV, the sound almost muted. Over the last two and a half hours, she has managed to shift her body to where she’s lying stretched out on the couch with her head in my lap. I started to stroke her long, blonde hair the second she fell asleep.

I want to touch her all the time, but the only time she allows it is when she’s upset and distraught. It’s not the best case scenario, but I’ll take every opportunity I can get. I continue to stroke her hair like I have been for a while when she stirs, sighing.

“I missed you so much,” she mumbles, the words almost incoherent as she nuzzles deeper into my lap. “I knew you’d come back.”

My hand stills on her hair when I realize she’s either talking in her sleep or thinks I’m
him
.

“Olivia,” I say in a hushed tone, not wanting to startle her, but needing her to know Duncan isn’t the one comforting her right now. He broke up with her, tossed her aside, and left me to pick up the pieces.

She stiffens and jolts up, pulling her head from my lap. Her eyes lock with mine, and for the briefest of moments, I realize she’s disappointed I’m the one holding her on the couch. Fire sears my veins as my breaths come out fast and short.

“Why’d you let me do that?” she all but hisses at me. Her eyes dart around the room and her hands fidget as if she’s been caught doing something wrong.

“Do what? Hold you when you’re upset? Comfort you when you need a friend?” I reach out to touch her face, but she whips away, scooting farther from me on the couch.

“That,” she spits, pointing to the erection in my jeans from her grinding her head on my cock, “that’s not comfort.”

“It’s not like I unzipped my pants and stuck my dick in your ear, Olivia. I can’t help how my body responds when you’re close,” I say, adjusting myself into a less conspicuous position. I don’t have it in me to feel embarrassed by my spontaneous hard-on.

“You need to learn, Bryson. And you never should’ve let me fall asleep on you like that.” I want to reach for her again when she stands from the couch, but there’s only anger on her face, drawing in her brows and forcing her nostrils to flare.

“You just seemed so upset and exhausted,” I explain, scrubbing my hands over my face, confused by her swift change in mood. “I don’t…fuck. Sorry.”

She shakes her head in disgust and walks out of the room, the lock on her door clicking into place a second later.

“
Y
ou seem sad
. I don’t want you to be sad, sweet cheeks.”

I peer across the room, sighing and refusing to look at the computer screen.

“Look at me,” Duncan whispers, urging my eyes to meet his.

He pauses, waiting for the response I deny.

“It’s not fair that you call and then ignore me. I get that you’re upset, sweet cheeks, but acting this way isn’t doing anyone justice. We can’t work it out if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You know what’s wrong, Duncan. I shouldn’t have to rehash it every time we talk.” My voice echoes from the small speakers on my laptop.

“This isn’t my fault. Do you know how many times I’ve prayed and hoped for a different life? I didn’t ask for this.” Tears glisten in his sunken, tired eyes, forcing the same from mine.

“I know you didn’t.”

“I hate seeing you upset and in pain when I’m unable to fix things. Some days, I wish we never met so you wouldn’t have to go through this with me.”

“Don’t ever say that!” A violent sob escapes my lips as resignation clouds his face.

“It’s true, sweet cheeks. I found a doctor willing to help,” he says with a rough swallow.

“I can’t talk about it. That’s not the answer, Duncan. Please.”

“You know as well as I do it’s over. I’ve been telling you for weeks. Your denial doesn’t change the future.” The sudden droop in his shoulders is a clear sign of defeat, and my chin trembles at the wave of emotions passing over his face.

“I’ve already filled out the paperwork, sweet cheeks. It’s done.”

I slam my laptop closed, unable to listen to another word.

With a parched mouth and sore throat from crying, I leave the room in search of cold liquids and
Hershey Kisses
. Bryson stormed out shortly after I bit his head off for comforting me, leaving me alone in the apartment, and I haven’t heard him come back yet.

Natural instinct took over when I woke and realized I enjoyed his touch a little too much. He didn’t deserve the wrath of my guilt even though I gave it freely. I was angry that I
wasn’t
upset at his hands being on me.

Liam showing up threw me for a loop, and the anxiety and emotion that racked my body at seeing him hit like a blow. None of this was Bryson’s fault. He’s unaware of my history, even though he’s tried to pull the information from me numerous times.

And instead of grilling me this time, he offered his arms and calm, patient voice, only to be paid back with anger and disrespect. I hate that he’s not here and I can’t apologize for overreacting, but I also don’t know how to do that without giving a voice to my demons. Opening the gates of hell isn’t something I want to do—ever.

I grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge and down more than half before pulling it from my mouth. Soft pants escape my lips as my body attempts to adjust to the influx of frigid liquids. Reaching to the top of the cabinet, I pull down the almost empty bag of
Kisses
and resolve to finishing off the remaining handful. After tossing the empty bag in the trash, I head back to my room.

Fighting the allure of my comfortable bed, I sit at my desk and let the emotions of the day wash over me. Internal heaviness pulls my shoulders down and indecision concerning my slippery feelings for Bryson exhausts me.

Unsure hands pull open desk drawers, looking for something, anything, to keep me busy. Wishing I still had friends to talk to is futile. They couldn’t handle my emotional outbursts and self-loathing after Duncan left. Sure, they stuck around for a while, but over time, they allowed their own lives to take over, and I can’t fault them for that. I’d like to think I would’ve been different, but I’m not sure that’s the case.

Tucked back in the corner of my top desk drawer, my fingers graze the full orange bottle of antidepressants my mother insisted I get months ago. I live in my pain now, just as I did then.

Slamming the drawer closed, I push away from the desk. My eyes dart around the room, only to land on the bed: my go-to when my emotions run high. Giving in, I lie down, plug my earbuds in, and select the same playlist that tortures me daily. I twirl the ring on my left hand, allowing the music to wash over me, pulling on the same desperation the video chats with Duncan do. I’m only three songs in before my phone rings, interrupting my emotional distress.

Sitting up in bed, I tug the headphones from my ears and answer, grasping at any outside distraction I can get.

“Olivia?” My mother’s voice is a soothing balm to my broken soul.

“Hey, Mom.” I attempt to sound upbeat, not wanting to concern her with my current mindset.

“I haven’t spoken to you in a few days. Just calling to check in,” she says, reservation in her tone as she tries to determine my mood.

Guilt washes over me the same way it did before I left Bryson alone in the living room. I hurt everyone I come in contact with.

“I’m doing well,” I tell her in a cheerful voice, hoping the anguish isn’t evident.

“That’s great to hear, Ollie.”

“I had brunch with Bryson earlier,” I offer, unprompted.

“Really?” A lightness I haven’t heard in a long time fills her voice.

I shift on the bed with conflicted unease at pretending to be happy as a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Did he cook for you? A man who can cook is a valuable thing to have around.”

“We actually went to the little diner near campus.”

Silence falls down the line.

“He brought you back food? That’s sweet of him.”

“I went
with
him to the diner, Mom.”

She tries to clear her throat, but the sob escapes anyway.

“Why are you crying?” I bite the back of my hand, attempting to keep my own emotions in check.

I want to cry and beg my mother to come hold me, to lie and tell me everything will be okay, but we’re past that now. She hates how much I’m hurting, but feels it’s time to let Duncan go and move on.

“I’m just happy you got out for a little bit. How was it?” she sniffs, and her tone lightens as the first wave of sobbing passes.

“Uneventful,” I lie.

If I relay the details of that woman coming up to the table, I’ll give a voice to the jealousy I’m struggling with, and I refuse to give my mother that carrot of hope. She’s already trying to push Bryson and me together, she doesn’t need any more fuel.

“I had crepes and he had pancakes,” I say, keeping the conversation simple.

He held my hand when I was upset and defended me in front of a woman he screwed less than ten feet from my head just days ago
.

I close my eyes, remembering the disgust in his gaze when she dismissed me at the table. I’m thankful he’s never turned that searing glance my way. Even when he’s been angry with me, he’s never looked at me with revulsion.

I realize I’ve turned my thoughts inward when my mother’s voice breaks into my reflection.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She sighs, just like she always does when I lose track.

“I asked when you guys plan on going out again.”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “I don’t think we will.”

He hates me and probably thinks I’m a psycho
.

“Maybe we can go out soon then?” Hope fills her voice.

I’m torn between letting her think there’s a chance and telling her I hated leaving and don’t plan to do it again anytime soon.

“We’ll see,” I lie, opting for the former to ease her concern.

I drop my phone to the bed, the slam of the front door surprising me. Knowing he’s back sets me on edge, and the bravado I tried to build up to apologize escapes me. I pick my phone back up and bring it to my ear.

“I have to go, Mom. Bryson just got home.” I may not have the courage to apologize to him right now, but I’ve met the limits of conversation with my mother. If we stay on the phone any longer, the discussion is going to head toward topics I refuse to participate in.

“Oh, do you guys have plans?”

Does groveling and begging for forgiveness count?

“Maybe watch a little TV. Talk to you soon, Mom. Love you.”