The Play (Briar U Book 3)

“I’ve barely seen you these past couple weeks.” Disappointment and compassion war in TJ’s eyes, but after a beat he reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze, showing that his compassion won out. Which is a relief, because I’m simply not equipped to reassure him right now. My mental health comes first, and I’ve been AWOL for reasons that have nothing to do with him or our friendship.

“You didn’t miss much. I haven’t been great company.” I pick at the edge of my banana muffin.

“You’re always great company,” TJ says with a smile.

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

“It’s the truth. How are you doing?”

“Better. I mean, my boyfriend cheated on me, so I’m not throwing any parades right now, but I’m also not tempted to commit violence and blow up his apartment.” Which, considering my behavior following Corinne’s housewarming, is certainly progress.

I honestly think I blacked out that night. I remember everything I did, but the memories feel removed and are filtered through a red haze. Throwing Nico’s clothes out the window, smashing his PlayStation, punching him in the face. The clearest of the memories are the ones involving Hunter and his roommates. That silly board game we played had succeeded in calming me down, and therefore I’m forever indebted to Zombies!™

“Have you spoken to him?” TJ asks. “Or do you still have his number blocked?”

“Still blocked.” I had no choice but to do it. Nico was calling and texting so often it was becoming intolerable. “But he did show up at the house last week,” I admit.

TJ frowns deeply. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“There was nothing to tell. He knocked on the door, and Josie and the others threatened to castrate him if he came by again.”

“Good. And don’t forget, my offer still stands—I’ll beat him up for you if you want.”

I give a dry smile. “He’s not worth it. Besides, I don’t want you getting hurt.” TJ isn’t scrawny, but he’s five-eight with a lanky build. Nico would murder him in a fight.

His hand tightens over mine.

“I didn’t mean it in a you’re-a-wimp sense,” I backpedal. “I know you’re not. I just mean he’s not worth the effort. Besides, you’d have to get in line. Pax is already doing extra arm days at the gym to bulk up, so that he can, and I quote, ‘fuck him up and not in the good way.’” We both snicker. “And Darius isn’t speaking to him at all.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Yep. Say what you will about D, but you know how he feels about monogamy.” Darius is also very religious, so he doesn’t condone anything that treads the line of immorality. “Oh, and we can’t forget about Hunter. He would love to knock Nico around.”

Speaking of Hunter, my phone buzzes a minute later with a text from him. I click on it to find a picture of an egg in a tiny hammock. A second message simply says: @PabloEggscobar

Oh my God.

Pablo has his own Instagram account now.

TJ leans in curiously. “What’s that pic of?”

“They have a pet egg.” I put the phone down, shaking my head.

“What? Who?” TJ sounds confused.

“The hockey team. Their mascot is a hard-boiled egg that they all take turns caring for. I think it’s some sort of teambuilding exercise? Hunter wasn’t very articulate about it.”

“Won’t it go rotten and start stinking?”

“Already has. These days it’s wrapped up in cellophane and kept in the fridge overnight, but the plastic wrap hasn’t suppressed the smell completely. Hunter had the egg on him last week and I kept catching whiffs of sulfur.”

“That is so weird. I’ll never understand jocks.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s an across-the-board jock thing. I think it’s a Briar hockey player thing. They’re all nuts, Hunter included.”

“Then why do you keep texting with him?” TJ asks lightly.

“Because we’re friends.” I shrug. “My friends are allowed to be nuts.”

And Hunter, for all his strange habits, has been an amazing friend to me since my relationship was blown to smithereens. Also, his roommates are my new favorite people. Brenna is a total smartass and I love her. Summer and I don’t have much in common, but she makes me laugh. And Rupi is…Rupi. Her relationship with Hunter’s friend Hollis fascinates me. I truly can’t tell if they’re madly in love or hate each other’s guts. Maybe a mixture of both? Either way, they’re highly entertaining.

I’m learning that keeping busy is the best remedy for a bad break-up. This means concentrating on midterms, math quizzes, chem labs, psych readings, anything that occupies my brain. And when my brain gets tired, I distract myself with friends. Drinks with Pippa, movie nights with my sorority sisters, hangouts at Hunter’s house. So far, it’s helping.

“When does your bus leave today?” TJ asks over the rim of his cup. A teabag string hangs over the edge. He’s not a coffee drinker, so it’s herbal teas for him.

“Seven-thirty.” I groan. “Ugh, I’m not looking forward to Thanksgiving. My parents are going to have simultaneous heart attacks when I tell them about Nico.”

“Wait, you still haven’t told them you guys broke up?”

“Nope. It’ll be a Thanksgiving surprise.”

“That sucks. They really like him, eh?”

“Like him? That’s like saying frat boys like kegs. They’re obsessed with him, view him as a son-in-law. They’re going to be devasta—” I stop midsentence when a familiar person enters the Coffee Hut.

Corinne.

My spine snaps into a straight, inflexible line. Corinne tried calling several times after her housewarming. When I ignored her calls, she sent a text asking if we could talk. I sent one back saying that when I’m ready to talk, I’ll reach out myself.Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

Well, it’s been two weeks and I’m nowhere near ready.

She freezes like a deer in the headlights when she notices me. Then she recovers her composure and—dammit, she’s walking toward us.

“Hide me,” I plead at TJ, but it’s too late. Corinne reaches our little table, a nervous smile on her face.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.” My voice is tight.

“I know you said we’d talk when you’re ready, but…well, the holidays are coming up, and then we’ll be back and it’s final exams, and then spring break…” She shrugs wryly. “Maybe we should just clear the air right now?” She lets the request hang in the uncomfortable air between us.

TJ gives me a questioning look, as if to say, should I step in?

I respond with a slight shake of the head. “Fine,” I tell Corinne. To TJ, I say, “Do you mind? You’re supposed to go meet your roommate soon, anyway. Right?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s no problem.” He eyes Corinne warily as he stands up.

She goes to grab a coffee, her black curls cascading down her back. She’s wearing a puffy navy-blue winter coat, which she takes off as she gets in line.

“I really don’t want to do this,” I tell TJ.

“I know, but you can handle it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You can handle anything,” TJ promises. “You’re fearless. But if you truly need an out, text me SOS and I’ll ditch Ryan and come right back.”

“You da best.”

He touches my shoulder, his palm lingering before he withdraws it. A moment later, the bell over the door jingles as he exits the coffeehouse.

When Corinne returns, we endure another awkward silence. I stare at her, because I’m not going to be the first person to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” is her opening line.

How original. “Yes, you already told me that.”

“I know, and I’m just going to keep saying it until maybe you’ll believe that I mean it.”

“Oh, I believe you mean it. But it’s easy to ask forgiveness. What shouldn’t have been easy for you was sleeping with your friend’s boyfriend.”

Shame colors her cheeks. She gulps, offering a quick nod. “I know. I made a mistake. And if you want to ask me any questions about it, I promise every word I say will be the truth.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” My tone is more frigid than I intend it to be, but I can’t control it. “How many times did you sleep with him?”

“Once,” she says instantly. “It wasn’t long after the move. He came by one night to help me hang a shelf.”

I strain to recall when that could’ve been. Probably one of the nights Nico was working late. I wonder how many times he lied to me over the years. God. This entire conversation is so embarrassing.

“We had a beer, and you know I don’t handle alcohol very well—that’s not an excuse,” she hurries on. “I’m not blaming the alcohol, but I was buzzed. And he was, you know, he was Nico. He’s charming.”

“Yes, he is,” I say tersely. It’s the dimples. Those dimples never fail to disarm women.

Corinne stares at her hands, wrapped around her coffee cup. “He kissed me, and I knew kissing him back was a bad idea, but I wasn’t thinking clearly and then he said—” She stops.

“He said what?”

“He told me you guys were having problems but that you didn’t want anyone to know.”

My jaw drops.

“And he said…” She blushes. “He said your sex life was non-existent.”

“Non-existent?” I’m seething again. “We were having sex regularly.” I just didn’t realize he was also having sex with everyone else.

“I’m sorry. I really don’t want my excuse to be that I was a stupid girl, but I was. I was stupid and insecure, and I hadn’t had a boyfriend in so long and suddenly this charming, gorgeous guy was paying attention to me, flirting with me, telling me all these terrible things about you.”

“And you believed him?” I’m hurt by the notion.

“No,” Corinne admits. “I wanted to believe him, because then it’d give me justification to not feel bad. But I did feel bad. I felt awful—before it happened, during, and after. And then he actually tried to see me again, in secret. I felt sick and said no way in hell. I wanted to tell you the truth, but he said he’d deny it if I did, and paint me as a slut who tried to seduce him.”

I don’t even know what to believe anymore. In his subsequent texts after our showdown at my house, Nico spammed my phone with his explanations, his excuses. And that was precisely what he told me—that Corinne came on to him, and he was too drunk to fend off her wicked advances.

“I don’t know if this helps or not, but…” Corinne takes her phone out of her bag. “These are all the text exchanges I had with him.”

She slides the phone across the table and I reluctantly pick it up. The first thing I do is click on Nico’s contact page to ensure that his name is assigned to the right number. People are liars, and technology is easily, and frequently, manipulated these days. But it’s the right number.

I don’t want to do it, but I force myself to read the text thread. And there it is, in black and white. Or rather, gray and blue. My loving boyfriend, asking my friend when they were going to have sex again. Corinne’s not lying. The entire exchange is disgusting.

NICO: Still thinking bout u. when r we gonna do it again? 😉

CORINNE: Never. I never want to do it again, Nico.

HIM: Srsly? playing hard 2 get all of a sudden?

HER: No. I feel sick to my stomach. I want to tell Demi what happened.

HIM: WTF? R u kidding me?

HER: No, I’m not. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I feel like the worst person on the planet. She’s one of my closest friends. I don’t have a lot of those. What we did was so freaking stupid and I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m throwing up every night. I have to tell her.

HIM: Not gonna happen, Corinne. She’s gonna think ur a liar

HER: No, she won’t.

HIM: Ya she will, cuz I’ll tell her ur lying.

It goes on for a while longer, and Corinne is right. She insists on coming clean, Nico warns her what he’ll do if she does.

I set the phone down. My eyes are stinging, but I refuse to cry.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispers. “And I know our friendship is irrevocably changed. All I’m asking for is forgiveness and maybe another chance. When you’re ready, of course.”

I nod slowly. “I accept your apology, and I will work on the forgiveness part, but…I can’t do it right now. I’m not there.” Her feeling genuine remorse after she slept with my boyfriend doesn’t alter the fact that she slept with my boyfriend.

“I understand.”

“But I am glad we finally talked,” I say, and I truly mean it. I’m not one of those girls who will blame the “other woman.” Yes, Corinne demonstrated poor judgment and total disregard for our friendship, but she wasn’t the one sleeping with me, the one professing love for me, the one telling me we were going to get married. Corinne was a bad friend, but Nico’s betrayal cuts so much deeper.

“Anyway, I have to go.” I scrape my chair back. “I need to pack for Thanksgiving.”

“Are you going to Boston?”

“Yes. I’m leaving tonight and coming back Sunday. Are you seeing your family in Vermont?”

“No, we’re doing a friends’ Thanksgiving in Hastings.” She hesitates. “Pippa will be there. I hope that’s okay.”

I swallow a sigh. Pippa’s been walking on eggshells lately, trying not to mention her friendship with Corinne to me. Fuck Nico for complicating everything.

Men are such garbage.

My parents are thrilled to have me home, even if it’s only for a few days. There’s already a full buffet on the table when I arrive, and it’s only the three of us tonight. Tomorrow we have a ton of family coming in from Miami. Dad’s an only child like me, but Mom’s side of the family is enormous. I expect tomorrow to be super noisy. Two of my mother’s three sisters are coming with their brood, and all my cousins are younger than me, so there’ll be a tiny mob of eight, nine and ten-year-olds running around. Mom’s only brother Luis and his wife Liana just had a baby boy, who I cannot wait to meet. I love babies.

Tonight is basically the calm before the storm.

“Oh lord!” My mouth is legit watering when I glimpse the feast Mom laid out. I’ll be leaving a trail of drool on the way to the table. “Mom, you are the greatest treasure in the whole world.”

“Thank you, mami.” She plants a kiss on my forehead and then pushes me into a chair. “Now, eat! You look so thin, Demi. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

I give a slight frown. My appetite disappeared after the break-up and it’s only now returning, but I hadn’t thought I’d lost any weight. All my clothes still fit.

Since lying to my mother is impossible, I reply with, “Let’s wait for Dad. I’ll tell you both at same time.”

“Dios mío! I knew it. Something is wrong. Tell us what!? Marcus!” she screams at the doorway, and my eardrums promptly shatter. I’m surprised the paintings don’t fall off the dining room walls.

My father takes his time coming downstairs. He’s learned to differentiate between Mom’s various screams and volume levels, and has clearly deduced this is not an emergency. When he finally strolls into the room, he greets me with a hug and kiss. “Hi, baby.”

“Hey, Daddy.” I stab a deep-fried crab cake with my fork and plop it down on my plate.

“What’s going on?” He glances at Mom as he takes his usual chair at the head of the table.

“Demi has something to tell us.”

His gaze swings back to me. “That so? What is it?”

“Can you let me finish this yummy crab cake first?” I chew extra slowly, relishing the taste, then spear some Cuban-style shrimp from one of the serving dishes. I quickly pop a shrimp in my mouth. “Mmmmm. Did you pan-fry this in pineapple? And garlic? It’s so good.”

I’m stalling and Mom knows it. “Put down the shrimp, Demi.”

Ugh. “Fine.” I lay my fork on the plate, swallow, and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Mom, maybe you should sit down too.”

They’re both alarmed. “Dios mío!” she cries again. “You’re pregnant! Marcus, she’s pregnant!”

My eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “What! No! I’m not pregnant. Jesus. Sit down already.” I hastily add, “Please.”

Suitably chastised, Mom settles in the chair next to my father.

I clasp my hands on the tablecloth and clear my throat, as if I’m about to deliver a really depressing lecture. “Okay, first of all, to reiterate, I am not pregnant.” I give them a warning look. “But this does have to do with Nico, and I need you guys to remain calm—”

“Is he all right?” Mom says in horror. “Is he in the hospital?”

“No, he’s not in the hospital, and I literally just asked you to be calm. Could you please promise to let me finish speaking before commenting?”

Dad waves a big paw. “Go on.”

“Promise,” I order.

They both mumble a promise to stay quiet.

I release a breath. “Nico and I broke up a couple weeks ago.”

When Mom’s mouth snaps open, I slice my hand down to karate chop the air. Her mouth closes.

“I know this isn’t something you want to hear,” I continue, “and believe me when I say I didn’t expect it to happen. As far as I knew, we were happy together and our relationship was on track.”

Dad growls. “What did he do?”

I let this particular interruption slide. “He cheated on me.”

Silence falls.

“Was it… was it a drunk mistake at a party?” Mom actually has the nerve to sound hopeful.

“Even if it was, that’s still unforgivable,” I say firmly.

“Well, it’s far more forgivable than if he—”

“Three different girls,” I interject, and her mouth slams shut again. “One of them was my friend, one was the sister of his co-worker, and the third was a random girl he met at a bar when he was out with friends.” He fessed up to the third indiscretion via one of his text diatribes. “Four, if you count the girl he cheated with in high school—” Another lovely text confession, although that one was more of a confirmation. “So, no, there’s no hope and no forgiveness. I’m officially done with him. Maybe one day I’ll be able to be his friend again, and the only reason I’d even consider that is because of our families, not for myself.”

“Oh, Demi,” Mom says sadly.

“Obviously I’d never ask you guys to stop talking to Dora and Joaquín, but…” I hesitate, wringing my hands together. “I know we invited the Delgados to visit for Christmas, but—and I’m begging you here—maybe we can ask them not to come…?”

Dad, who reacted protectively when I revealed Nico’s infidelity, now looks uneasy. “But everything has already been planned, sweetheart.” I know my father well—he doesn’t want to look bad in front of his friends.

“I get it, but I’m asking you, as your only daughter, to please put my well-being first when it comes to this. I can’t spend Christmas with Nico and his family. I just can’t. The breakup is still too fresh and it would be so awkward. It would…it would hurt me,” I say softly, and then avert my eyes because I hate showing vulnerability in front of my dad. He’s so strong that falling apart in front of him feels like a crushing failure.

But the words have the desired effect. With tears clinging to her eyelashes, Mom stands up and comes over to hug me. “Oh, mami. I am so sorry.”

As I hug her back, I watch my father, who’s still trying to rationalize Nico’s actions. “You truly don’t think you’ll give him another chance?”

“No,” I reply through clenched teeth. “I can’t.”

Dad’s expression flickers with unhappiness. “I’ve known that boy since he was eight years old. He always had a good head on his shoulders.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Surely there’s more to this story. Perhaps Nico—”

“He cheated on me, Daddy.”

“And I’m not excusing it,” he says quickly. “I promise you I’m not. All I’m saying is, maybe there’s more to the story. Maybe Nico is having emotional problems we’re unaware of, or substance abuse issues, or—”

“Or maybe he’s just a fucking asshole,” I snap.

Dad’s eyes narrow. “Language.”

“No, I’m not going to watch my language, and I’m not going to stand here while you seriously try to persuade me that my serial-cheating ex-boyfriend is worthy of another chance. No way, Dad. I’m not getting back together with him and I’m not excusing that kind of behavior. We’re over.”

“Maybe in the future—”

A cry of desperation is ripped from my throat. “Oh my God, no! We’re done. And please, please don’t invite them for Christmas.” My stomach churns as I imagine having to spend the holidays with Nico’s family. I always thought my father had my back, but at the moment it seems as though he’s genuinely torn between me and Nico. And I’m his daughter.

Without another word, I stomp out of the kitchen and hurry upstairs to my bedroom. It’s not ten seconds later when my mother appears in the doorway.

“Demi, baby.” She sees my wet eyes and holds her arms open, and like a little kid I fall into them.

“Why is he being so stupid?” I mumble against her huge boobs.

“Because he’s a man.”

My answering giggle is muffled.

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Mom offers, rubbing soothing circles on my upper spine.

“No, there’s nothing else to say. But what I’d love for you to do is go downstairs and tell Dad to stop whatever the hell this is. Tell him if he wants Nico back, he can date him himself.”

She laughs quietly. “I will pass that message along. And I want you to know, yes, we are having a tough time believing that Nicolás could do something like this, but the pain in your eyes tells me that boy hurt you very badly, and anyone who hurts my baby…” She trails off ominously, her brown eyes becoming deadly slits. “Are you sure we can’t invite them for Christmas so I can poison their food?”

“No,” I say glumly. “I like the rest of his family too much.” A sigh slips out. “And I don’t want him dead, either. I think he probably feels terrible about what he did. But that doesn’t mean I’d ever take him back. Do you know how humiliating it is knowing he was sleeping with other women? Meanwhile, he was lying to me about it and buying me dumb gifts and making me feel like—” My voice cracks and I stop talking, because there’s no point in continuing.

It’s over between Nico and me. And I truly don’t want him back. In fact, since I blocked his number it’s almost like a weight was lifted off my chest.

“Ugh. Mom, I just want to be alone for a bit,” I admit. “Do you mind putting aside a plate for me so I can eat it later?”

“Of course, mami. If you need me I’m only a shout away, okay?”

Once she’s gone, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The room was dusted and cleaned in anticipation of my arrival, and it smells like pine and fresh linens. Mom knows how to make everything feel homey.

I roll over and toy with the edge of a throw pillow. This truly sucks. I hate how entangled mine and Nico’s families are. I’m always going to have this constant reminder of him, when all I want to do is put him behind me. Truth be told, I’m ready to move on. Or, at the very least, I’m intrigued by the idea of being with somebody new.

Sighing, I open Instagram and mindlessly scroll through my feed. I make sure to follow Pablo Eggscobar, who still only has one pic up. I wonder if that little rope hammock was homemade. I can’t imagine where they might’ve bought one. Hastings isn’t exactly teeming with miniature egg clothing and accessories boutiques.

Hunter texts during my scrolling session, a welcome distraction from social media.

HUNTER: You make it to the city all right?

ME: Yep. I’m here now. But it was the worst bus ride EVER. The guy beside me kept showing me pictures of his ferrets.

HIM: Ferrets???

ME: Ferrets.

HIM: Semi, I think you sat beside a serial killer. Next time please text me a pic of your seatmate so I have something to show the police.

I laugh to myself, and type, Are you in Greenwich? I know he was making the drive there after his morning practice.

HIM: Yeah. Drove up with Summer and Fitzy. He’s spending Thanksgiving with her fam.

ME: And for you, it’s just you and your parents? No uncle/aunt/cousins/grandparents?

HIM: Nope. Just the three of us. Oh joy.

ME: Is it that bad?

HIM: My father yelled at the caterer for only putting out one communal gravy boat on the table instead of small individual ones for each person. I heard her crying in the kitchen afterward.

Oh Lord, that’s brutal. And I can’t believe his family gets catering for Thanksgiving. My mother would literally rather face an execution squad than entrust someone else to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

ME: That = fucked up. Though if it makes you feel better, my father’s being insufferable right now too. I just told them about Nico, and Dad tried to convince me to give him another chance!!

HIM: Seriously??

ME: Yep. He’s obsessed with him.

HIM: Do you *want* to give him another chance?

ME: 100% no. Actually, I was just thinking before you texted that I might be ready for…drum roll please…a rebound.

HIM: Oooh exciting. Those are fun.

ME: Are you volunteering for the job?

Wait. What?

What the hell did I just type? And to add to my sudden case of agitation, Hunter responds with an LOL.

ME: WTF does that mean?

HIM: It means laughing out loud.

ME: I know what LOL means! But why are you laughing at me?

HIM: Because you were joking…?

ME: What, rebounding with me is a laughing matter? You don’t think I’m cute?

HIM: You’re more than cute.

I can feel myself blushing. This entire conversation is ridiculous. Of course Hunter wasn’t volunteering to be my rebound, and now I’m just fishing for compliments because I’m insecure that my ex-boyfriend couldn’t keep his pants zipped. Literally and figuratively.

HIM: Can we be real? Are you legit asking me to be your rebound?

My thumb hovers over the letter y. I could just press it, and then the letter e, the letter s. But that means opening the door to something that could blow up in my face. Hunter and I are friends. I find him attractive, but this is the first time I’ve considered being more than friends.

I don’t get the chance to type those three letters, as Hunter sends a follow-up.

HIM: Because you know I’d have to say no, Semi. I’m out of commission.

I don’t even try to make sense of the disappointment that flutters through me. My emotions are all over the place these days.

ME: I know. I was basically joking.

HIM: Basically?

ME: 60/40 joking.

HIM: So 40% of you wants to get with this?

ME: Get with what?

HIM: With me. You want to get all up in my dick biz.

Laughter sputters out of my mouth. Suddenly I don’t feel so disappointed anymore.

ME: If you say so. Anyway, pointless discussion. Like you said, you’re out of commission.

I put the phone down and slide into a sitting position. Interacting with Hunter never fails to cheer me up. I’m still grinning, and my appetite has officially returned. Luckily, there’s a feast downstairs with my name on it.

It isn’t until much later, nearly midnight, that I hear from Hunter again. I’m just getting into bed when the message lights up my phone.

HUNTER: If I wasn’t, I’d be all over you, Demi.