Someone Like You (27 page)

Tess moved into Pierce's side and gave him a quick hug.

“Do you really love her?” Charles asked.

Pierce rubbed his face with both hands, forcing himself back to a functional state despite the soul-shaking epiphanies. “Yes, I do.”

“Does she know that?” Tess asked.

“No.” Pierce's head dropped back into his hands as a fresh wave of self-loathing washed over him. “I only really realized it on Saturday night . . . at the party. Like, literally a few minutes before everything blew up sky high.”

“Oh honey,” Tess cooed with empathy, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“So tell her!” Dane commanded. “Stop beating yourself up, and do something about this. You fucked up. You've owned it, now fix it. Throw yourself at her damn feet if you have to.”

Pierce lifted his head to glare scornfully. “Shut up.”

“No, I won't. You're one of the most driven people I've ever known,” Dane said. “Take that drive that got you out of your father's house at eighteen without looking back. That tenacity I've seen you with on the pitch. That fire, focus, and train it all on doing whatever it takes to get Abby back.”

“Whether it's with Abby,” Charles interjected, “or another woman in the future, if you don't face your fears, you'll just repeat your pattern and keep pushing them away. And then you'll end up like Dad: alone and bitter, with major regrets.” He took in the looks of surprise on all three siblings' faces, but continued. “Because Dad knows, though he'll never admit it, that it was his doing; that he drove Mom away. It was his fault the whole cycle started, by how he treated her, ignored her—and deep, deep down, under the nasty bluster, he knows it. He was afraid to face all that. He still hasn't.
That's
why he's so bitter.” He speared Pierce with a searching look. “Is that what you really want? To end up like him?”

“Charles,” Tess said, a soft reprimand.

“It's true,” Charles replied. “I'm trying to help him.” His locked gaze with Pierce's didn't break. “You're thirty-one years old. It took you thirty-one years to find someone you truly love. You think that happens every day?”

Pierce's mouth went bone dry as he looked back at him. He shook his head.

“If you really love her,” Charles said, “do something about it. Face your fears and get your shit together with
her,
since you're already crazy in love with her.”

“And above all else,” Dane said, “stop drinking your days away. It doesn't help anything; it'll only make everything in your life worse. And you look like shit.”

“So I've been told,” Pierce said dryly.

“All right, guys,” Tess said to her two older brothers, trying to stem the talk. She turned back to her younger brother, empathy in her eyes. “Are we helping you at all?”

He looked around at the three of them. “Yes, you are, actually.” As he admitted that, something warm flowed through him and made his eyes sting again. Growing up, he'd never felt like he fit in with them. The three of them had always been a close-knit group, and he'd always felt like an outsider, except with Tess.

Not now. He totally felt their love, their support, their friendship. They were telling him hard truths because they cared, and they wanted to help him. It was overwhelming. He finally had a place here. At home, with his family. He
belonged.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely, looking around at all of them. “You're right. All of you. On all of it. Thanks for this. It, uh . . . it means a lot to me. Really.”

“We love you, Pierce,” Tess said. “We're here for you.”

“Think about everything we said,” Charles suggested.

“I will,” Pierce promised. Tess leaned in and hugged him.

“Good. I'm glad we got through to you. That you really listened for once,” Dane said. “And for God's sake, take a shower, shave,
something.
Please, man. Because
ugh.
”

Pierce snorted out a laugh, grabbed a throw pillow, and hurled it at him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abby's classroom had emptied, and though it was Friday, she could still hear the sounds of kids out on the playground, even with the windows closed. It was a mild day for mid-November, and she couldn't blame the kids for wanting to play, or their parents for letting them. Soon enough, it would be too cold to stay outside for a few extra minutes of playtime after school let out. Even though the clouds threatened rain, it would likely hold off for another hour or two.

She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she put her books into her tote bag. It had been a long week. Depressed, sad, angry, she'd been going through the motions during the day, and crying herself to sleep at night. She'd spent Sunday locked in her room in a stupor, trying to process what had happened. And not a word all that day from Pierce. She'd figured he didn't even care and was done with her, too. He'd just let her walk away, without a fight, without anything. God, it hurt so much.

But on Monday morning, when she woke for work and turned on her phone, it had practically blown up with texts. Pierce had sent them during the night, while she was sleeping. Nine texts—apologizing, asking to see her, asking to talk to her. She hadn't answered, keeping her silence.

He sent flowers to her at school Tuesday morning; she'd sent them back. She couldn't be bought. She was no gold digger, and she wanted to make that very clear. He sent more texts; she didn't answer. He called; she let it go to voice mail. She told herself she was trying to let him go, which was what he'd wanted. He wasn't making it easy, but all she had to do was recall how he'd spoken to her on Saturday night, and it steeled her resolve again. That frost in his voice, the things he'd said . . . that was the real reason she wasn't answering his texts or calls. She was still hurting too much. She was so deeply disappointed, and heartbroken. Again. When she'd sworn she wouldn't let a man do that to her ever again.

But last night, seeing him at the practice, faking a smile for the kids, ignoring him as best she could . . . it had exhausted her. Again, he'd tried to talk to her at the end of practice, and she'd almost faltered. The look in his eyes was somewhere between determined and desperate for her to just listen to him . . . but she'd used Dylan as a human shield and blown him off, walking away as fast as she could. Then she'd gone home and cried herself to sleep. Again.

When she woke up this morning, there was a new text from Pierce. He'd sent it in the middle of the night.
I can't sleep. I miss you. I've been missing you so much it hurts. I'm tired of missing you. I totally fucked up and I know it. Please talk to me. Let's try to fix this. What we had was special. I want it back. I want YOU back. I'm groveling here. I won't give up. Please, Abby, just talk to me
.

Like his other texts, she hadn't answered. And like with the other texts, she was tempted. She
wanted
to answer. But she just couldn't. She needed a man she could trust, one she could count on. For a few precious weeks, she'd thought that maybe he could be that man, in spite of the warnings. But since that party from hell, when she'd tried to be there for him and he'd shut her out, lashed out, and pushed her away, everything in her screamed not to let him back in. That if she did she'd just get hurt again, even more than she was hurting already.

Yet she couldn't shake the sadness. She hadn't been sleeping well or eating much. And yes, she was still upset with him, but the truth was she was upset with herself, too. She'd been warned about him, and hadn't heeded the warnings. She'd been seduced by his rugged, naughty, sexy charm, his dry wit and talent . . . then, by their passionate sex that only bonded them further, his sweetness that he hid from most of the world but had shown her, only her. . . .

They'd truly connected. She thought they had, anyway. And somewhere along the way, she'd fallen in love with him.

She'd tried to deny it. But now, night after night, when her heart filled with such sadness that she ached from the inside out and it forced tears from her eyes, she knew. This wasn't mere disappointment, or fury, or regret. It hurt this much because it was all of those things and so much more. Because she felt so much, so deeply for him. Because she loved him, and wished to God she could really face that.

But why bother? He'd lied to her and hurt her, just like everyone said he would. Just like Ewan had, and Pete, and other guys she'd dated. She was still mousy, vanilla Abby, the nice girl whom guys would just roll right over. And Pierce? A player. He'd pursued her mostly because she was uptight and rigid and he made it his little mission to break her out of that. He'd made that clear at the start, and now it was clear that's
all
she was to him. A game. And when he treated her badly, she'd refused to play and left. She couldn't trust that he was still pursuing her because he cared; maybe it was just because he didn't like to lose.

But the truth was, whether he knew it or not, they'd both lost. Maybe they really could have been something together.

Abby's eyes filled with tears and she flopped back down into her chair. She sniffed hard, trying to keep the tears from falling. She grabbed a tissue from the box on her desktop and dabbed at her eyes.

Her phone dinged with another text message, and her stomach lurched at the sound. She pulled her phone out of her bag and looked.

I can't take this
,
Pierce's text read
.
I'm going crazy. What can I do to get you to talk to me? There has to be something.

 

She tried to swallow back the lump that had lodged in her throat. Then, with shaky hands, she texted back:
Nothing. Just let it go.

No
, she typed back quickly.
The damage is done. And after tomorrow morning's game, we won't have to see each other again.

His text came back almost immediately.
That's what I'm afraid of
.

 

Her heart squeezed and it was hard to breathe. She stared at the phone for what felt like hours, a million words swirling through her head. All she wrote was,
Let it go
.

The phone dinged again, and his text came pouring in.
I hate what I did to us. I wish you'd talk to me, or even just listen, and let me try to fix things. I didn't mean the things I said. I was hurting, I was drunk, and I was wrong. So wrong, about so many things. But not you. Being with you is the one thing I did right. WE were right, together.
And I miss you like hell
.

 

She stared at the phone again, her eyes burning with the still-threatening tears.

Another long text came.
You won't talk to me, so if this is my only chance, I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry I hurt you, Abby. No matter what else, please know that. You trusted me not to hurt you, and I let you down. I know that. I'm so sorry, baby
.

The lump in her throat felt like a big rock now, and tears escaped, rolling down her face.

He added,
I'm having a hard time forgiving myself for that, so I don't blame you for not wanting to. But I'm going to try. Because more than anything else, I want you in my life. So stop telling me to let it go, because I won't. You mean too much to me
.

That did it. She burst into ragged tears and put the phone down, dropping her face into her hands as she sobbed brokenly.

She let herself cry for two minutes. Then she made herself get it together. She grabbed more tissues and wiped her face, blew her nose, and took some deep breaths. Pulled the elastic out of her hair and ran her fingers through it. Then, against her will, she looked at her phone again to see what else Pierce had written.

She tossed her phone back into her bag and stood, sniffling again. Dammit. She'd have to duck out of school carefully now; anyone who saw her would know she'd been crying. If her friends saw her, they would know why and want to talk. She didn't want to talk. She just wanted to go home, grab a pint of ice cream, curl up into her bed, and shut out the world. Her heart and her brain were at war, and she was so tired.

* * *

Curled up in her bed, under her blanket fort, Abby just stared out the window and listened to the pinging of the drizzle against the glass. The last of the warmth was gone; deep autumn was kicking in, giving a taste of the long, cold winter ahead.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Abby called.

The door opened and her mother peeked her head inside. “You okay?”

“No,” Abby said, curling tighter into her fluffy comforter. “I'm miserable and moping. Not great company. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize for being sad.” Carolyn closed the door behind her and felt her way in the dark to Abby's bedside. As she sat on the mattress next to her, she said, “Cry it out if you need to. Just don't wallow for long. Gotta keep moving.”

Tears leaked out of Abby's eyes as she looked into her mother's face. “I can't believe I'm back here. Crying over a guy who did me wrong. How pathetic.”

“Feelings aren't pathetic. Repeating bad patterns and mistakes are. But I'm not sure that's what happened here. Talk to me, honey,” Carolyn said soothingly, stretching out beside her. She wiped her grown daughter's tears off her cheeks. “Start at the beginning. Unload. I'm here.”

Lying side by side on her bed, grateful for the unconditional support, Abby poured out the story, ending with the texts she'd received at the end of the school day. She even reached for her phone and showed them to her mother.

“Okay,” Carolyn said when she was done. She put the phone down, raised herself enough to bend her arm, and leaned her head on her hand. “Wanna hear what I think?”

“Yes, please.” Abby sniffled and reached for another tissue. She blew her nose, wiped her face, and settled in to listen.

“I think he was a first-class asshole when he said those things to you at the end of the party,” Carolyn pronounced. “You were right to walk away. But. Devil's advocate. From everything you've told me, what his father did to him probably sent him reeling. And then he started drinking. Not a good combination.” The sides of her mouth twisted. “I feel bad for him, really. I mean . . .” She gestured between Abby and herself. “Look at us. He's never had this, right? That's got to do something to a person. To not feel loved and supported by their own parents. Why do you think we're all overcompensating and doing whatever we can for Dylan? His father left when he was a toddler. We all do so much to make him feel cared for so he won't grow up feeling . . . like Pierce. Like he's not good enough, or unloved.”

The similarity hit Abby like a gut punch. She sat up. “Oh my God. I never even thought of that.”

“Oh, I have.” Carolyn sat up too. “Pierce is a great coach, and good with the kids, from what I've seen. But he's taken a special interest in Dylan. You think it's just because he's crazy about you? He cares about Dylan, because he can identify with him. Maybe he even sees a bit of himself in him.”

“Will I ever grow up to be as smart as you are?” Abby asked, only half joking.

“Sure. But you can't see a lot of this situation clearly, because you're too close to it.” Carolyn gave her a sad smile. “Because you're in love with him.”

Fresh tears spilled from Abby's eyes without warning. “I am. It's awful.”

“No, it's not. I'll tell you why. Because he loves you, too.”

Abby frowned in confusion. “No, he doesn't.”

“How do you know?” Carolyn challenged.

“He's never said that.”

“He doesn't have to. Read all those texts again. It's between the lines.” Carolyn snorted as she picked up the phone and waved it at her. “It's the only thing he hasn't said. He's been too busy begging you to talk to him, to hear him out. He's probably afraid to say it, but everything he's done since the fight says it loud and clear. I'd bet this house on it.”

Abby stared, thinking that over. “Maybe,” she finally murmured.

“I'll tell you something else.” Carolyn's shoulders stiffened a bit. “This whole week, when you've come home every day to go to your room and mope and cry, I've been having some spirited discussions with your father. And Fiona.”

Abby's eyes flew wide. “You're fighting? About me?”

“More like about Pierce.” Carolyn smirked. “They want to kill him. I keep talking them off the ledge.”

Abby couldn't help but hiccup out a watery laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“With your father, it's just because he can't stand the thought of anyone hurting his little girl. Which you and Fiona will be to him no matter how old you both get.” Carolyn pushed her fine, blond hair back from her face. It wasn't much longer than Abby's. But her eyes were a much paler blue, and they fixed on Abby as she continued, “As for your sister . . . she hates that he hurt you. She thought he'd changed, too, and I think a piece of her feels as disappointed in him as you are. Also, she feels guilty because she encouraged you to go out with him when you weren't sure.”