Chapter 4

 

 

Dad holds up the check as if looking at it from a different angle somehow makes it better. “Can you believe it?” he says, beaming at the small piece of paper. “I’m holding an autograph from Aiden Strauss! That’s pretty cool.”

I yank it away from him. “Too bad it’s going straight to the bank.”

My dad is so starstruck that he might not even cash the check if it belonged to him. Unfortunately for him, it was my car we just sold and I’m keeping the money. It’s going toward paying off my new truck.

Dad frowns. “I should have asked for his autograph on something else.”

Dad has worked in this motocross world for over twenty years and you’d think he’d be used to it by now. But anytime the rare event happens when someone even mildly famous comes to the shop, he gets all excited like he’s a kid on Christmas morning. I know Aiden’s sister Bella from around town. She’s still in high school but it’s a small town so it’s hard not to know everyone here. I’ve seen her at the track before and sometimes we take walks together at the local park. I’ll try to see if I can ask her to get her brother to sign something for my dad and I’ll give it to him for his birthday. He’d probably freak out.

I smile a little at the thought, and then tuck the check away in my purse for safe keeping. I’m glad I sold my old car but I still have to work until closing, so I can’t take it to the bank yet.

Dad gets a call and heads into his office and I ring up a purchase for a lone customer. Once the customer pays, he walks out the door, leaving the shop in silence except for a distant hum of one of the mechanic’s drills.

It’s too quiet. All the thoughts I’ve been trying to keep at bay come flooding back to me when it’s quiet. It hasn’t even been a whole twenty-four hours since the worst day of my life.

It feels so much longer though. I haven’t slept. I’ve barely eaten. I’m surprised no one has said anything about how shitty I look today, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless. I don’t want any attention. I don’t want anyone asking about what’s got me so sad.

My boyfriend is a cheater.

That’s the worst part. It’s not just that we’re over, that my three-year relationship that I’d thought was going so well is just ripped in half and tossed on a burning pile of memories. No. It’s not that it’s over.

It’s that he cheated.

With Miranda Brown.

My lip curls just thinking about her. Of all the women in the world, he slept with her. Gross.

It dawns on me that I need to get an STD test immediately. I have no idea how long he’s been unfaithful, and if anyone is covered with STDs, it’s that bitch Miranda.

I let out a long sigh and run my hand over my face. This is not how I expected my junior year of college to go. This isn’t at all part of the plan. A week ago, I was entertaining the idea that Jay might propose to me before my next birthday. Now, I am single.

The rest of the workday is pretty slow. We get a few customers, but mostly I’m just standing here trying not to cry. I reorganize the shelves and restock inventory and do everything I can think of to stay busy and keep my mind off Jay. But every time I look at my phone, I’m thinking of him. I changed my phone wallpaper last night, so at least I don’t have to see his stupid face anymore. But the sheer lack of notifications on my phone is making this really hard.

Jay hasn’t called me or texted me. He hasn’t reached out on social media. He hasn’t even bothered saying he’s sorry.

I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I want to talk to him. But still. We were together three years. I guess that meant nothing to him.

I sink my head in my palm and lean against the front counter, my gaze going out the window. I see the road, and the place where my old Camaro used to sit before we sold it. I’m glad Bella got the car. I know she wanted it pretty badly.

I’m sure all my friends at the motocross track would think it’s pretty cool that Aiden Strauss bought my car, but I don’t even feel like calling anyone up to talk about it. Who cares. He’s just some famous guy.

And he’s gorgeous, way hotter than he looks online. That’s saying something because he looks like a damn snack online. But I couldn’t even enjoy the eye candy when he was in the shop because all I kept thinking was that a guy like that probably cheats on his girlfriends, too. Motocross guys can’t be trusted. The faster they are, the more notoriety they gain in the racing world, the more they can’t be trusted. Women throw themselves at guys like that. That’s why I don’t care that I met the famous Aiden Strauss or that he bought my car.

He’s probably a scumbag just like Jay.

Somehow I make it through my shift at work, and then I’m finally driving home. I don’t bother asking Rafael if he’s going riding tonight. It’s perfect weather for it, but I’m not in the mood to see my dirt bike. I don’t want to see the track. I don’t want to run into Jay.

I hate that he’s doing this, breaking my heart and taking away my favorite sport at the same time. I hate it. I hate him.

I drive home without music. I’m so caught up in my heartache that I forget to turn it on. Soon, I’m pulling into the driveway of my garage apartment and cutting the engine and dashing inside so I can finally cry all the tears I’ve been holding back all day.

I’m so glad I live out here, away from my parents. I spent my first two years of college in the dorms, which sucked. But now that I’m a junior, I wasn’t required to be on campus but I also didn’t want to move back home with my parents because I felt like I’d grown used to being independent and I wanted to stay that way.

But the problem with a small town like Breaux Valley is that there’s no apartment complexes. Barely any rental properties. If I wanted to stay in my hometown, close to work and the dirt bike track, I’d need to figure something out. I didn’t have enough money to buy a house, and Jay had said he didn’t feel right living together before we were officially engaged, so I couldn’t move in with him.

A sick feeling shudders through me at the thought. That was just four months ago that we’d had the conversation. Jay’s been renting a house in town from his uncle and it has three bedrooms and plenty of space. I’d mentioned moving in and he shut me down. Now I guess I know why. He was probably never planning on proposing to me.

Anyhow, my dad got the brilliant idea to turn the garage into an apartment. It’s a two-story building that’s set off at the edge of my parent’s property. It has its own driveway and everything. The upstairs had always been one massive rec room with a bathroom. Over the summer, we renovated it to be a studio apartment. The only rent I have to pay is the cost of the property taxes and insurance, which is pretty cheap.

Thank God I have my own place right now. I cry the second I walk inside. I drop onto my couch and hold the throw pillow against my chest and just let it all out. The pain and the betrayal and the anger. Because of all people, Jay cheated on me with that whore. I hate her. I hate him.

They deserve each other.

After a long time of crying, I feel like I’ve cried all I possibly can. I sit up and dry my eyes and place a hand over my chest just to feel my heartbeat. I don’t feel very sad anymore. I’m mostly just pissed off.

I’m pissed at my cheating ex-boyfriend, but I’m also pissed at myself. How could I have been so stupid? Here I was thinking we were this amazing couple who was happy and in love, and really it was nothing like that.

I stand up and take a deep breath. I tell myself to move on and get over it. To be a woman. To be strong.

I don’t need that asshole in my life.

My phone rings. It’s probably my mom calling to invite me to dinner like she does almost every night. I decide to tell her I’m sick so I can get out of it. It’s halfway true, since I am sick in a way.

But Jay’s number flashes on my phone instead of my mom’s. I stare at it while it rings, two, three, four times.

It took him long enough.

But I don’t answer.

I’m a little ashamed at how long I stare at the phone, wondering if he’s going to leave a voicemail. He doesn’t.

I set the phone down and then look at the framed photo of us on the end table. I pick it up, frame and all, and throw it in the trash. Then I peel the photos off the refrigerator, and the walls, and on my nightstand. I get rid of all of them.

I remove the cell phone case he bought for me for Christmas and toss it in the garbage. I go through my closet, taking the shirts that remind me of him, the black lace bra he bought for me, and the bottle of perfume he likes the most.

I throw them all away.

Tears slip down my cheeks, but it feels cathartic to dismantle my whole apartment. Anything he bought me over the last three years goes straight in the trash.

An hour later, my apartment is a little less decorated, but it’s a lot better off. I feel clean. I feel new again.

I am no longer a part of a couple. I am just me.

When my phone rings again just after six o’clock, dread rises in my stomach again, but the caller is from a number I don’t know.

“Hello?” I answer, taking great care to sound like I haven’t been crying.

“Hello, I’m calling for Jenn Doherty.”

“This is she,” I say.

The female voice on the other line perks up. “This is Blithe with the LaValle Fitness and Physical Therapy Center, and I wanted to let you know that we’ve selected you for an internship this semester. Are you still interested in the position?”

I feel like screaming out of sheer joy, but somehow I keep my composure. “Yes, absolutely. I would love that.”

“Wonderful! You can start this week if your schedule allows, and I’ll send you all the information via email.”

Once we hang up, I do a little dance in my living room. I got the internship. I got it. Not just any one of the dozen I applied to, but the one I really wanted. LaValle is here in town, so it’s not far away. I can intern there on the days I’m not in class and I can work part-time at the shop on the weekends. For most of my life I’ve known I wanted to be a physical therapist. Now I’m one step closer.

And, I think as I stop dancing and allow a smile to wash out the sadness I’ve felt for so long now, having an internship, a job, and classes makes for a busy schedule.

There’s no time to be heartbroken when you’re busy.