Not even a sorry.

Not even a check-in to see if I’m okay. Fuck, I’m the one who was blasted by the past. Where’s the goddamn sympathy?

“It’s better to talk it out, you know,” Cory says.

“Fuck off,” I respond, slouching further in my chair.

“That’s how this is going to be?” Cory asks, his voice unwavering. “Because I remember a time when you were in my business.”

“Because you’re the one who fucked up and needed a kick in the ass.”

“And you don’t believe you fucked up in this situation?”

I raise a brow in his direction. “Seriously? You were there, how could you say that?”

Cory shakes his head and looks to the side. I study him. There’s something he’s not saying, something he’s holding back.

I sit taller in my chair and swivel to face him. “What are you not telling me?”

He grips the back of his neck and asks, “Did she say she invited your brother?”

“No, she denied it. But how the hell else would he have known?”

From his locker, Cory grabs his phone, and taps away on it. “Natalie’s been cold toward me since that night, saying there was no way she could imagine Kinsley doing something like that. She sent me this screenshot today.”

Cory hands me his phone. It’s an Instagram post by someone I don’t know. The post is a picture of all of us at the bar. I’m holding Kinsley close to my chest and we’re both laughing. Just the sight of her in that yellow dress twists at my heart, reminds me of seeing her on the ground, fear in her eyes. I did that.

The pain from that night comes rushing back, kicking up my pulse and constricting my lungs.

“They tagged the bar,” Cory says.

“Okay, that doesn’t mean—”

“Look at the next picture.”

I scroll over to the next picture and my heart sinks. All color drains from my face, I’m guessing. Circled in red is a comment from a Manny_Paige_56 that says, “Coming for you, bro.”

“Holy fuck.” I press my hand to my forehead and dive my fingers through my hair. “Holy . . . fuck.” I lean back in the chair, as the room starts to spin around me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I toss Cory his phone back, and I dig into my locker for mine.

Regret slams me in the chest as I clasp my phone in my palm.

A shudder of helplessness eats at me, as I haphazardly navigate through my phone to find Kinsley’s name.

And my blood roars through my veins as humiliation grabs hold of my heart.

Fuck.

What have I done?

What the fuck have I done?

I press call on her name and bring the phone to my ear, my foot bouncing on the floor, perspiration filling my brow.

“Answer, answer, answer,” I whisper on repeat as an acute sense of loss starts to creep up my neck.

With every ring that goes unanswered, I feel my entire future drift further and further away. When the call goes to voicemail, I listen to her sweet voice asking people to leave a message and to make sure they’re recycling. Bile rises in my throat, and I tamp it down as the beep sounds off in my ear.

“Babe, Kinsley, it’s . . . it’s me. I . . . fuck, I need to talk to you.” I bury my head in my hand. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Please just call me back.”

I hang up and stare at my phone. Trying to figure out what she might be doing. Did she already move out?

Jesus Christ, did she go back to her parents’ house?

It’s not like she had anywhere else to go.

I claw at my hair now, pulling on it as worry wracks through me. Not only did I push her—physically pushed her—I left her with no other option to leave everything. Her job . . . she has nowhere to go.

Christ.

I quickly text her.

Maddox: Kinsley, please call me. I’m so sorry. I fucked up and hell, I just need to talk to you. Please call or text.

I set my phone down on my lap and steeple my hands together, resting my chin on my fingers as I take deep breaths.

How could I have been so blind, so deaf to her explanation?

I think back to my birthday night, the worry in her eyes, the confusion, and then when I accused her . . . the hurt. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to see her as the culprit, the one who was wrong.

The one who made horrible conclusions.

She did nothing wrong and when she tried to tell me, when she tried to explain, I didn’t listen.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter just as my phone beeps with a text.

I unlock my phone at lightning speed.

It’s from her. Thank God.

Kinsley: I’m out of the apartment. I left the key with the doorman. I’m done too.

Oh fuck.

I stumble through replying, my mind whirling, my heart cracking into a million pieces. I fucked up so bad, so fucking bad. All I can think about is if we’ll be able to get through this.

Maddox: Kinsley, I’m sorry. Please, go back to the apartment. We can talk through this.

I push send and feel her slip further away, as if she’s falling out of my grasp, and I can’t seem to hold on.

Kinsley: You made it quite clear that inviting me here was a mistake. Message received.

I type back so fast my fingers can’t seem to catch up with my brain.

Maddox: I was drunk. I was an idiot. I . . . fuck, Kinny, I said some stupid shit. Please. Please tell me I can fix this.

As the dots appear, I don’t breathe. I don’t move. My future weighs heavily on what she says next.

Kinsley: You made yourself clear when you left without talking to me, telling me to shut up, breaking up with me, and then ordering me to leave your place. You broke my heart, Maddox. You broke it into irreparable pieces.

“Fuck,” I say, tears starting to well in my eyes.

Maddox: Please call me.

When she doesn’t respond, I call her myself and when she doesn’t answer, I text her again.

Maddox: Kinsley, Jesus, please just talk to me. Tonight, after the game, please just hear me out.

No response.

Maddox: Baby, please. I’m begging you.

Nothing.

Maddox: Kinny . . . babe. Please, I need you. I’m so fucking sorry.

Still nothing. And when we’re told to hit the field and I check my phone one last time and see no response, I know . . .

I fucking know it’s over.

Irreparable pieces, that’s what my entire life has been. A broken man burst into irreparable pieces and the only person who came close to making me whole again, I just pushed out of my life with one cruel assumption.

“Stop fucking babying me,” I say to Lincoln, pushing him away and then stumbling into the wall of the hallway just as we step off the elevator to our floor.

“I wouldn’t baby you if you acted like a goddamn adult.”

“Fuck off,” I say, straightening up, but seeing two hallways in front of me. If only the alcohol would help me forget the pain coursing through my veins.

“Wish I could,” Lincoln mumbles under his breath, as I push past him and down the hall where I spot two girls—I think there’s two—waiting near our doors.

“Hey boys, good game,” the blonde says.

“Another win in the books,” the redhead adds.

They’re both barely covered by their dresses. Their hair and makeup are done to the extreme. They have cleat chasers written all over them.

“Are you looking for some company tonight?” I pause, and check out the blonde, giving her a slow scan from head to toe. Then I look over at the redhead, taking in her ample breasts and brown eyes. Different enough that I could escape for just a night.

I nod at the redhead and say, “Room twelve fourteen.” Her eyes light up and she starts to walk toward me when Lincoln cuts in, hand to my chest.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I glance down at his hand and then back at him. “Unless you want to get physical, I suggest you take your hand off me.”

“No.” Lincoln doesn’t back down.

“Move,” I say, tasting the whiskey on my tongue.

Lincoln leans in closer and says, “If you take that girl back to your room, expect to never see Kinsley again . . . ever. There is no returning from that.”

“She’s already told me our relationship is irreparable. Doesn’t fucking matter.” I push past him, my shoulder bumping into his as I walk up to the redhead and slip my arm around her waist, guiding her down the hallway.

She smells of cheap perfume, and there are fake tan streaks on her legs, but at this point, it doesn’t fucking matter. I just need to get lost, to let my mind forget about Kinsley for one goddamn second.

“Maddox.” My shoulder is pulled back and when I turn around, all I see is a fist coming at my face.

And that’s the last thing I remember before I black out.

“You got him good,” I hear Cory say.

“That’s makeup worthy.” Jason’s voice rings through my hotel room, his mouth stuffed with something.

“Some of my finest work,” Lincoln says just before I’m poked in the ass with something. “Wake up, sunshine.”