Page 6 of Breakout (Walker University #3)

Reaching over, I grab my phone and swipe the screen awake. Quickly I open the text chain and see that she has still left me on read. Groaning, I set my phone down and rub my face.

If only I had kept my mouth shut or worded my words differently, maybe then she wouldn’t be avoiding me. The last time I went twenty-four hours without hearing from her was the night we met. I just had to open my mouth and fuck it all up by showing her I was concerned.

Rule #5—If any feelings develop, it ends.

I hate the fucking rules.

My laptop screen times out and darkens. I should wake it back up and get to work, but it’s a lost cause for now.

Reaching forward, I shut my laptop and stand.

I can’t sit here any longer. I leave my room and head downstairs.

I hear someone moving around in the kitchen, so I head that way instead of going to the living room.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you had class right now,” I ask.

Grace looks up and smiles. “Morning. Usually I would be in class, but it was canceled.”

“Finally remembered to check your email before you left this morning,” I tease.

Twice this semester Grace has headed off to class only to turn around and come home because class was canceled, and she had missed the email notification.

“It was the top notification.” She shrugs, making me laugh. “I’m just about to make some breakfast. Do you want any?”

“Sure. What are you making?”

“Just some grilled cheese and tomato soup. I know, not breakfast food, but it’s quick and easy.”

“No judgment here. It sounds good. What can I do to help?” I ask as I head toward the sink to wash my hands.

Grace shakes her head. “All I need from you is to sit there and keep me company.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She nods.

I turn around and sit down at one of the barstools we have. It pains me to watch her and not help, but if she says she’s good, I won’t push.

“So how have you been?” she asks.

“Good. I should be writing a paper for my investment management class, but I couldn’t concentrate.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you willingly signed up for that class. It sounds painfully boring.”

“The class itself isn’t bad. More the expectation that comes with taking the class.”

“Better you than me,” she says.

She doesn’t know about my father, but I know she has got the sense that this degree isn’t for me.

They all have. I refuse to admit it, though.

They are the other side of my life. The one who knows my true desires of becoming a professional hockey player.

They know nothing of the life my father has planned for me.

“How are your classes going?” I ask, focusing on her instead of myself.

“Passing them all. My economics teacher sucks, though,” she groans.

“How so?”

She cringes. “He is dry as hell and has a monotone voice. I swear he could put someone with insomnia to sleep.”

I wince at her description. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“And it’s an hour-long class. I swear as soon as my ass hits the seat, I’m fighting for my life to stay awake. As soon as he dismisses us, I run to the coffee shop for a pick-me-up.”

The conversation stalls while she turns to stir the soup. I pull out my phone and check the screen. Still no messages.

“Everything okay?”

“Huh?” I ask as I look up at Grace.

“You were frowning pretty hard at your phone. Everything okay?”

I put my phone back in my pocket as I contemplate how to answer.

While Grace knows I’m friends with Peyton, she doesn’t know how close we really are, and knowing Peyton, she hasn’t said a word about the lawyer to Grace, which means I can’t tell her about our fight.

Even though I know I shouldn’t pry, I do it anyway.

“Have you heard from Peyton lately?”

A crease forms between Grace’s eyebrows. “I talked to her yesterday for a minute, but she was on her way to class. Why, what’s up? Is something wrong with her?”

That’s why Grace fits in here. Her first worry is that something must be wrong with Peyton.

You could interject any one of our group’s names with hers, and she would be just as concerned.

We might have been a tight-knit group before her, but she’s the glue that filled in the spaces between us and made us stronger. She really is the heart of the group.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I just sent her a text yesterday, and she hasn’t responded.”

“That’s not unusual, though. Peyton is always super busy and forgets to check messages.” She shrugs.

That might be the case for everyone else, but she’s always responded to me. Even if it was a stupid meme, she would at least react to the message. She never leaves me on read.

I just had to go and push her too hard too soon and scare her.

“I don’t know. The last time I saw her, she seemed preoccupied. I’m worried about her,” I admit.

Grace takes the last grilled cheese out of the pan and sets it on a plate. She turns toward me and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Do you know something I should?”

“No,” I lie.

“You know I live here, right?” she says, changing the subject.

“Yeah…”

“So it hasn’t escaped me that you leave sometimes after all of us have gone to bed or that you sneak someone in.”

I shift uncomfortably on the barstool, but I don’t deny it.

“If, by chance, that the person you are spending time with is Peyton, I hope you know what you are doing. While she’s my best friend and I love her dearly, she’s not ready for a relationship, and I don’t want either of you to get hurt.

With that said, though, if you are worried about something, talk to her about it.

She might shut down and try to push you away, but don’t stop trying.

I have a feeling Peyton has never had someone care about her.

We need to show her that it’s okay to rely on others.

That we will be here to love her through the good and the bad. ”

I swallow hard at her words. I want to love Peyton through it all, but she won’t let me. I can’t tell her that, though.

Rule #2—No telling anyone.

“I’m not spending time with Peyton.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. “She’s just my friend.”

“Right,” Grace drawls.

“I’m serious.”

“Well, what I said still stands. If you are worried about your friend , talk to her.”

I don’t miss how she put an emphasis on the word friend. I can’t tell her, though. Admitting it might push Peyton away for good.

“Okay,” I murmur.

Grace turns and starts plating our sandwiches. “For what it’s worth, though, I’m rooting for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If anyone is going to break down her walls, it’s going to be you. We’ve all seen you together when we hang out. The chemistry is there. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“It’s fun pushing her buttons, and I like flirting with her,” I say, downplaying my feelings for her.

“Right, but what about the way you look at her when you think no one is watching?” she says, making me freeze as she pushes the bowl of soup and the plate toward me.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“How fun is it living in denial?”

“You should know. You lived there for ages with Clayton.” I pick up my grilled cheese and take a bite. “This is good. Thanks.”

“You’re right, and now look at us.” Grace rolls her eyes as she picks up her spoon and dunks it into the soup. “You’re welcome.”

She lets the subject drop, turning her topic to the playoffs, letting me off the hook.

I might not have gotten the answers I wanted about Peyton, but I did learn one thing. Our friends are starting to pick up on the fact that our relationship isn’t strictly platonic, and while I know I don’t care if they know, I know she won’t like it.