I had entirely too much hair to be whipping it around in such a passionate show of head banging, but I didn’t care.
My curls bounced and flew around me as I danced and sang to Lizzo on the Friday night before our home game against the Hawks, glasses sliding down the bridge of my nose with every pump of my hips. The spatula in my hand was the microphone, the fuzzy socks on my feet serving as perfect twirling material when I sashayed from the stove to the sink to drain the angel hair pasta.
My phone buzzed with the number that automatically rang when someone hit the button next to my apartment number outside, letting me know Clay was here. I tapped the code to let him in and felt my smile growing wider without me even willing it to. I texted him right after.
Door’s unlocked.
The homemade vodka sauce I’d put together bubbled precariously on the stove, so I turned the heat down before bending to check on the cheesy garlic bread toasting in the oven. The sausage was already done, covered in foil in the microwave to keep it warm. My entire apartment smelled like an Italian heaven, and my stomach grumbled just as my front door slowly creaked open.
Clay didn’t even stand a chance of a normal greeting, not before I skipped over to him and grabbed his wrists, pulling him the rest of the way through the door and kicking it closed with my foot behind us.
I mouthed the words to the song just as my favorite part came on, and I even made a little hang ten gesture with my hand as I pretended it was a shot I was throwing back in time with the lyrics. The beat was intoxicating, and I pulled Clay to the middle of my living room floor, doing a little spin under his hand before I let him go altogether and turned around just in time to drop it down in a twerk for him.
He should have laughed.
He should have been dancing with me, being a silly fool like we always were together.
At the very least, he should have had his hands on me after that twerk situation, because I knew my ass looked good in these sweatpants.
Instead, he watched me with a long, expressionless face, his eyes far off and distant.
And my heart bottomed out at the sight.
“Shit,” I said, running over to my phone to pause the song and pull the vodka sauce off the burner. I took the bread out of the oven before rushing back to him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at practice?” My eyes shot open wider when I thought of the next possibility. “Oh God, are you hurt? Did you get injured?”
I grabbed him by the arms, taking in the full length of him in search of anything that might be bandaged or bleeding. When I didn’t find anything, I let my gaze find his again.
And the misery staring back at me stole my next breath.
“Clay…” I warned. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”
I saw every ounce of effort he put into trying to keep his face straight, into trying to remain emotionless. But slowly, little by little, he gave himself away. His eyebrows bent, nostrils flaring, bottom lip quivering just once before he blew out a breath and pulled out of my grip.
I stood there in his absence, feeling the cool wind of him brushing past me. When I turned, he was facing the kitchen, his back to me, hands clasped on top of his head as his back muscles flexed with every haggard breath.
“Clay,” I tried, fear prickling my nerves.
He stood there silent for so long, I almost said his name again. But then finally, his hands fell to his side, and he pulled his shoulders back, holding his chin high as he turned to face me once more.
“It’s over, G.”
I frowned, confusion sparring with the anxiety niggling at my belly. “What’s over?”
His throat constricted. “Us.”
I laughed. It was automatic, even as I frowned and shook my head and felt tears burning behind my eyes. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. What are you talking about?”
When he didn’t answer, all laughter ceased.
“Clay, what are you saying right now? What are you… What…”
Everything I tried to ask was cut off by the absolute refusal of me to accept what he was saying. I shook my head, over and over, crossing my arms over myself as I stared at him and took in all the pain he was clearly feeling.
“It was all a game to me,” he said, his voice stoic and unmoved, eyes glossed over. “I’m sorry I used you, that I pretended like I wanted to be with you. I had to do what it took to get Maliyah back.”
A single tear fell over my cheek, so fast I couldn’t catch it with the swipe of my hand that came too late. “Get Maliyah back?” I echoed.
“She came over last night,” he said, and the coldness in his voice made me shiver like a tree in a storm. “We talked, and she wants to be together again. It’s what I want, too. I’m just sorry I pulled you into this.”
My face warped with betrayal and emotion, stomach turning so violently I doubled over a bit with the pain. But then I stood again, staring at him through my blurred vision.
And again, his façade slipped.
His bottom lip trembled so bad he wiped his hand over his face to cover it, and then he hung his hands on his hips and turned away from me again to hide the rest.
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion.
And then I charged.
“Bullshit,” I seethed, shoving him from behind. He stumbled forward before turning to face me just in time for me to push him again. “This is all bullshit and I know it. Why are you doing this? What the fuck is going on, Clay?”
“I just told you what’s going on. This has been my plan all along,” he said, voice louder, and I watched as he willed himself with all his might to be angry, to glare down at me — but he failed pathetically, and tears filled his eyes, falling over his cheeks as my heart broke with the sight.
I reached out for him, swiping the wetness from his face before I held his cheeks in my hands.
“Don’t do this,” I begged. “I don’t know what’s going on, but please, don’t do this.”
His face twisted in grief, and he turned away from me but leaned into my palm, closing his eyes and releasing another wave of tears before he peeled my hands off him.
“I have to go,” he whispered, brushing past me.
But before he could reach the door, I ripped him back.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop this right now. Look at me,” I begged, grabbing his chin in my hands and forcing him. “Look at yourself. You don’t mean this. You don’t mean any of it.” I shook my head. “You don’t.”
“Please,” he pleaded, and as more tears filled his eyes, he tried to pull away from me. I didn’t know if it was shame from crying, or shame from what he was saying, or both. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” I asked desperately, trying to read between the lines.
He shook his head, freeing my hands from him before he kissed my fingertips and let them go completely. “You deserve to be happy, Giana. I want you to be happy. Just… move on. Go be with Shawn and—”
“I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH SHAWN,” I cried, pressing back into his space. I pushed up onto my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck and refused to leave any distance between us when I whispered, “I want to be with you.”
He cracked, a sob breaking through his veneer as I slammed my mouth over his, tasting the fresh tears there. His arms wrapped fully around me, and he kissed me like he fucking hated me, like I was the absolute bane of his existence.
And then, he pushed me back.
“I have to go,” he said, voice cracking as he went for the door.
“Whatever it is, whoever it is you think you’re helping, you’re breaking the promise you made to me,” I said to his back, and I knew I was right, knew I’d struck a nerve when he stopped abruptly, his back heaving with every breath.
Carefully, I moved around him, bending to catch his gaze.
“The promise you made to yourself,” I reminded him.
He closed his eyes, letting out a long, hot exhale. “I have to.”
“Have to what? What are you doing, exactly?”
But he wouldn’t answer me. He just shook his head, all his effort going toward strangling the emotion desperately trying to break free.
And in an instant, in a snap of a band I didn’t realize was stretched so thin, I went from sad and hurt to all-encompassing anger.
“You’re a coward, Clay Johnson,” I whispered.
His eyes snapped to mine, pain laden in them, but I didn’t care.
He was hurting me, too.
“You’re a coward, and a fool, and this isn’t what you want, and I know it.” I shook my head. “Let me in. Tell me what happened. Tell me and we can fix it together.”
Clay just stared at me, his nostrils flaring as his eyes wandered over the length of my face like he was savoring every inch of it and storing it in his memory.
Like he’d never see me again.
And that broke me.
“Fine!” I screamed, and in a move that surprised both of us, I punched him straight in the chest with both of my fists. “Go! Leave!”
Clay took every hit, his eyes fluttering shut, not so much of a flinch each time my little hands rained down on him.
“Go be with Maliyah. Go pretend like none of this mattered, like I don’t matter.”
He shook his head at that, reaching for me, but I swatted him away.
“No. No, don’t try to take it back now.”
“Kitten,” he whispered in a pained breath.
“GET OUT!” I screamed, hitting him again and again as I shoved him toward the door. “I hate you! I never want to see you again! I hate you!”
The words came out more desperate and garbled with every breath as sobs ripped free from my chest, echoing off every wall of my apartment.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against another flood of tears, trying to hold onto me as I pushed and pushed.
“You…” I stopped, melting into his arms as he wrapped me up tight. I shook and cried and he did the same. “You broke my fucking heart.”
Silence fell over us, one long, still moment.
“I broke mine, too,” he whispered.
And then he released me.
I gasped at the loss, but didn’t have time to do more than reach for his back as he pulled my front door open and flew out of it without looking back at me.
A mangled cry fell from my lips when he was gone, and I sank down to the floor, bones collapsing in a heap before I hugged my knees to my chest like that was the only way to keep myself together.
Just like that, my cotton candy cloud moment was over.
And no matter how I braced for it, I knew I’d never survive the crash to the ground.
