Two weeks later
Blake signaled for his check. The End Zone was his refuge these days. No one in FEA knew about this place, which meant he could wallow in self-pity in peace.
The bartender brought the bill. It wasn’t Mina, who left Shanghai months ago. She sent him a short text before she left, and that was that.
Honestly, their short-lived fling seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.
Blake tossed back the rest of his whiskey and scribbled his signature. On the wall, the clock ticked toward six. The group had six-thirty dinner reservations at some hot new restaurant Olivia picked out. Farrah texted him the invite. He didn’t reply.
“See you tomorrow,” the bartender said.
Blake nodded. He shouldered his way through the happy hour crowd and stepped outside. Spring had arrived in Shanghai, and the city burst with color and sunshine. Given Blake’s mood, it may as well be gray and storming.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of avoiding Farrah and making excuses about why he couldn’t hang out.
Two weeks of not seeing her, touching her, hearing her laugh.
Two weeks of hell.
Blake had to tell her about Cleo. He’d told himself to wait until after her birthday, but every time he tried to get the words out, they stuck in his throat like splintered glass, cutting him open from the inside until he couldn’t speak at all.
He tapped his metro card on the reader, so lost in his thoughts he barely registered the rush hour traffic streaming around him. Office workers, families, and students crowded into the station, their chatter so loud it sometimes drowned out the P.A. announcements.
A little girl, around four or five years old, ran past Blake toward the platform. His stomach plunged when he saw the train pulling into the station. He started to run after her when her panicked father caught up and scooped her up in his arms. The girl laughed and threw her arms around her father’s neck, oblivious to how close she came to danger.
Blake exhaled and followed them onto the train. The relief lasted two seconds before images of all the terrible things that could happen to a child rushed in—kidnappings, bullying, road accidents. Things no parent could control.
His shoulders tensed. More people squeezed onto the train before the doors closed, packing them in like sardines in a can.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Blake wasn’t ready for any of this. Not to go back to the dorm, not to tell Farrah the truth, and certainly not to be a freaking father. He was 22, for chrissakes! Cleo was 20. They had no clue what they were doing.
Blake didn’t know how to change a diaper or soothe a baby to sleep. What if he messed up and ruined the kid for life? How could he be responsible for another human being when he couldn’t get his own life together?
The sweat intensified. Jesus, it was a sauna in here.
The woman next to Blake scooted away from him. No doubt she saw how sick he looked and worried he might throw up on her.
It was a valid fear.
Blake’s head pounded, sharp and heavy.
He could ask his mom for help. He’d told her about Cleo’s pregnancy a few days after Cleo broke the news. Rip the Band-Aid off and all that.
Once she got over her shock, Helen had been ecstatic. She wanted grandbabies more than anything and she loved Cleo. She’d never hid her desire for Blake and Cleo to marry and settle down one day. Now, her dreams had come true, albeit earlier than she expected.
Blake’s father? Not so happy. If it weren’t for Helen, he would’ve disowned Blake on the spot. In his eyes, this latest bombshell proved once and for all what a fuckup his son was.
He was right.
Ever since Blake quit football, his life had spiraled into a hopeless mess. His relationship with Farrah was the one good thing to come out of it, and he was about to lose that too.
The train rolled to a stop at the SFSU station. Blake shoved his way out, ignoring the other passengers’ protests and dirty looks. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached street level and gulped in a lungful of cool, fresh air.
The claustrophobia eased.
The anxiety didn’t.
As he walked toward the dorm, Blake ran through scenarios of how to break up with Farrah. Should he tell her about Cleo at all?
It was only a kiss. Which isn’t great, but at least she didn’t sleep with Nardo. That would be unforgivable.
Farrah’s words from Valentine’s Day haunted him. It was stupid because he was going to lose her either way, but he didn’t want her thinking he’d done the one thing she deemed unforgivable.
So what the hell should he tell her?
Blake entered FEA’s lobby and beelined for the stairs. His head pounded with indecision.
He needed one more night to figure out how to end things with Farrah.
He knew he was dragging out the inevitable. He had to let Farrah go. It didn’t matter if it happened tomorrow or two months from now. It’d crush him all the same.
But for now, he had one more—
“Hey.”
Blake stopped in his tracks. Farrah stood outside his door, arms crossed. She wore a frown and her favorite sheep pajamas.
Blake’s lips tugged up into a brief smile before it disappeared.
“We should talk.”
So much for one more night.
He swallowed and jerked out a nod. He couldn’t put it off any longer.
There was no tomorrow.
Time was up.
