Intercepted (Page 60)

“I know you’re mad, but I—” He trails a finger down my cheek.

“I’m not mad.” I put my hand over his, stopping him from going any farther. “I’m hurt, and I’m disappointed that the man I love and respect has shown such disregard for me and my feelings.”

“Mars . . .” He stops and for the first time ever, I see his eyes shimmer with tears. No tears fall, but it’s enough to make me feel like I’ve taken a punch to the gut, to make me want to apologize.

But I don’t.

I don’t say anything. I let the silence fill the room. It’s funny, you know, when saying nothing says everything.

As much as I want to fix things and make him feel better, I won’t do it. I refuse. If we are going to get over this, I need him to fully grasp and understand how badly he screwed up. And if I give in, not only will I never forgive myself, I won’t forgive him either.

“So what are we going to do?” He steps away from me, and I mourn the loss of his touch right away.

“We aren’t going to do anything.” I let my tears fall. If this is the end, I want him to know how much this meant to me. I’m not the same Marlee I was when I left Chris. The only person I have to be strong for is me and sometimes, being strong is letting it all out. “I’m going to get ready for work and you’re leaving for New York.”

“I don’t want to leave without you.” He walks to me, but this time, I’m the one who pulls away. “Marlee, come with me. See how things could be. Spend a few more days with me.”

“I can’t,” I say, still backing away. “I know how things will be. It will be amazing, and we’ll fall deeper in love with each other, and I might even stay.” I hold up my hands to prevent him from coming any closer. “And then who knows? Maybe I’ll get to stay in a big, lovely house while my big, strong boyfriend goes off to work and brings home the big paychecks so I can go to lunch and buy handbags and things will be different than they were with Chris. But we both know that won’t happen.”

“I’m not telling you to stay home or quit work.” He’s louder than he’s been all day. His face turns red, and he drops his head. “I just want you to try.” He looks back to me and the tears he’s been holding back are falling down his face. “Please.”

It’s like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. I stumble back until I feel my couch behind my legs. I collapse onto the couch, trying to catch my breath, grabbing my chest, willing the pain to fade. The last thing I want to do is hurt Gavin.

“I can’t come,” I choke out between sobs. “Please don’t ask me again, Gavin. Every time I tell you no, I can feel a piece of me breaking off, and I know if you keep asking, I will come.” My body is shaking, and I can’t make out Gavin’s face through the tears clouding my vision. “Please, Gavin. Don’t.”

“I won’t.” His voice, calmer than mine, still holds the same broken edge, and I see his body slump. “I love you, Marlee. I’ll be back.”

I hear him walk out of the door and it slowly creaks as it closes behind him.

I don’t even get up to lock the door. I just slump over on my couch, letting the tears fall until they run out and I fall asleep on my mascara-stained pillows.

Forty-two

The only thing more infuriating than a man ignoring your wishes is a man doing exactly as you say when you come to find out, you’re not quite sure you meant it.

#IMeantThatIMeantThatIDidntMeanIt #GotIt?

Gavin did as I asked.

He left.

He went to New York. Well, technically, he went to New Jersey. Not that I’ve been Googling him like a stalker or anything, but I’ve learned through random ventures on the internet that the Giants don’t play or practice in New York, so the name is really misleading.

#FootballFunFacts

Back on subject. Not only did Gavin leave, he had a training camp so phenomenal, all the reporters were asking about the changes he’s made. If it was his diet, if it was being back home, if it was the pressure of living up to his contract? What they didn’t ask, but it was all I could think of, was how he got rid of his needy, whiny, pain-in-the-ass girlfriend.

Blah.

Why couldn’t he have played like shit to make me feel better?

Even though I technically had the week off since Gavin stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and talked to Brynn, I couldn’t mope around in my apartment. The only thing worse than reading about him was sitting on top of the mascara stain on my couch and watching Jeopardy! by myself. The day of our fight, I showed up at work later than normal—looking like shit if the look of horror on Brynn’s face was anything to go by. She didn’t question my showing up or my swollen, red eyes. I think she expected it. Unlike Gavin, Brynn knows me. She had to know this was coming. She treated me with kid gloves and gently suggested I work on marketing in the back. Aka—don’t scare away the customers.

It’s sweet.

It only lasts for a few days though. Because real friends only let you mope for a maximum of seventy-two hours before they’re contractually obligated to snap you out of it.

Luckily for me, my friend owns a bar and after closing one night, we take tequila shots and I lay it all out there.

Brynn throws back shots with me as I spill all of the details of the night, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to, nothing she says will change the results. #AcceptanceIsTheFirstStep

My parents, on the other hand, were a completely different story. Because my mom had been secretly fretting about my emotional state since I broke up with Chris, she was calling me ten times a day since Gavin left. It was sweet at first, but after the hundredth time she told me she just knew I was jumping into things with Gavin too quickly and that I “needed to learn to love myself and be alone,” I started ignoring her calls. Which meant I was also not going over for dinner, which meant I ate ice cream for dinner and have gained seven pounds on top of the fifteen I still want to lose. #CantStopLosing #ExceptWhenImGaining

But other than my avoidance of family and their misguided, though well-meaning, advice and my toddler eating habits, I’m doing fine. I can walk down the street without crying and I can handle my responsibilities. And even though I write Gavin a thousand text messages, I never hit send.

Camp’s during the weekdays, and he has weekends off, so by the time Friday rolls around, I’m checking all flights from New York to Denver and staring at the door to my apartment and HERS whenever I think he could be arriving. He said he was coming back. He would have to come back home.

Each week, I get my hopes up that this is the weekend he’ll come home, but it never happens. One night I give in to reading up on the Giants.

I open their website and the first thing I’m met with is a freshly showered Gavin, smiling for cameras and reporters.

I watch the interview all night long.

I watch as he shoots his dimple-baring grin to reporters. I listen over and over again to him telling them he’s never been happier, that he’s home and never wants to leave. I rewind and replay and rewind and replay the part where he winks at the beautiful blonde asking him where he’ll be staying during the short break in camp.

“I have a place in Oyster Bay.” Wink.

Wink.

Wink.

I see the wink when I close my eyes, when I look to his empty side of the couch, when I walk past his condo too many times to be considered sane.