I'm so confused.

I... I... Why is she mad?

I had no idea what the fuck Harper said to me. She flipped back and forth between I hadn't done enough to support her with the leaked photo accusations to she wanted me to get the fuck out of her life so many times that my head throbbed with a headache.

I'm literally the human equivalent of a punching bag.

My resolve hardened when she rasped out, "That's it."

"What the fuck do you mean that's it?" The words ripped painfully out of my mouth and left a bad taste as silence lingered between me and the ridiculously emotional version of Harper that stood in front of me.

I'd suggest she takes a few more days to calm down but I don't think that'll help.

"Is this something else you need to fuck out of your system?" I spat out bluntly.

Also like more times than I'd counted, Harper's anger slipped under a mask of indifference. Her shoulders lifted and whatever fire had burned in her eyes instantly died. "I... don't want to have sex anymore."

I caught the dullness in her eyes before they dropped and she hugged her elbows in her palms. "Sorry."

She didn't clarify 'with me,' but my thoughts shifted back to whoever she'd been with earlier.

If that what she means but won't actually say it then fuck, that's low.

"You think I'm worried about that?" I coughed the words out. My dick was the last part of me I'd thought about over the past two weeks.

Physically, I was beyond exhausted from Coach Cambell's workout prep prior to the PAC-12 playoffs. I'd spent every other day at the hospital and quarantined myself away from the leeches who hounded me for story sound bites. Our bye week was before the UCLA game, which was the only reason I'd been with Harper when her mom dropped in for a surprise mindfuck, right in the middle of the toughest practice sessions of the entire semester.

After I smashed my phone, I followed Coach Campbell's recommendations and offered nothing of myself, in public or private. Most of my meals were eaten within the confines of my bedroom. Since the photo shit blew up and other than one fucking message that I finally got after I'd replaced my phone, Harper the hypocrit had been a ghost. We both had though, although I assumed my reasons were better than hers.

Mentally... I missed her. Since our whole house was essentially locked down, the guys poured over their phones. The nasty shit I saw spewed about Harper made my stomach sick and she was right.

I didn't say anything.

When she flashed that photo of me with Wyatt, my heart sank down into my stomach. I had absolute no arguments about her brother because fuck, I had no idea that's who he was. We'd only interacted twice, once with the team visit and one of my solo visits. When I returned with two jerseys, one for him and one for his dad, again they were the only two people I saw at the hospital. Had I seen Harper's mom then I would've gone straight to Harper and told her myself.

I don't even know Wyatt's last name and seriously doubt it's Reynolds.

Unfortunately, she was also right in that I would've interjected had I known. Now that I knew Wyatt was her brother, I fought back the urge that I encouraged her to visit him even when she wanted nothing to do with me. Regardless of what her mom did, or even his dad, Wyatt was an innocent kid who wanted to know who his sister was.

Before I told her the truth, how I really hadn't known he was anything other than a kid who battled leukemia, she unleashed her true feelings on me. Like a pathetic, lovesick sap, I absorbed every one of her accusations. At the moment, I thought if she'd have just gotten her concerns and fears out in the open, then she could slap, punch, kiss, fuck whatever she wanted to me if it made her feel better.

The longer she stood silent, with her eyes dropped and hands hugged herself, the more I realized she truly wanted nothing to do with me. And, as silence surrounded me on the way home, I realized the cold, harsh, painful truth.

She probably never felt the same way I feel about her.

Like an absolute idiot, all our exchanges, dates, conversations, and non-sexual moments replayed in my mind on a flashback loop. One common theme popped out, that I'd tried harder than her. She was closed off and sarcastic as usual, and had softened beautifully, but she hadn't ever given me any other indications that she wanted more than our original agreement.

I hadn't misread between her sarcastic lines, I'd fucking rewritten them for what I'd wanted to hear.

She smacked Burke for herself, not in defense of me.

Harper's reiterated, 'it's over' words, coupled with her middle finger and marched away steps, left me stunned silent. I would have still stood there twenty minutes later except a couple reporters spotted me and hounded me with questions like, "Is that her?" With a sharp glare, I retreated back to my car and drove home.

On the ride back, my hands wrenched around the steering wheel so hard I was surprised it stayed attached. I was totally confused and pissed off at myself. Answerless questions ran through my head as our confusing as fuck conversation replayed itself.

Have I fallen in love with the idea of her, not the actual version of her true self?

At this point, I wasn't sure if Harper's hand or the disconnect between what I wanted from Harper and what she wanted herself had smacked me harder in the face.

How many times do I need her to tell me to get out of her life before I realize that's what she wants? That she's never wanted more like I did?

The shouts of reporters and clicks of their cameras hummed over into background noise as I stepped out of my car and walked into the house.

In a moment that felt more emotional than I thought it would be, London chose to move out. Yesterday I made sure that every guy in the house helped him pack, moved his shit into whatever trucks or SUVs guys owned, and moved them to his new, single-bedroom apartment six blocks away. After he was gone, I found myself with the entire third floor by myself, which gave me more quiet space with all the newfound time.

Too quickly, my own bedroom turned into a prison of trapped memories of her. I nearly threw my top dresser drawer through the window I'd faced Harper into and fucked her from behind while my palms fogged up silhouettes on the glass.

With one quick sweep, the contents on top of my dresser scattered onto the floor. My picture frames banged against the wall, but I wasn't done with them by the time they hit the floor. One at a time, I picked them up and slammed them into the wall to the sound of shattered glass.

Once. Twice. Three times... and four.

A quiet crunch of glass erupted under my foot as I ripped open my dresser drawers. I wasn't sure what I looked for but I opened and slammed every one. The loud bangs drew enough attention that a knock pounded on my door, but I ignored it.

My hands wrenched around my bed set, where I yanked until a soft ripping sound barely hit my ears. I tugged and tugged until the sheets, pillows, even the mattress were torn off my bed into a pile of ripped fabric pieces.

I already knew no matter how many times I'd washed my sheets, they smelled like her, every time I went to bed and woke up. A small, faint puff of vanilla hit my nose as my arms scooped up the bedding and rolled it into one pile. The scent had comforted me during Harper's silent spell but now lingered as a painful reminder of my own stupidity.

With a low grunt, I stormed out. When I descended the stairs, one stomped step at a time, I was painfully reminded of all the times she fled down them, desperate to leave...

While I stayed behind and wished she'd stayed.

Fuck, why didn't I ever say anything? Do more?

"Too late now," I grumbled, marched through the living room and kitchen, then kicked open the back door.

My stomach dropped at the sight of our house's trash area. "Fuck, can't even look at trash cans the same."

With one heaved motion, I tossed the ridiculous white bedding onto the nearest garbage can, which knocked it over. I ignored the metal clanging sound of the can on the driveway and stormed back into the house.

I'd gotten three stomped steps back through the kitchen when two hands palmed my chest. "Jake? Woah, calm down."

"What's on the schedule tonight?" I glared at Evan, our normal social planner, who was the first to admit he'd slacked in that area since he'd met Delilah.

"It's Saturday, we were gonna chill before next week's game but..." An usual amount of doubt filled his eyes, like he didn't want to finish his own sentence. "We could... party? It'd have to be closed-door, low-key though."

"Perfect," I snarled out and bumped his shoulder aside. "First I need your help though."

One of his hands raked through his dirty blonde hair and uncertainty flashed through his eyes, "Uhh, sure?"

Without a look behind me, I grumbled, "Help me toss out my mattress."

This was... not a good idea.

The kitchen cabinets and counters blurred around me with each step my feet shuffled across the floor.

True to Evan's word, tonight's party was closed-door, personal invite-only to under twenty people. Since we were all under phone restrictions, he collected everyone's at the front door like a bouncer, although his pat-down performed on Delilah was a bit more involved than anyone else's.

"I think you're done," Griff grumbled at me.

I blinked as all four of his brown eyes narrowed and his hand grabbed my wrist. The jostled contact shook my plastic cup of beer, which sloshed over the edge and spilled onto the floor between us. My head slacked back and I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd seen all week because, sadly, it was.

A few drops splattered on his henley shirt, which dotted the light gray with darker circles. The sight only drew his eyebrows, also four of them, tighter together.

"I'm fiiiine," I slurred out angrily as he took my drink faster than my fingers moved.

A couple of hot enough girls were here tonight but, annoyingly, Griff and Evan had cockblocked me all night. Technically, Evan started with beer distractions, then Griff took over like some kind of fucking babysitter.

"I'm fine!" I yelled out louder than I intended, which drew the kitchen crowd's eyes to me. With a smirk, I palmed the counters behind me and scanned over the blurry possibilities. "In fact, I'm more than fine."

"Right." Griff scoffed behind me, but I'd just gotten started.

"I'm a complete asshole," I announced with a puffed up chest and locked eyes with a pale-skinned, redhead who'd eye-fucked me all night.

At least, I think she did. Or was it the blonde? No, that's Evan.

Her tits looked as flat as cardboard, even to my drunk eyes and my cock wasn't interested but I had what I felt was a valid point, "Everyone thinks I'm one, ammmmmiright?"

"No argument here," Evan groaned as he came into the kitchen.

Delilah's small shoulders were tucked under his arm, her black hair tied up in a messy bun, and her pale cheek rested against his chest. Her blue eyes sharpened their gaze on me when I swayed side to side then wiggled my fingers at her.

"Every girl wants the asshole, right?" My rhetorical question earned me a few eyeblinks. "Come on! Who wants to fuck the asshole!?"

An entire room of blurry bodies stared and blinked at me... except Delilah, who had both hands clamped firmly on Red's arms and shook her head back and forth at the girl.

"Please let me toss cold water in his face," she whispered to Evan, who crossed his arms over his chest and scratched his chin like he considered it.

"Anyone?" My feet stumbled as I spun around. "Promise, no strings, no commitment."

The only response I got was a quietly muttered, "Fuck," from Jackson, who stood with his arm over Nevaeh's shoulders. Her dark brown eyes pooled with sympathy but I just glared back at her. She returned the look and flicked a few of her long braids over her bare shoulder.

Jax fucks up all the time, why does she take him back?

"No one? Come on." I scoffed loudly and extended my arm. "Some always wants to fuck the asshole! Now's your fucking chance! Just step right, Jake Harrison's dick is -"

"Stop embarrassing yourself, Jake," Griff muttered, then turned his head over his shoulder and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Grant, little help!"

Heavy footsteps approached as Red lifted her hand up. With a raised pale-skinned hand, Delilah smacked Red's offer down, stepped behind us like some tiny emo gremlin, and glared up at me. "Go the fuck upstairs, Jake," she warned me.

"Cockblock your own boyfriend," I snapped at her as her pissed off face blurred over.

"Come on, big guy," Grant's soft voice murmured into my ear. "You're embarrassing... everyone."

Before I responded, his tree stump-sized arms wrapped around my waist and he hoisted me right over his meaty shoulder. The pressure of his hard, boulder-like muscle gouged into my stomach and it lurched with discomfort. My head dizzied from the slight sway of my head back and forth and the view of the floor blurred permanently and heat flushed up my neck and spread across my face like wildfire.

Oh shit.

My mouth clamped tightly shut but my entire stomach's contents projectile-emptied like a blow out... right all over Grant's back.

A round of loud, "Eww!" sounds squealed out, coupled with groans and even an, "Fuck, great. Now I have to clean that up," from Evan but Grant completely ignored the fact I'd just puked all over him. His back muscles tensed under his stained shirt but his legs moved faster as he hauled me up like a sack over his shoulder. My head bobbed side to side and my arms and legs dangled uselessly.

By the time he got to the second floor landing, poor Grant smelled like the mix of our laundry detergent and perspiration from him hauling up my heavy ass, tainted with the acidic smell of my thrown-up beer.

"Sorry..." I mumbled into the bottom of his shoulder blade.

"I got you," he said softly, right before he dumped my ass down into the shower.

"Fuck, not aga- ahh!" I groaned as the cold water pelted me again.

"Stay in there, Jake." Griff's head peeked out from behind Grant's wide shoulders. "Sober up."

"I'm fine!" I protested but slumped forwards and clenched my hands around the back of my elevated knees. Even drunk, I knew if I struggled then they just pinned me down in place again, so I just waved a hand for them to leave.

The sound of the door clicking shut, again, broke me inside.

What did I do wrong? I tried, I really fucking tried.

She just never wanted me the same way.

I'm so... so... stupid.

Strings of curse words vibrated my lips, a warm contrast against the cold water that started out bitterly cold, then warmed to lukewarm. I cursed myself for what I had done wrong in the relationship, what I hadn't done, and everything in between. I cursed Harper for not loving me when I knew long beforehand that emotions were hard for her and assumed they weren't.

My chin tucked down into my chest, which slicked my hair against my forehead, temples, and sides of my neck. The warmer temperature water pelted and tickled over me like my entire skin cried.

I cursed myself again for falling in love with her again despite knowing it most liked ended up here, my heart destroyed like she'd carved it out of my chest.

With a jolt, my back pitched with a choked back sob. Then another rose up. And another. Each sob rose up with the pain that struck into my chest and twisted my stomach with nausea and discomfort. The fourth one brought up another round of vomiting, which I uncomfortably wretched into the bathtub between my feet. Once my stomach emptied, strings of saliva dripped off my chin and congestion tickled my nostrils as I tipped my head up and washed everything away.

Once the water ran clean, my eyes blurred again. This time, tears pricked the corners of my eyes, then trailed over my cheeks as I squeezed them tightly shut. I was beyond thankful that the entire upper floor was silent and surrendered under the sobs that surged up and took over.