But he doesn’t care what I want. It only matters what he wants.
“With the dean of students, and with the head coach and his staff. I know we’ve toured the facility before, but this time it’s serious. We’re serious. No more distractions allowed. The parties need to stop. The girls need to stop, especially that one your mother just met. You don’t need to break any hearts this year, Jordan. You need to focus.” The stern look my father sends me makes most men cower in defeat. Not me though.
I learned from a master. I stare back, not saying a word.
“Take a shower and pack an overnight bag. We leave in a few hours.” And with that, he’s gone. With that, I’m dismissed.
Grabbing my phone, I roll over on my side and scroll through my notifications. There’s a Snapchat from Amanda that came about thirty minutes ago and I open it to find a photo of her in bed, her eyes sleepy, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her smile soft.
And so fucking sweet, it kills me to look at her like that. Pretty and open and vulnerable and all mine. The caption tears me apart.
Last night was amazing. I miss you.
She added a few heart emojis and just seeing them totally slays me. I drove her home early this morning, dropping her off down the street from her house before eight. She was worried about my parents finding her in my bed. And if I would’ve had my way, it could’ve happened. I wouldn’t have cared either.
But she would’ve. I don’t want to disrespect her. I care about her too damn much.
Frustration slides through me and I want to punch something. It’s ridiculous. My feelings for her are ridiculous. But they’re also real. So incredibly real, she’s all I can think about. She consumes me.
Yet I can’t have her.
Inhaling deeply, I let it all out and close my eyes. Press my hands over them. I can’t do this. I can’t keep this up. What Amanda and I have will eventually end. Hell, I can already see the end. I need to let her down gently. I don’t want to hurt her, though it’ll happen. I know it will. I’ll hurt myself too because I can’t resist her. Why would I want to?
I don’t send her a reply. I don’t text her. I don’t call her. If I’m going to do this, I need to quit cold turkey. If this is what my dad wants, I need to do it. He’ll cut me off. He’ll screw me over. Damn it, I need him. I’m not even eighteen yet. He calls all the shots. I have to do what he says.
If I don’t, there will be hell to pay.
Monday I show up to school and there’s no Tuttle. He never makes an appearance.
Tuesday, more of the same. No Tuttle sightings. No texts, no calls, no Snapchats or Instagram posts. No one seems to even notice that he’s gone, with the exception of Livvy and Ryan, though they’re not saying anything. It’s like they’re scared to bring it up, especially after what happened Saturday night.
I run into Kyla at lunch Monday and she asks me to come to football practice that afternoon to help her. “I know you have a job after school and I was trying to do it on my own, but I can’t,” she explained. “So if there’s any day you can help me, that would be awesome.”
I had to turn her down for Monday and Tuesday. I worked both days after school, covering for Blake since he was sick with some sort of horrific virus. Sonja called me Sunday night asking me to work, and of course I said yes.
I never had to work alone, though. Sonja was there both nights, stuck in her office behind the computer and working on end-of-month accounting stuff. Livvy gave me a ride both days and Dad picked me up once work was finished. Once I got home I stayed up until almost midnight, finishing my homework, checking out stupid Snapchat and getting pissed every time Lauren Mancini made some vague I wish he was my boyfriend reference.
For all I know they’re spending time together. That’s what my envious heart whispers to me late at night anyway.
So yeah. Blake didn’t come to school on Monday and Tuesday either. Neither did Mrs. Meyer. It was like everyone was out with some sort of weird virus or whatever, and I started to grow concerned. Was Jordan ill? Was he okay? Where could he be?
But when I want to, I can be stubborn. For some twisted reason, I want him to reach out to me. It should be Jordan who makes the next move. I don’t want to look like I’m chasing after him. I don’t want to look desperate. I’m sure that’s what about a million other girls have done with him in the past. I don’t want him to think I’m like all the rest.
I want to be different. Special. Especially after everything we shared Saturday night…