Drew

“Let’s talk about Fable.”

I tense up but nod. I try my best to appear neutral, like our new topic of discussion doesn’t bother me. “What do you want to know?”

My shrink watches me, her careful gaze steady. “It still bothers you to hear her name.”

“It doesn’t,” I lie. I try my best to appear nonchalant, but my insides are churning. I both dread and savor hearing Fable’s name. I want to see her. I need to see her.

I can’t make myself go to her. And she’s clearly given up on me. I deserve her giving up. I gave up on her first, didn’t I?

More like you gave up on yourself.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Drew. It’s okay if it’s still difficult.” Dr. Sheila Harris pauses, tapping her index finger against her chin. “Have you considered trying to see her?”

I shake my head. I consider it every day, every minute of my life, but my considerations are useless. “She hates me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know I’d hate me for what I did if I were her. I shut down and shut her out, like I always do. She begged me again and again not to do it. That she’d be there for me no matter what.” Yet I left her. With only a stupid note that took me way too long to write, filled with a secret message that my smart, beautiful girl figured out right away.

But she’s not my girl. I can’t lay claim to her. I ignored her. And now…

I’ve lost her.

“So why did you shut her out? You’ve never told me, you know.”

My psychologist loves to ask the tough questions, but that’s her job. I still hate answering them. “It’s the only way I know how to cope,” I admit. The truth slaps me in the face on a daily basis. I always run.

It’s so much easier.

I sought Dr. Harris out myself. No one else pushed me to do it. After we came back from Carmel, after I ditched Fable and left her that bullshit note, I withdrew into myself worse than ever. I f**ked up my game play. I f**ked up my grades. Winter break came and I ran away. I literally ran away to some crazy cabin in the middle of the woods I rented from some nice old couple in Lake Tahoe.

My plan? Hibernate like a bear. Turn off my phone, hole up by myself and figure my shit out. I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be, though, being alone with my thoughts. My memories, both the good and the bad, haunted me. I thought of the bombshell my stepmom Adele dropped on me. I thought about my dad and how much the truth—if it really is the truth—would affect him. I thought about my little sister Vanessa and how she died. How she might not be my little sister after all…

More than anything, I thought of Fable. How mad she’d been when I showed up on her doorstep, but she let me in anyway. The way I touched her, how she touched me, the way she always seemed to break down my barriers and see the real me. I let her in. I wanted to let her in.

And then I left her. With a note that was rendered pointless because she tried her damnedest to rescue me and I wouldn’t let her. She sent me exactly two texts. The second one surprised me because I knew she was stubborn and I figured she’d give up after I didn’t answer the first one.

How could I answer it, though? She said all the right things. And I would’ve said all the wrong things. So it’s better to say nothing at all.

She also left me one voice mail. I still have it. Sometimes, when I’m feeling really f**ked up, I play it. Listen to her soft, tearful voice, those unbelievable words she says to me. By the time the message is finished, my heart literally hurts.

It’s torture listening to it yet I can’t make myself delete that message either. Just knowing it’s there, that for one last minute she actually cared, is better than deleting those words and her voice, and pretending she doesn’t exist.

“I’m hoping to help you with that. Your coping mechanisms,” Dr. Harris says, drawing me out of my thoughts. “I know how much she means to you. Fable. And I’m hoping that eventually, you’ll go to her and tell her you’re sorry.”

“What if I’m not sorry?” I toss the words out, but they’re meaningless. I’m so sorry I can’t begin to explain how much of a screwup I am.

“Then that’s another issue we’ll have to deal with,” she says gently.

It goes on like this for another fifteen minutes and then I finally make my escape, walking out into the cold, clear winter afternoon. The sun is warm on my skin despite the temperature and I start down the sidewalk, heading for where I parked my truck. Harris’s office is downtown, in a nondescript building, and I hope like hell I don’t see anyone I know. The college campus is only a few blocks away and students hang out at the little stores, cafés and coffee shops that line the street.

Not like I have many friends, but hell. Everyone likes to think they know me. No one really does. With the exception of one person.

“Hey, Callahan, wait up!”

Pausing, I glance over my shoulder to see one of my teammates running toward me, a big grin on his goofy face. Jace Hendrix is a pain in the ass but generally a good guy. He’s never done me wrong, not that any of them ever really have. “Hey.” I offer him a wave and shove my hands into my jacket pockets, waiting until he stops just in front of me.

“Long time, no see,” Jace says. “You sort of disappeared after that last failure of a game.”

I wince. That last failure of a game had been all my fault. “I was feeling sort of f**ked up over that,” I confess.