CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cole
I wake up expecting to find her in my arms. After the night we shared, I can’t have possibly anticipated what I would wake up to. Which is nothing. She’s gone. Not only is she gone, but she didn’t leave a note. Her side of the bed is cold. The sheets are still pulled up. It’s as if she hasn’t slept there at all.
I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed and try to feel something, but I just can’t. I’m numb. I know I’ll be angry later. I should be, at least. Maybe it’s later than I think, and she’s just taken off to go to class and will be back soon, but even as I think this, I know it’s bullshit. She’s just gone. She ghosted on me. Just like Joanie. Does that mean she doesn’t care?
It wouldn’t be the first time a “good girl” used me for sex. I can’t be mad about that. I’ve done it to enough women. It’s what I deserve, I know that. I’m not fooling myself or lying about how I am. Maybe I used to, but I’m not dumb enough to buy my own lies. I see right through them.
Getting up, I go to the bathroom and take a long piss. Fuck it. If she’s not going to hang around, I won’t feel bad taking a hit. I didn’t inject before because I wanted to be a better man for Becca. Now it doesn’t matter.
I open the drawer and pull out a fresh syringe. And notice the drawer is wrong. The rest of my life might be a wreck, but I’m always careful with this. I once almost got two of the drugs mixed up and shot too much, so I’m always careful to organize them based on the amount I’ll dose. These are messed up, and shit, one of the vials is missing. Fuck. I look around, get down on my hands and knees before I see where it’s rolled behind the toilet.
And I know.
Fuck it all, I know why Becca split.
For some reason, she opened this drawer and found my stash. She probably thinks I do hard drugs, shit like heroin or something. Even so, I’m not sure I have the strength to explain myself. It isn’t like she would be okay with me doping or be relieved that it isn’t some other drug. It would have shattered her illusion of me even further, I get it. She’s know that I’m not some big, strong guy. I have a crutch.
I guess I understand why she took off, but at the same time, she could have asked me. Talked to me. I’d have been honest. But even as I think it, I wonder if that’s true. I’ve been lying to women for a long time. I’m not even sure if I know the real truth anymore.
After using the bathroom and splashing some water on my face, I get my phone and pull up Becca’s number. I can call. I can text her. Something. Ask her to talk this out. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I feel the rage burning in the pit of my stomach, overtaking the concern. Fuck her. Fuck all of this. I should have listened to my own advice from the start.
Don’t fuck them more than once. Don’t bring them home. And damn it all to hell, don’t fall in love.
The time stares up at me from my phone. I’m going to be late to class. Again. I’m going to fail the test. I should have studied. I should have gotten a tutor like my professor suggested. Another wave of rage towards Becca punches me in the gut. Fuck her. She’s supposed to help me, not just come over to get laid.
My phone is out of my hand before I even register throwing it. It smashes to pieces. I don’t give a shit. I have to get out of the house. I need a drink. Something. Maybe I’ll find someone else. Nothing serious. Nothing serious ever again. Women are, at best, a distraction. A good time. You give them an inch, they give you heartache and lies.
I know I’ve suffered from this for a while, but I’m bound and determined to get Becca out of my head.
For now, I put the vials back in order and begin to measure out each dose.
Fuck Becca and fuck everything. I have only one thing to live for. Football.
Becca
It’s late when I get home, and the first thing I do is go to bed, but end up tossing and turning the rest of the night.
I regret leaving now. I should have stayed and talked to him. He won’t understand why I just left. Ran. Like his ex.
It’s still dark outside when I finally roll out of bed and spend some time writing in my online journal about it. I’ve kept a journal since childhood. Where it was once in a pink book with a little lock, it has evolved to live in the cloud where I can access it easily from anywhere. But the results are the same. I write and write, until all the words that need to be said leave me, the anger or sadness purged from my system. The journal is often the place for me to vent, but it is also a place where I come up with a solution. So I write. About my complicated feelings for Cole. About finding the drugs. About running like a scared child instead of facing the monster in the room.
Running is my habit, I know that, which was fine as a child, but not so much know. Being an adult officially sucks. I thought that when I turned twenty-one, I’d automatically know what to do, that some button inside me would switch on and I’d find some inner resource that would help me navigate times like these.
Nope.
I don’t have a mother or a father to go to for advice. My grandparents aren’t available to me either. I have Mia, but hell, she’s my age and facing the same types of problems. There is no one I can go to. I feel so alone.
After I journal, I forward a picture of the drugs from my phone to my email, then pull it up and research each drug. Sure enough, they are different types of steroids, and from what I understand, he’s using so many so he can stack them, increase their efficiency. I take notes, trying to understand, then research the consequences should Cole be caught with the drugs.
The NCAA has a no doping policy, but from what I learn, it’s rarely enforced. It costs colleges too much to test for anabolic steroids without cause, so the drug screenings they do involve street drugs, like marijuana and coke.
Besides, one article talks about how many coaches stick their heads in the sand when it comes to doping. It benefits their team to have bigger, stronger players with an edge of meanness to them.
One survey shows that steroids in college athletics is a huge problem that everyone pretends isn’t there. It makes me wonder how many other players use. It makes me wonder if anyone cares.
When the alarm sounds on my phone, reminding me to get ready for class, I save the documents and snap my laptop shut. I’m it emotionally and physically drained. I just want to go back to bed, but I can’t.
Trying to just have a normal day with class and schoolwork, I have a cup of coffee and a hot shower. I wish the water could just wash everything away, but it ends up only washing away the tears that begin to fall.
I try to imagine how Cole felt when he woke up alone. Was he hurt? Did he even care?
I don’t know what to do. When I left Cole’s house, I told myself I was done with him. Done with men in general, at least until I graduated and was settled in my career. But now that I have a little space from the moment, I wonder how rational that is. I care about Cole. I don’t know why, but I do. And not just because of how me makes me feel in bed.
There’s something unique and precious about the two of us together. As hard and frustrating as it can be, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to let him go.
I need to research steroids more, understand them more. Of course, I’ve heard about ‘roid rage,’ but I wonder now how accurate that is. Will Cole be upset that I left without a word last night because of his past abandonment issues? Or will it be the drugs that make him angry? Because I know he will be angry. He’ll lash out, not physically but verbally and emotionally. Do I want to put myself in his path?
I pulled a real jerk move by just leaving. It was stupid and wrong. Something special happened between us, and I’ve probably ruined that by cutting and running. I should have talked to him, tell him how it makes me feel. And then I should have tried to find him some help. If I really cared, that’s what I would have done.
I do care, though, more than I even want to admit. I worry about him. Long for him. Seeing the needle and bottle was like a punch to the heart, and I just fled. I hate to think that I’m still ruled by what happened to me as a kid, but there it is, and I guess I can’t deny it anymore.
It takes about an hour after my shower before I cave. I call him. Predictably, Cole doesn’t answer. A part of me knew he wouldn’t. I start to leave a message, but my voice breaks and betrays me, so I hang up. Cole will know that it’s me who called, and I’m sure he just declined the call. For a moment, I almost try calling again. I want him to know. I want to explain.
I just want to start over.
Maybe I should go to his place before class, but I immediately reject the idea. It might be better to give myself a few days to think everything through. Maybe just a day. I don’t know what to do. It feels like panic bubbling in my chest. It feels like a sickening, icy wash of water over my skin.
I’m certain, right then and there, that I’ve never felt this way about another man. What I feel for Cole is different from what I felt about Rob. It doesn’t matter that it’s crazy or that it happened too fast. From the moment I met him in the bar, I just knew there was something special between us. I knew it with as much certainty as I knew the sun would come up in the morning.
The question remains, however, if I’m strong enough to take this on. I’m not sure if it’s selfish or not, but I can’t help but wonder what this will do to my career. It just feels like jumping off into the unknown.
I know one thing for sure, I can’t do that story anymore. It isn’t ethical. I haven’t been professional, not once, so to me, it’s time to let the story go and give it to someone who has more integrity than I do.
That means, of course, that I’ll need to talk to Rob again. I’ll ask him to assign another reporter to the story and make sure he knows that Cole doesn’t want to be bothered. I know an email won’t be good enough. He’d call or stop by anyway with a million questions. Besides, I’m not sure I have the strength to type it all out. Not that it’s any of his damn business. I have the right to decline a story, so I hope he won’t be unreasonable about it or insist on assigning someone else to harass Cole, thinking they’d do a better job than me.
Hell, maybe they would.
I open my contacts and scroll to Rob’s number, then realize the time. I’ve got to go or I’ll be late to my first class. I hustle and promise to make the call this afternoon.
***
I’m exhausted when I step through my door again. Why does a journalism major have to take a biology lab? Can someone please explain that mystery? I toss my heavy books down on the table and collapse onto my little couch.
I’m starving, but I’m also too tired to get up off my ass and make anything. It’s after four in the afternoon, and I still haven’t had breakfast or lunch. My stomach rebels at the thought of eating anything, but I feel shaky, so I haul myself up and stumble to the kitchen where I toss some protein powder and frozen fruit into the blender with some Greek yogurt instead of the ice cream I really want.
The blender screams at me as it processes my smoothie, and I wish I could scream along with it. I still feel so confused. I had a hard time concentrating in class, and I had to practically clamp my mouth shut to keep from asking my biology professor about steroids. But I made it through. Now, I need to drink this smoothie, call Rob, study, then sleep. I can’t call Cole again with my mind the way it currently is.
The first sip of smoothie feels wonderful against my raw throat. I hadn’t really paid attention to how much it hurt until the icy drink began to sooth it.
I stare at my phone, then sigh and pick it up. Scrolling to Rob’s number, I tap it before I can pull a Scarlett and put it off until tomorrow.
“Hi, Bec.”
I don’t know why — maybe it’s because it’s a familiar voice, or maybe it’s the old nickname I hate so much, or the warm way he says it — but my eyes well with tears and my throat grows tight.
“Hey, Rob,” I manage to say, my voice breaking. I don’t want to show this emotion. Not to Rob. Not even to myself. I don’t want to admit how I feel about Cole.
“Becca? What’s wrong?” There is real concern in his voice.
I can’t keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks now. I want to answer his question with “nothing,” but I can’t. My voice seems lost, and I just feel small and alone and foolish. I don’t answer him.
“I’m coming over, okay? On my way right now.”
Adrenaline floods through me, and my throat begins to work. “No, no. I’m fine,” I say quickly, gathering my wits a little. The very last thing I want is for Rob to come over here. “Really. Just had a rough day. School is stressing me out.” I clear my throat and take in another steadying breath. “I just wanted to let you know that I attempted to interview Cole James again. I felt bad for giving up on the story without giving it another shot. He still isn’t amicable. He won’t do an interview. So, the story is off. At least, doing a story on Cole is off.”
“Bec, is that why you’re upset?”
I blink hard to rid myself of the tears that want to spring forth again. “Well, I always hate to give up on a story, so it’s upsetting, but I’m fine. Really. Just need a little more sleep.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No!” The word escapes me like a bullet, and I clear my throat. “No, thanks. I’m really okay. Sorry about the story. Maybe someone else will have better luck.”
“If you’re sure you’re okay,” he says, his tone conveying that he doesn’t really believe me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just giving you a head’s up.” I try to sound cheerful and am pretty sure I fail.
“Okay, thanks. You sure you’re okay?”
God, will he stop asking me that?
I force a bright smile on my face, hoping it makes me sound more cheerful too. “Absolutely. Just hated to disappoint you with my bad news.”
“Well, okay then.” He still doesn’t sound convinced.
“Have a great day.”
I disconnect the call and drop my face in my hands. A part of me wants to call Mia, but I know she’s studying for a test she has in her night class tonight, and I’m not going to ruin her day just because I need a good cry.
Anger rages through me. Anger at myself. I should have never slept with Cole in the first place. At the very least, I should have given up on the story like I told Rob I was going to. I should have stuck to my guns. I’m not always so weak, but something about Cole brings that out in me, some neediness and vulnerability I don’t understand.
Even with Cole’s temper and his rage, I know he’d never hurt me. I know that I’d be safe and that it’s okay to be vulnerable. Somehow, Cole understands without me having to say a word. There is that connection there. And you threw it away.
Heading to my bedroom, I change out of my jeans and pull on my favorite yoga pants and tank top before pulling an oversized sweatshirt over my head. At least I can be miserable in comfort.
Plopping down on the couch, I try phoning Cole again. It goes straight to voice mail. I stutter out an apology. Just two words. “I’m sorry.” I try to add more, try to think of something that will make this right, but a beep cuts me off. His voice mail is full. I can’t leave another message.
I wonder what Cole would do if I showed up at his door. Even if he shouted at me, I would welcome that. The silence is worse. If I can just see him, I know that I can explain things. Besides, maybe I’m making this bigger in my head than it really is. Maybe he isn’t mad at all.
A knock interrupts my frantic thinking, and I get up, wiping my face. My legs are shaking. Is it Cole? My heart is in my mouth and all the bad feelings and self-torment start to lift as I pull the door open… hoping, wishing, praying…
My bubble of momentary happiness bursts. It’s Rob on the other side.
“What do you want?” I ask, tempted to slam the door shut.
“Are you okay?”
Frowning in confusion, I realize that I must look like hell. My eyes are probably puffy from crying and my hair is in a knot on top of my head.
“I’m fine. Thanks for dropping by.”
He stops the door from shutting with his hand, then steps inside, causing me to step back. “Bec, honey. You’re clearly not fine. Do you want to talk? As friends?”
He looks so concerned that I almost start crying again, and blink hard to keep the tears at bay. Without my consent, he barges on in and closes the door behind him. “Here, let me make you something warm to drink. You’re trembling.”
Not having the energy to toss him out, I just stare as he heads to my tiny kitchen, knowing exactly where everything is to make my favorite herbal tea. That makes me even sadder. His kindness. If I could mash Rob and Cole into one man, they would make the perfect boyfriend. Rob and his moments of true consideration coupled with Cole’s raw and manly ways would be exactly what I want.
As he fills the kettle with water, I walk back to the couch and sit, knees drawn up to my chest, resting my chin on them. After my tea is done, he sets it on the table beside me and then sits across from me in the matching chair.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks, his face soft with worry and concern. He gestures to my tea. “Drink.”
I sigh and take a cautious sip of the steaming brew before setting it back down. It’s perfect. Just the way I like it with plenty of sugar and milk. Rob used to tease me about both my teas and coffees always being more like lattes than the real thing.
And he remembers. Maybe he really does care. And it makes me even sadder because Cole hasn’t once asked me what I like, what I want. Of course, I haven’t been with him a fraction of the time I was with Rob. But will he ever care enough to pay attention to things like this?
I just don’t know.
“Like I said on the phone, I’m sorry about the story. I—”
Shit. I’m crying again. I so very much want to stay calm and unemotional, but I realize that’s what I’ve been doing for a very long time. I mash everything down, push it under a rug in my mind. And now, for whatever reason, I can’t push things away anymore. I’m going to lose control of myself, and the weirdest part is that I’m starting to welcome it. I feel like that is precisely what I need, to face things, to surrender to the truth.
And the truth is simply this: I ran away from my past by throwing myself into school and work. I sabotaged relationships with people, especially men because my father was absent. Worse, he was an addict and killed himself with the drugs he deemed more important than his wife and daughter. Drugs that were more important than me. And it has hurt.
Rob holds up his hands in the middle of my internal revelation. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do the story. I’ll give you some fluff piece so that you still get a byline this week. Don’t beat yourself up, okay? Do you want to talk about it?” He leans forward, brown eyes warm, brow furrowed. “Becca, please tell me what happened.”
I have to start somewhere. I have to learn to trust someone. I have to be vulnerable even though it scares me to death. But not now. Not here. Not with my ex. The man who is still officially my boss.
“No…” I breathe. “It’s personal.”
While it would feel wonderful to bare my soul to anyone right in the moment, I hesitate anyway. The way I’ve done things for years are like old ruts in a road. It’s hard to get my wheel out of those ruts to steer somewhere new. The old, while clearly not good for me, is what is familiar. Now that I’m scared and hurting, I crave that familiarity.
Rob appears to patiently wait for me to talk as the war goes on inside my head. I want to scream at him and cry on his shoulder at the same time. The words keep getting tangled and lost on the way from my head to my mouth. All of this is my fault. Somehow.
“Did you sleep with Cole James?” he asks gently.
I stare at him. It’s like he read my mind. Do I confess? Deny? Lie?
“Yes, and I shouldn’t have. It was unprofessional, I know that. “The words tumble out. I don’t measure or weigh them. I just let them go. I watched them break over Rob’s face. At first, I think I see rage. His eyes narrow and his lip curls in a sneer, but the look is so brief and fleeting that I can’t be sure.
“Okay,” he says, his tone still so very gentle. He’s reeling me in. I can feel it. He stands and picks up my mug again, lifting it to my lips, sitting beside me this time.
“I know,” I say and take a long sip, trying to still my breathing and gather my thoughts. “I shouldn’t have. So, I’m sorry for that.”
He holds up his hands again. “No, no. It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize, Becca. We all have moments of weakness.” He sounds so sincere, I almost believe he means it. For once, I don’t feel like he’s judging me or is trying to be right.
I sniff and wipe my eyes, take another sip of tea. “I’m starting to feel something for him. I mean, I think I still do.” I shake my head as if that might clear it, as if it will shake my thoughts into an order I can articulate. I won’t tell him why I left. Not about the drugs. I can’t trust Rob that much. Surely, he wouldn’t use anything like that in a story, but I refuse to risk it. I need to learn to trust, but I’m not going to be stupid. Baby steps.
“We got in a fight,” I say with a lift of my shoulder. That much is true. We did fight a lot.
“Wow. Jesus, Bec. Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I shake my head again, annoyance growing, but I mash it down. I remind myself that Rob’s just trying to be helpful, that he’s concerned. “No... no. Nothing like that.”
The syringes and vials flash in front of me again, and I remember my father’s gaunt face. I didn’t realize how much his death still affects me, but it clearly does.
“What is it, Becca?”
I’m crying again and run my hand under my nose. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?” I ask Rob and watch his brows furrow in confusion.
“No. I don’t think so.”
I huff out a laugh. Figures.
“He was an addict and he died because of it.” I shake my head, not even sure why I mentioned anything about my father out loud. I’m just so very tired.
Rob wraps an arm around my shoulder and gives it a little, comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Bec. I didn’t know.” He lifts the mug to my lips again.
I drink, feeling numb, the tears drying. The thing is, Rob doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know my past. Not that his not knowing is his fault. I never told him. All the same, I’m not the kind of person who abandons people I care about. I need to go back, to tell Cole how I feel about what I found and why I ran away. I need to tell him about my dad and offer to help. I very suddenly know that is the right thing to do.
Rob continues to gently squeeze my shoulder. “I mean, you’re on the rebound. That kind of thing happens. We all make mistakes with people after a breakup.” I shift in my seat as annoyance gnaws at me. I want Rob out of my personal space. “And you’re too good for some meathead jock who’s fucked every girl on campus. He’s a jerk, Bec. Forget about him.”
I can’t sit here and listen to Rob demonize Cole a second longer. I shrug out of his grasp and move to stand, but he tugs me back down.
“Rob, let me go.”
For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to, but he sighs and his grip on me releases.
I get to my feet and wobble a bit. “I need you to go. You can see yourself out, right?”
His face tightens, but he smiles. “Sure.” Looking at him, I can see why I fell for him in the first place. He’s classically handsome, straight edge, and clean cut. His hair is always cut short and neat. He has deep, caring eyes and he takes care of his body. He always wears nice clothes, tucked in shirts, expensive cologne. All of it, his look, his casual callousness towards Cole’s plight, tells me that he’s never seen hard times. I don’t think he means to be a jerk about it, he just doesn’t understand.
“Well, good luck, Becca.” He surprises me by wrapping his arms around me, giving me a squeeze that makes my skin crawl.
“Thanks.”
I watch him head toward the front door before walking to my bedroom. As I walk, my legs begin to feel like rubber and the world starts to spin. I’m grateful when I make it to my bed and plop heavily down on it. I close my eyes. I’m just so very tired now. So tired. I want to see Cole, but maybe I should just rest for a minute first.
***
It’s dark when I wake up, and I’m surprised to find that I’m under the covers. When did I do that? My head hurts as I sit up and reach for the glass of water beside on my nightstand. I don’t remember putting it there either.
Moving slowly, I walk to my bathroom and shut the door, leaning on its sturdy surface for a long time. I finally find the energy to step to the sink and splash water on my face. The cool water makes my eyes feel less puffy and achy and wakes me up a little.
I shiver and rub at the goosebumps on my arms, then find my sweatshirt on the floor. I stare at it, confused, then pull it over my head. My stomach churns. Maybe I’m coming down with something.
Heading to the living room, I look for my phone and find it next to my laptop. I blink. I don’t remember opening it up. I’m really losing it. I tap the mouse pad and wake the computer up, sinking into a chair in front of it.
“You’re awake.”
I whirl around, jumping to my feet to find Rob coming out of the kitchen. I gape at him and reach for the chair to steady myself. He’s grinning widely at me.
“Wh-what are you still doing here?”
He shrugs. “You seemed really upset, so I didn’t want to leave you. I hung out to make sure you were okay.” I glance down at the laptop. “Yeah, borrowed your laptop,” he continues, following my gaze. “Hope you don’t mind. Thought I’d get some work done while you slept. You really need to change your passwords, by the way.”
My head is beginning to ache, and I press my fingers to my temples.
“You okay, Bec? Need another cup of tea?”
I glance at the table where my other tea mug had sat, but it was gone. So is the glass that was still half full of smoothie when he arrived. Did Rob wash my dishes?
Rubbing a slow circular pattern against my temples, I try to make sense of everything. “No, thanks. It’s nice of you to stay, but I’m okay.”
“Just put it behind you, Bec,” he says and grabs his jacket from a chair. “You did the right thing. You can’t get messed up with a guy like Cole James. I’ve heard the rumors. A different girl every night. Violent fights. Arrests for said fights. You deserve a better guy than that. He’s just some go nowhere loser.”
I don’t like his tone. He sounds so condescending, but I nod. I just want him to leave now.
He pats me on the shoulder, making me bristle. “That’s a good girl, Bec. It’ll be all right. You’ll find another guy, and I’ll email you when I have a new story for you to work on.” Rob’s tone is a weird combination of cheerful and stiff. It all seems so fake to me. I remember hearing that tone when we were together and hating it then too.
It occurs to me that the reason I broke up with Rob is because of how fake he can be. No one is completely put together. Everyone has problems. He just goes around pretending he’s above it all, handing out platitudes and advice like candy at Halloween. I’ve had enough.
“Okay. Thanks, Rob,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. For now, I just want him to get the hell out of my apartment.
I walk him to the door and give him a smile as fake as the tone he used on me earlier.
“Hey. Don’t worry about that loser, okay? You’re better than that.”
I shut the door on him, afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth. He’s still my boss, even though I’m seriously re-thinking my job at the school paper.
Cole isn’t a loser. Cole is a person with troubles. That’s all. He needs to know that. And I need to be the one who tells him.