After months of therapy, Garrett Delko is still struggling to cope with his brother's suicide. The only time he finds peace is on the pitching mound and with a mysterious girl he's been obsessed with since the first week of college. One night, he se...
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Arianne's heart stuttered at Garrett's fierce words and equally fierce hug. He squeezed her so hard she threatened to topple over again but didn't care. Her hurt and anger gave way to the safety of his arms. Gently returning his embrace, she let herself lean against this deep and complex boy. A shudder passed through him as he felt her surrender. "Ari," he whispered, his breath coming out in small puffs, warming her through her tissue-thin cotton shirt.
Time stalled as they held each other under the stars, a perfect moment enshrined in her soul. What would it be like to have a million more nights in his arms? To not worry about insecurities? To be free from the chains of the past? But Arianne knew it was a pipe dream. His reaction to her confession proved he couldn't handle her reality. However, that didn't mean she couldn't savor tonight.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged the strands until he looked up. What she saw staring back made her stomach knot. Cupping his jaw with one hand, she traced the dark smudges under his eye with the other and smoothed out his pinch brow. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"You haven't been answering," he grumbled, nestling his face back into her shirt.
"I know." When she ran out on him the night of B-Bash, a secret part of her buried under years of cynicism waited for him to turn up, but when he didn't, it crushed her until there was nothing but rubble. She didn't blame him for not wanting to get mixed up with her. If she were in his situation, she'd be wary too. But what she couldn't get over was the way he treated her. She'd been prepared for disbelief, yelling, even disgust, but complete silence? That bruised in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.
What confused her, even more, was his latest turnaround—texting, calling, leaving voicemails. Was he trying to forge a friendship and only a friendship? Or was there a deeper meaning behind it? She wanted to demand answers, but defiance burned under her skin. She'd stripped herself bare, let him see every tainted bit. He wouldn't get more. She had pride even it was in tatters.
Lifting his head, he scowled, but his expression gentled as he asked, "You doing okay?"
Letting go, she nodded and motioned for him to back away so she could get down, but he refused.
"Liar," he murmured, rubbing her cold hands between his. He pinned her with dark eyes that saw too much. "You're out in the middle of the night about to jump."
She shivered as the pad of his thumb traced the vein flowing from her delicate palm to her wrist. "And you're out here running."
"Seems we're both back at the beginning."
How easily progress was erased, she thought to herself. If only relationships could do the same instead of leaving deep scars.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. This time, he let her, and before he could help her, she climbed down. "So," she said, going to the bench with all her things. "Here we are." When he moved to join her, she crossed her arms over her chest in an unconscious display of defense, and he stopped in his tracks. A twinge of guilt swirled in her gut at his wounded eyes, but she stood firm. He'd been the one to put distance between them.
