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His voice goes softer, more tender as he continues to share his horrible night with me. “I should have blocked it out of my head, but I couldn’t.”

“I can’t believe it. Why would he do something like this?”

“I’m done trusting people only for them to stab me in the back,” he admits. “I’ve been blindsided too many times.” He exhales. “I’m tired, babe.” His vulnerability shocked me into silence. “The team aside, he was supposed to be there for Violet. I trusted him.”

“Maybe there’s more to the story. Is it worth hearing him out?”

His hands rub over his tired eyes as he contemplates my suggestion. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do it all, you know.” My hand slips across the invisible barrier I built between us and interlaces with his warm, calloused one. “She’s strong.” Violet’s grown a lot sinceI’ve met her, so I’m sure she’s leaps and bounds past what Hartley sees her as.

“If I don’t do it all, who will?” His hand grips onto mine tighter. He slowly rolls over from his back to his side, so I do the same. Even though it’s too dark to see much, I still feel his eyes piercing into me through the pitch black. “I don’t have anyone.”

Without question, I say, “You have me.” My free hand reaches up to trace patterns over his strong jaw. “I’m here to stay.”

His breath whooshes out as his shoulders shift further down. His presence draws closer seconds before his lips are on mine and I crumple into his strong arms. Arms that hold it all together for everyone but himself. We only part for small breathes before going in for more again and again.

“I’ve waited—” His fingers run through the long strands of hair that cascade well down my back. “—too long—” His teeth nip my ear, forcing me to suck in a deep breath from both pleasure and pain. “—to hear those words come out of that pretty little mouth.” His lips move to my forehead for a gentle kiss, ruining me forever for anyone else. He pulls back slightly and traces his fingers up and down my blazen arm.

“I should have said it a long time ago, when I realized I couldn’t get rid of you.” I giggle into his bare chest and inhale his woodsy smell I love so much.

“And when was that, Goldie?”

“Freshman year?” Even though he can’t see my face in the darkness of the bedroom, I tap my chin to think. “At the bar where we first met.”

He digs his thumbs into the curves of my hips, my spandex boy shorts riding up inch by inch. “Since you’ve loved me since the day you met me, you shouldn’t have a problem being my girlfriend.” So matter-of-fact. So cocky.

Instead of feeding into the cat and mouse game we’ve played for too long, I give him the truth. “No. I think I would like that.”

“Finally,” he groans out.

33

Liza

The days following Ryan’s massive admission have been a mix between chaos and solitude. Violet gets a little better with each passing day. Taylor Swift, wine, and chocolate are to thank for that. I’ve set up camp at their apartment to make sure Violet isn’t alone, but each night, after her eyes close, I shuffle down the hall into Hartley’s bed. We spend most nights talking about anything and everything until the sun peeks through the curtains, yelling at us to get an hour or two of sleep before class the next day.

Hartley’s stark anger towards Ryan has shifted to indifference. Violet chooses to talk her feelings out with me when Hart’s not around to avoid a massive blow up like the one outside their building the morning after the truth came out. Not one of Hartley’s finer moments, but I have his back no matter what.

“There’s my girl.” Hartley juts his chin out and wraps his strong arms around my waist from behind in the middle of my favorite spot on campus, the courtyard. Benches, willows, and cobblestone line the area creating a peaceful oasis in the midst of final’s week stress.

Lifting my head slightly, I plant a wet kiss on his flushed, rosy cheek, no doubt coming straight from a workout. “Trying to scare me?”

“Nah, just can’t keep my hands off of you.” We both throw our backpacks on a free table and sit across from each other. This meetup has become our routine, a few minutes of quality time when we can.

“I’m stressed,” I groan, dropping my head into the palms of my hands.

“Look at me.” His muscular arms plant atop the wrought iron table. His warm breath fans across my worried face as I peek one eye through the slits of my hands. “No one is better at this than you.”

“You don’t know that.” My voice comes out whinier than I’d like.

“I do.”

“How?”

“I don’t need to see anyone else’s work to know yours is the best.” He wraps my hands in his, exposing my face, etched with worry, for him to read.

“But. . .”