Straddling the Line

THIRTY-ONE

HAVEN’S BREATH CAUGHT. IT WAS AS IF TIME HAD stood still for those few seconds after Trevor had told her he couldn’t read.

“What?”

His shoulders slumped, the words barely audible. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She saw the pain etched into his features, the agony it must have cost him to admit that. “You can’t read? That’s impossible. I tutored you in college.”

He finally sat on the stairs. Slumped in defeat was more like it, as if a balloon had burst. He had no fight left in him.

And she’d made him admit it. She felt awful.

She kneeled in front of him and said it again. “I tutored you. In English. History. Math.”

“Easy enough to fake it. You did all the work. And I can read some. Just not good. I get confused. So I just . . . don’t.”

Oh, God. Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so focused on her crush on him, on her irritation with him being the hotshot athlete who’d wanted to bargain with her to help him pass his classes, she hadn’t paid attention to why he’d been struggling so much.

She’d thought he was lazy. Her stomach tightened as the guilt poured over her.

She laid her hands on his knees. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

Then it hit her. The ridiculous organization in his refrigerator, the fact he hadn’t read the contract his lawyer had brought him. She’d never actually seen him read anything. He played some games on his phone, but that day he’d made her punch in a phone number on hers.

It was starting to click.

“What about your playbook? I know football players have to learn a playbook.”

“My agent and my lawyer know. They helped me through it, taught it to me play by play. Besides, there are pictures in the playbook. Fewer words. It’s easier to understand.”

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, then reopened them. “That’s why you chose the literacy group as one of your charities.”

“Yeah. But I can’t read to those kids. I can’t let people find out about this.”

“You can be taught to read, Trevor. I can help you.”

He stood and started backing up the stairs. “No. Oh, fuck no. It’s too late for me.”

She stood, too, looked up at him. “It’s not too late for you. It’s never too late. You can’t give up on yourself.”

“Look. It’s bad enough that you know. I don’t want anyone else to know, and I hope you know this is off the record. If you try to put this in your interview, I’ll sue both you personally and the network.”

She gasped, horrified he’d think that of her. “Do you really think I’d use something as personal as this to get ahead in my job?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Haven. Would you?”

She wanted to slap him, but she knew it was hurt and defensiveness causing him to lash out like this. “I wouldn’t, and you know me. I would never hurt you that way. I’m trying to help you.”

“You can help me by canceling the event at the literacy center. Tell them there was a scheduling conflict.”

She shook her head. “I think it would only help you to—”

“You’ve helped enough. We’re done here.”

He turned around and started up the stairs.

Haven read the finality in his statement. She dashed up and got in front of him, laying her hand on his chest, forcing him to stop and face her. “Done here? What do you mean?”

The severity in his expression cut her deeply. There was no warmth, no caring there. She saw . . . nothing.

“I mean we’re done. I have to concentrate on football, and you have enough footage to finish up your interview. Why don’t you pack it up and leave.”

And just like that, he was pushing her out of his life. She knew why, but it still hurt to hear him say the words.

“Trevor. Don’t do this.”

“You can stay tonight, but tomorrow I want you out of here.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t. We can fix this together. I’ll help you.”

He didn’t budge. She saw no emotion. It was like he’d completely closed off from her, from feeling anything. “Haven. You need to go.”

She’d never seen that look on his face, the way he’d just completely shut down. Part of her wanted to push through, to refuse to leave until he saw reason. The other part of her hurt so badly because he didn’t trust her, didn’t care enough about her—about the both of them—to even try.

She wanted to beg him to let her stay so she could help him through this.

But why? It was clear he wanted nothing more to do with her. He’d made it nearly thirty years without her, and he intended to go without her. He didn’t need or want her help.

He didn’t want her. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to beg him to let her stay.

“Fine. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

He gave a short nod. “I think that’s best.”

“Me, too.” She turned and went to her room and shut the door, then entered the bathroom and turned on the water in the sink.

She looked into the mirror, seeing the unshed tears shimmer in her eyes.

Screw Trevor. She was not going to cry over him.

She leaned over the sink to wash her face as big, fat tears slid down her cheeks.

Oh, damn. Maybe she was going to cry over him after all.