Someone Like You (25 page)

Standing there in silence, they stared at each other for a long beat. His blood pulsed through his body, searing into his fingers, making his heart race. Her eyes searched his . . . and apparently didn't find what she was looking for. Her penetrating gaze turned sad, then hollow . . . as hollow as his insides felt.

“I've had enough. I'm going home,” she said in a clipped tone, backing away. “You win. I'm out of here. In fact, I'm going to give you the parting gift you obviously want. You and me, whatever this was—it's over.”

He stared at her.
No,
a voice inside him yelled.
Don't let her go, you asshole. What have you done?

“Almost everything you said in the last few minutes wasn't true. But one thing was: I
do
deserve better than this. After everything we . . . no, forget it. The hell with you.” Her eyes narrowed, the sadness and hurt dissolving into icy anger. “Take care, Pierce. Good luck with your life. We're done.” She turned and walked away, not looking back as she closed the glass door behind her.

He watched her go, her body stiff and her head held high. Watched her as she disappeared into the crowd, and the swarm of people swallow her up, taking her out of his sight. Felt his heart pound and his blood race and his head scream and his hands shake. With a furious shout, he hurled the glass at the brick wall with all his might, not even enjoying the sound as it shattered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Abby tried to focus on the kids. It was the last week of this soccer session, she could get through this. Daylight savings ended the day before, so the Monday night practice was bathed in darkness, the tall lampposts flooding the field with bright light. Cool winds blew, making her eyes water; autumn was finally in full gear. She was glad this was the last week, because the practices and games seemed longer in the cold.

She was also glad this was the last week, because she didn't know how she was going to be able to deal with seeing Pierce. All she had to get through was tonight, the Thursday night practice, and the last game on Saturday. She was sure he wouldn't sign up to coach with her again for the spring, and hoped he wouldn't show up to the big assembly on Saturday night. The Edgewater Soccer League closed out every session with an awards assembly at Edgewater High School, where all the kids came with their parents and got trophies.

“Coach Pierce isn't coming?” one of the boys asked. They all sat on the ground, stretching.

Abby tensed just from hearing his name. She'd been dreading the practice all day. Since she'd walked out of the party on Saturday night—Tess, after asking her to stay, had insisted on having a car take her home—she'd done nothing but think about him, with occasional crying jags in her room on Sunday. Today, she had to go back to work, and had been grateful for the distraction. But since school let out, her tension had increased each hour.

Maybe he'd felt the same dread, and wasn't coming? She checked her watch; it was five after seven. He usually got there at a quarter to seven. Her chest tightened as she burned with derision—even if he didn't want to see her, how could he do this to the kids? Just not show up? Was he gone for good, had he quit and she didn't know? Anxiety twisted her insides. “I guess not, Nicky,” she said.

Some of the boys groaned, but went back to their stretches.

“All right, guys,” Abby said, loud and stern. “Get up. Let's start some passing drills.” She crossed to the stack of small orange cones and began setting them out in a straight line. It was strange to do this alone. She'd gotten used to Pierce's presence . . . both here on the field, and in her life. As pissed off as she was, under the throbbing anger was deep disappointment and pain. God, she'd started trusting him, believing in him . . . loving him. Her eyes squeezed shut as she set down the last cone. It was good that he wasn't there. She would have been—

“Coach Pierce! You're here!” Dylan yelped.

Abby turned to see Pierce walking toward them. Her stomach gave a hard lurch. He glanced her way briefly before turning his attention to the boys, who had gathered around him. “Hey, guys. Sorry I'm late.”

“Coach Abby said you weren't coming,” Nicky said.

“Did she?” He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the kids, and shrugged. “She probably thought that because I'm late. Sorry about that. But I'm here. What are we up to, catch me up.”

“We were about to start passing drills,” Max said.

“We already did our stretches,” Mateo added.

“Okay then, what are you waiting for? Line up, two lines, you know what to do,” he said with forced enthusiasm.

Pierce snuck another glance at Abby. Her back was turned to him as she spoke to the boys on the left. She wouldn't look at him. Her shoulders were stiff, her whole demeanor radiating anger. He'd done the right thing, showing up late so they wouldn't have to talk, so he could gauge how she'd act toward him. Looked like cold silence was her deal.

His headache throbbed and he worked hard to concentrate. He'd drunk himself into a stupor on Saturday night after she'd left, and been deathly hung over all day on Sunday. Puking his guts up, head pounding, the kind of miserable hangover he hadn't endured in a long time. And once he'd been able to keep food down, he'd started drinking again. Anything to numb the pain, the self-loathing, the heartache.

Tess had tried to talk to him about what happened, but he'd just wanted to crawl into a hole and be left alone. That was what he deserved, wasn't it?

He'd hurt Abby, which was bad. But what was worse: he'd broken her trust, which he'd worked so hard to earn. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him now. He'd been brutally effective in his efforts to get her to leave him. He stole another glance at her as she walked up and down the lines. Did she have to look so damn pretty? Even though she wore a shapeless puffy purple coat and plain black sweats, he craved her body. The ends of her blond hair feathered against her jaw, peeking out from under a black wool hat. She was adorable. Desirable. Formidable. And no longer his.

God, he'd been so wrong. He'd made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, driving her away. Once he'd sobered up, he realized how much damage he'd done. And started wondering how the hell he could get her back. If he even had a shot at it.

A soccer ball smacked his thigh, hard. It broke him out of the prison of his thoughts, but he grunted. “Damn! That stings!”

“Sorry,” Dylan said, his eyes wide. “I didn't mean it.”

“It's okay, buddy.” Pierce rubbed the spot on his leg through his lined track pants. “I zoned out there, or I would've seen it coming.”

“We often don't see what's coming,” Abby said over her shoulder, still not looking at him. “Which is why it stings so much.”

His blood heated and shot through his limbs. He'd been stinging too, she had to know that. Or did she? If she'd convinced herself he didn't care about her at all, she wouldn't think that much of him. And unfortunately, he'd done a stellar fucking job of making her think that. He stalked over to her and whispered, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don't,” she said curtly, trying to turn away.

He gripped her arm. “Abby—”

“
Don't.
” She shook off his hand as if it were dipped in acid. “We just have to get through tonight, Thursday, and the last game,” she bit out in a hostile whisper. Finally her eyes met his as she said, “That's all the talking we need to do. For the kids. Other than that, I have nothing to say to you. Leave me alone.” She turned and walked away from him.

His stomach lurched again and his skin went cold. Damn, damn, bloody hell. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sighed as he watched her from afar. He'd thought pushing her away was for her own good? Well, mission fucking accomplished. The fierce resentment in her eyes when she'd finally looked at him was almost too much to take. Her walls were back up, even higher than the day he'd met her. All his fault. It'd felt like a spear in his heart, a kick to his gut. At last he knew why people said love could hurt so much when it went wrong.

* * *

“Pierce. Wake up.”

He groaned and turned onto his side.

A soft hand shook him gently. “Hey, Soccer Boy.” Tess, it was Tess's voice. Through the fog in his head, he'd know her voice anywhere. “Wake up. You have company.”

With a grunt, he opened his eyes, just a sliver. The light hurt and he threw his forearm over his eyes. “Go away,” he moaned.

“Nope.” Wait, that was Dane's voice. “Get up, you.”

Pierce peeked out, squinting. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in the sunroom again. Really, stumbled in and passed out was more accurate. Tess, Dane, and Charles were all there, staring down at him with a mixture of concern and mild disdain. “All three of you, huh? What is this, an intervention or something?”

“Yeah, actually, kind of,” Charles said, making himself comfortable in one of the plush armchairs. “So get up.”

“Or lie there awake,” Dane said, “but be
awake,
so you can talk to us.”

Pierce yawned, then rubbed his jaw and felt the three days' worth of heavy scruff. He wondered if he smelled as rotten as he felt. “Don't feel like talking.”

“Too bad,” Dane said. “Tess called us, and we're here.”

“On a Thursday afternoon?” Pierce shot a glance her way. “Why'd you do this?”

“Because I'm worried about you, obviously,” Tess said. “You're a freaking disaster this week. And you've been either drunk or passed out since you got home from practice on Monday night.”

“Can't argue that,” he grumbled, and sat up slowly. His head throbbed, but it was a gentle throb, and at least he wasn't nauseous. Day drinking was always kinder to him for some reason.

“So,” Dane started, taking a seat in the other armchair, “let's do a quick recap.” He crossed his arms across his chest as he fixed his younger brother with a stern look. “On Saturday night, you finally get your ass to the party, and you're obviously proud of and crazy in love with your girlfriend, who was absolutely lovely, by the way. But by the end of the night, you pulled some shit, she's walking out, and you're on the bender of the decade.”

“Good nutshell,” Charles commented. He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with a microfiber cloth he'd pulled from his inside jacket pocket.

“So what?” Pierce said irritably.

“We care about you, dumbass,” Dane said.

Pierce glanced for a second at Charles. “Really.”

“Yes, really,” Charles snapped. “Tess was pretty insistent that we come. Borderline frantic. I cancelled three meetings to be here right now.”

At that tidbit, Pierce couldn't help but stare at him. Charles took his job so seriously, it was like his religion. “You did?”

“I did,” Charles said. “Look, Pierce . . . you're eight and a half years younger than me. When you're kids, that's a huge gap. I left for college before you even hit double digits. And yes, you and I don't always see eye to eye. But you've been trying to change, I've seen that. And I care about you. You're my brother.” He put his glasses back on and peered at his youngest brother. “And what Dad pulled on Saturday was reprehensible. I wanted to strangle him for you.”

“I haven't spoken to him since the party,” Dane said. “I don't know when I will again. I'm so beyond disgusted with him, I don't want to hear his voice.”

“I'm not talking to him either,” Tess said.

“Wow. Tessie . . .” Pierce's brows lifted. “For you, that's hardcore.”

“He was . . .” She shook her head. “God, I'm still trying to figure out what the hell that was. He was so out of line, absolutely toxic.”

“Around me, he usually is,” Pierce said. “Whatever. He's an asshole, what else is new.” He scrubbed his hand across his stubbled chin. “Okay, so are we done here? Can I beg off the intervention?”

“No. You look like shit,” Charles said succinctly. “You're obviously miserable. We were all there, we have a pretty good idea of why you jumped off the cliff. Talk to us. We want to help. For once in your stubborn life, let us help you.”

Pierce was dumbfounded. He knew Tess cared about him, and even Dane. But Charles? He'd never had much use for his pain-in-the-ass much younger brother. But now he recalled how Charles had stood up for him to their father on Saturday night, the look on his face and the things he'd said. And how every time Pierce did something with the kids, Charles texted afterward to thank him. Pierce hadn't realized it until just then, but Dane wasn't the only one who'd been trying to reach out. Charles had been too, in his stuffy way. All three of them were there, stares filled with concern, trying to get him to open up.

“Pierce. You've been drinking every day,” Tess said quietly. “Until you pass out. You're not running, you're not going out. You're wallowing. I've been worried sick about you. We're here to pull you back from the edge and knock some sense into you, whether you like it or not.” She sat next to him on the couch, her eyes filled with concern and affection. “Whatever happened, I can tell you that when Abby left, she had tears in her eyes.” She placed a hand on Pierce's knee and he flinched. “Oh, honey. You guys were so good together. What happened?”

“Exactly what you all think happened. We had a fight. She broke up with me and left.” He shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I really don't want to talk about—”

“You're going to talk about it, so cut it out,” Dane said. He angled his chair more toward Pierce. “Look, what Dad did was inexcusable, that goes without saying.”

“He was in rare form,” Charles added. “Even for him, that was monstrous.”

“But the worst part is,” Tess said, “the things he said obviously got to you, because you've been a wreck ever since.”

“You drove Abby away over it,” Dane guessed. “Didn't you?”

“Christ, how he attacked her,” Pierce said in a low voice. He winced, then raked both hands through his hair. “He doesn't even know her, and he fucking attacked her to get to me, and it worked. I went for the bait, just like he knew I would. But Abby was shaken up. I should've . . . I should have protected her. Gotten her out of there as soon as he started his crap, instead of engaging . . . I was too focused on fighting him, when I should have been thinking of her.” He dropped his head into his hands. “But he was right about some things, you know.”

“The hell he was,” Dane scoffed.

“Like what? Tell us,” Tess said.

“Like how I'm just like Mom.” Pierce's hands rubbed over his scalp before he lifted his head to murmur, “He's right about that. We're both reckless. Thumbed our noses at the Harrison legacy. Promiscuous. Self-absorbed.”

“Yes, all that's true,” Charles said. All three of his siblings shot him death looks. “Sorry, but it is. I hate that Dad called her a slut, but she
did
have affairs. Lots of them. And she's been married three times. She, uh . . . she got around, let's face it.”