Camden
Goldie filled us in about you running into Lola again. Why didn’t you tell us? Maybe we could’ve helped you from spiraling.
Noah
Don’t need to keep that shit locked up inside, man.
I snort. Oh, that’s rich, coming from Noah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his shit. And he’s had many reasons to—his pregnant girlfriend broke up with him and then died three days after she had their baby. It doesn’t get much worse than that.
Goldie
I didn’t give details, just said you’d seen Lola in Nantucket.
Dylan
What the hell happened in Nantucket? And how’s your nose, by the way? That looked like a hard hit, but you gave it to that fucker good. Can’t stand that pompous ass. What did he say to you?
I just stare at the screen.
“Did you talk to her?” Roman asks, jarring me from my phone.
“We did more than talk. At least in Nantucket. I thought she was—” I shake my head. “Don’t know what I thought.”
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“I just have to get her out of my head. Or confront her. I don’t know which. But I’ve gotta be done with this.”
“Well, getting her out of your head hasn’t worked. Maybe it’s time you confronted her.”
I sit there, lost in thought. He gets up.
“You going out with us?” he asks.
“Nah. I’m gonna shower and go to bed. Bury this day for good.”
“All right. I’ll text you where we’re going, if you change your mind.”
When I get back to the hotel, it feels loud. I pull out my phone and respond to the family thread.
I let my temper get the best of me with Patrick fucking Martin, but I feel fine. Looks worse than it feels. And yeah, I saw Lola again in Nantucket. It’s left me rattled, but I’m gonna get it together. Love you guys. I’m going to bed.
And then I stare at my phone and pull up Lola’s number. Since I know she most likely won’t see this anyway, I juststart typing, without worrying about what she’ll think or how she’ll interpret it.
Hi, Lola. It’s Tully. I’m not even sure if this is your number anymore, but here I am texting. Needed to get a few things off my chest. Maybe it helps knowing you won’t see this, I don’t know. Kinda wish you would. Our running joke from the first night we met was that you weren’t a puck bunny.
Which is just ironic now because that’s exactly how you’ve made me feel—like I’m nothing more than a fuckboy to you. Someone you can use when you want to feel good and then dispose of when you’re done.
I thought we were so much more than that. I realized after the first time you left that you didn’t love me the way I loved you. But I think I romanticized it in my head. I told myself there were reasons you left that I didn’t know about, you were scared, your parents forced you to break up with me, you were threatened by my hockey career…on and on the list goes.
I’ve come up with lots of excuses for you. But the excuses have run out. The blame isn’t solely on you. I blame myself as much as I blame you. I walked right back into you, wanting so badly to believe that this was a sign for us, that you were ready this time, and you were already walking away from me before we even kissed.
In Nantucket, when you wanted to just stay in the present, that should have been a red flag all over again. Let’s not talk about anything that happened between us, just “Hello, fuckboy, it’s been a while, and I need a good lay.”
Since this seems to be the year that we run into each other, I’ll just put this out into the universe: If you see me,turn and walk away. I’ve gotten used to that sight anyway, and it’s for the best that we don’t even play nice anymore. This fuckboy is closed for business.
I hit send and toss my phone on the bed.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes, and I pick it up and freeze when I see Lola’s name on the screen.