My Player Bestfriend (Book #1)

Chapter Nineteen

He asked me in the middle of a Tuesday, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Come with me."

I looked up from my half-eaten bowl of cereal. "What?"

"To Florida. For the last few tour dates. Just... come."

I blinked, spoon frozen midair. "Are you serious?"

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. But the look in his eyes gave him away. He wanted this. He wanted me.

"I know we're still figuring things out," he said, "but... I want you there. With me. In it."

And I don't know what came over me.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me — like he was finally sure about something for once. Maybe it was the guilt still lodged in my chest like a secret waiting to explode. Or maybe it was the part of me that still wanted to believe we could really work if we just got out of this town and out of our heads.

So I said yes.

Just like that.

"Okay," I whispered. "I'll come."

And for a minute — just a minute — things felt light again.

The next few days were a blur.

Packing. Booking the flight. Watching him hum to himself as he stuffed hoodies and headphones into his suitcase like we were heading off to some spontaneous honeymoon instead of a half-broken attempt at healing.

And I tried — really tried — to be present.

To let myself believe that maybe this was the beginning of something new. Something that could survive the damage.

But I couldn't ignore the weight in my chest.

The secret.

Luke.

And the almost.

We were supposed to leave Thursday.

On Wednesday night, everything cracked.

We were watching a movie on the couch — some dumb comedy neither of us were really paying attention to. His hand was on my thigh. Mine was in the bowl of popcorn.

Then his phone buzzed.

And everything shifted.

He looked at the screen. Went still.

"Who's texting you at midnight?" I asked, teasing.

He didn't laugh.

Just stood up. Slowly.

"Austin?"

He turned the screen toward me.

And there it was.

A screenshot. From someone anonymous. A message from Luke to me.

You don't have to explain anything. I'm just glad you came over.

Under it: a blurry photo of the outside of Luke's apartment. From that night.

My heart stopped.

"Austin," I said again, softer this time. "I can explain—"

He didn't raise his voice.

Didn't even look angry.

Just... empty.

"You said you weren't with him."

"I wasn't."

"You went to his place, Mary."

"I didn't sleep with him—"

"But you went."

Silence.

"Why?" he asked, voice low.

"I don't know," I said. And it was true. "I panicked. I didn't want to feel anything. It was just one night and—"

"That's all it takes, Mary."

He ran a hand over his face, pacing.

"So what, were you going to come with me and just pretend that night didn't happen?"

"No," I said. "I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"I don't know."

He stared at me. And for the first time since he came back, I saw it — the wall going back up. Brick by brick.

"I let you in," he said. "Even after I messed up. I trusted you."

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

"But you did."

And then came the silence.

The kind that says this is what goodbye sounds like, before anyone says the word.

He picked up his keys.

"I'm still flying out tomorrow," he said. "You don't have to come."

"Austin—"

"I get it," he said, shaking his head. "It was just one night, right? You didn't feel anything."

"That's not fair."

He looked at me.

And then he said, "Maybe not. But it's honest."

He left before I could stop him.

And I stood in the living room, staring at the door, wondering how I could lose the same person twice and still not learn how to stop loving him.