Catarina

I tried calling him and then I tried texting him and then I repeated that process for most of the afternoon. What I didn’t do was stick around the office. I took a cab home to retrieve my car, and then drove to his apartment. The security desk swore to me (even after I palmed him twenty bucks) that Barrett wasn’t home.

Then I drove around town like a lunatic looking for his car.

Now I’m home wearing a rut in my patterned rug between the television and couch and gnawing my fingernails to the quicks.

Either he read the article and has decided he hates me, or a less likely scenario: he doesn’t know. We planned on seeing each other tonight so I pray that when he does check his phone, he reads my text first.

My heart emits a dull ache. I received several calls from ESPN today asking for a response from me or Barrett. I’m 99.9 percent sure they would’ve tried Barrett first.

If that’s how he finds out…I shake my head, unable to stay here and worry and pace the floors any longer. I’m going to his house again.

I step out of the elevator of my apartment building, head down as I dig through my purse for my phone. A few text messages sit on my screen but not one of them is from Barrett. It’s futile, but I can’t help trying his phone again as I step into the summer heat.

That’s when I spot him climbing out of his convertible. I’m relieved to be looking right at him, knowing I can finally explain. When he pins with me a glare, I stop in the parking lot, my skin prickling in spite of the humid air. He doesn’t look happy to see me.

In fact, he looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him—including when he threw away his on-air career as a field reporter.

I rush to him but he speaks first.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“You know.”

“When Dax’s wife, Becca, referred to me as a charity case, I knew she was kidding. Apparently, you didn’t.”

“Barrett, listen to me.” The words shake as they exit my throat.

“Wasn’t it enough that you tamed the ‘Bad Boy of the NFL?’ ” His voice escalates. “Or did you need an excuse to explain why you’d date a dyslexic asshole from the wrong side of town?”

“That’s not what I think and you know it! I told you how I felt yesterday. I showed you this morning.”

Some of the rage bleeds from his face, hurt replacing it. “Did you mean any of it? Or was it for show?”

“Fox.” My nose tingles as tears press the backs of my eyes. “None of it was for show.”

His laugh is bitter and completely devoid of humor. “Come on, Catarina. You know as well as I do that the dates were all for show. Why else take me to a country club, or put me in a tux and march me past the governor.”

“Barrett. This is ridiculous.” I’m starting to get angry along with really, really afraid that he won’t hear me out.

“It’s worse than that. It’s a betrayal.”

My anger steps into first place.

“You’re damn right this is a betrayal. How can you believe I faked anything with you? I resisted you as long as I could. You were the one chasing me!”

“You’re right. I chased you around like a desperate puppy. You kept me on a very short leash. You found my soft underbelly. And then you exposed me.”

“I turned my life upside down for you!” I scream, vaguely aware of a few passersby stopping to watch. Hot wind blows against my face and only then do I notice the dampness on my cheeks.

“Was it hard for you to fake your feelings for me, Catarina? Or was it part of the job?”

“Fuck you, Fox!” The world swims out of focus.

“We did that already,” he replies coolly.

I lean forward, practically standing on his shoes. “It was Mia, you stubborn asshole. She was the one who outed you in the column. I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know what she wrote until I read it this morning!”

His eyebrows lower in confusion. “How?”

“That was a question I would’ve answered before you accused me of faking everything we did together. Before you pointed out that I’m a heartless workaholic who’s too good to fall in love with a dyslexic football player.”

The pain in my heart doubles when his face hardens. His eyes mist over, his mouth frozen open in silence.

“I didn’t wreck you, Fox. You wrecked me. Just now. All the way.”

I turn and stomp to my car, unsure where to go. Anywhere’s better than here. He follows me across the lot and I shut myself in the car. Once I’m settled into the boiling interior, I’m forced to put the windows down.

“Kitty Cat.” He leans on the edge of the passenger window. “Hang on.”

“I hung on, Barrett. I hung on for dear life during this ride. You were the one who kicked me off. You were the one who came here with fire in your veins to make sure I knew you were the hurt party. I thought I knew you. I thought your ex-girlfriend was the crazy one.”

His frown deepens. “It’s a two-way street.”

Heart cracking, I turn the ignition. I’m so pissed that my anger adds to the already choking heat. I crank the A/C to high.

“I suggest you contact Mia and get your facts straight.” I burn him with an angry, brokenhearted glare. “Get the hell away from my car.”

To my surprise he obeys, pulling his hands back as I tear out of the lot.

With no destination in mind and fresh hurt ripping apart my insides, I drive off to parts unknown.