Page 159 of Let You Love Me

Impossible. It’s fucking impossible.

I try to breathe, but fire fills my lungs as pain lances through my chest.

Everything hurts.

Chance hums in approval, then delivers the death blow as he chuckles and bites his lip like he’s recalling a memory. “Damn, she was responsive. Or, at least she was with me. She was so fucking—”

I lunge for him, blind with rage as the roaring in my head spills from my mouth. My fists meet his face. Not once but twice, catching him off-guard before he gets in a punch in of his own.

His knuckles catch my mouth. My lips splits and blood coats my tongue as I deliver a right hook of my own.

Behind us, a door creaks, but I’m too busy blocking a punch to make sense of it, too angry and preoccupied with tearing Chance fucking Lockhart limb from limb to give a fuck.

My pulse pounds along with the throbbing of my fat lip.

I vaguely register the presence of several people now in the hallway watching, their faces a blur as Chance and I dance around each other, fists raised at the ready.

I barely make out Tommy as one of the onlookers before Chance barrels toward me, body cocked like a weapon as hisshoulder catches me under the ribs and slams me back into the wall.

The air whooshes from my lungs, and I struggle for breath.

“I don’t believe it,” I manage. “There’s no fucking way you and Lane—” The words form a lump inside my throat, but I push past it. “She told me you were never together.”

Chance laughs, raising his fists in a protective stance as my left darts out again, barely missing him. “What? You think she somehow had a baby on her own? Damn, Nichols, that’s basic sex ed. What do they teach you in those Podunk-ass schools of yours? Let me fill you in. Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Girl and boy fuck. Was fun. It’s just dumb luck the condom broke.”

“Chance, stop!” Lane’s voice breaks through my rage like the crack of a whip.

I turn, startled, to find her standing in the din of the hall, a Wildcats jersey with my number hanging off her petite frame, her long auburn hair striking against the blue. And when her eyes meet mine, the sorrow I see in their jeweled depths tell me everything I need to know.

She lied.

My ribs crack, cleaving my heart in two.

Suddenly, I’m standing back in my living room months ago, finding out Knox was the one who hurt my sister. One of my best friends. Someone Itrusted.

“Why?” I ask as I stare at her.

She says nothing as her gaze shifts, fear replacing the sorrow I see as she glances behind us, her voice soft as she says, “Dad?”

I spin around, dizzy with the whiplash of emotions as my eyes find Coach Turner, and I remember the sound of the door.

He saw the whole thing go down.

His mouth his drawn, his face pale like he’s seen a ghost. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one she lied to, but this knowledge does little to stanch the bleeding.

“Dad, I can explain,” Lane pleads behind me.

I glance at Chance and watch with little satisfaction as the blood drains from his face.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Coach croaks out, straightening his spine as if preparing for the blow.

“Dad, I . . .” Lane swallows. “It’s true.”

My lungs don’t want to work.

I tell myself to breathe, but I still can’t seem to draw a breath; it’s as if someone punched me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Whoever came up with the expression “it’s as easy as breathing” clearly never experienced this kind of soul-crushing heartbreak because there is nothing easy about it.

I manage a small sip of air at the sound of footsteps approaching. Somewhere behind us, the assistant coach’s voice cuts the tension. “Hey, Turner, you’re needed down here on the field.”