Hate To Miss You (2) | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

Fourteen

I needed to know, I needed to know so badly it left an ache in my chest, I waited down in the car park for Jack, not wanting to be around anyone or have to speak to people while I waited.

He came down a full fifteen minutes later, smiling brightly as he tried to pull me in for a gentle kiss. I pushed at his chest, so that he was eye level with me, and frowned. Jack didn't know what was wrong, but he didn't like that look. He thought they'd had a good night? He'd won the game, kissed the girl, so what was the problem?

He cocked his head to the side, confused. "What is it, Princess?"

I didn't want to mess around, to play games where we weren't honest with each other. We weren't in high school anymore, and I didn't have time for that bullshit. If Jack was going to be kissing me, then he'd be kissing only me. And so, I didn't bother being nice about it.

"Did you and Hillary hook up this week?" His face paled, and I knew he couldn't lie about it. My heart ached even more, a painful stab right where my love for Jack usually was. "So, it is true."

I turned in my heels, ready to walk away with my arms crossed and board the next flight home, but Jack reached out to me, pulling me back to him. "It's not what you think."

"Then explain it to me, Jack," I snapped, tears burning in the corners of my eyes. "Because I'm having a hard time figuring out exactly how it can be anything other than what I think."

"I was drunk, Lyla," he reasoned, a frown of his own, settling in as stress coursed through his veins. "It was an accident."

"I'm sorry? Do you accidentally just trip and fall into someone's mouth?"

He gave me a dry glare, but I only glared right back, defying him.

"She was following me around, I was drunk, she came onto me."

"And you couldn't have told her to stop? To get off? That you have a—" I stopped myself, staring right at him.

"A what, Lyla?" He asked, voice low.

"Nothing," I snapped, keeping my eyes down. I didn't want to fight with Jack, not here, not now, not ever, but I also wasn't going to stand for this. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "Just, leave me alone, Jack."

"No, Lyla come on," he begged, grabbing my wrist again. "Please let me explain."

"Explain, then," I cried, furiously wiping my tears.

He cringed at the sight of me, wishing he could take back every mistake he'd ever made. "I'm sorry, okay. I wasn't thinking—"

"About me," I added. "You weren't thinking about me."

"Come on, Ly." He said, defeated. "It was just a moment in my life that I'll regret forever. I'm sorry, baby, I am. I promise I'll make it up to you if you just give me—"

"No." I whispered, staring at my shoes as tears continued to fall to the pavement. "You don't get another chance, Jack."

"What?" He asked, his voice small and wobbly. "What do you—"

"We're done, Rowdy."

Quinn walked out of the arena, confusion settling into his features as he watched Lyla wipe as her eyes, walking away, and his younger brother try to reach for her, only to have her yank away.

"Please," he sobbed. "Don't leave me, not again, please!"

"My heart can't handle this, Jack," I hiccuped, finally escaping his grip and taking off towards the car park exit, my arms wrapped around my body.

"Jack?" Quinn asked, noticing his brothers blood shot and tear filled eyes. "What happened?"

"Just—" hiccup. "—go get—" sob. "—Lyla."

"Are you sure?" Quinn asked, striking his brothers hair from his eyes.

Jack nodded, his bottom lip wobbling. "Yes, make sure she's safe."

"What about you?" Quinn asked, worry laced through his tone.

"I just need a minute to breathe," Jack cried. "It's my fault, Quinn. I did this, she doesn't deserve this."

"What did you do?"

He pulled at his hair, frustrated. "I didn't break up with Hillary properly and she followed me to Florida and she tried to kiss me and I was drunk and missing Lyla and I didn't tell her to stop quick enough."

"But you did tell her to stop?" Quinn asked, squinting.

"Yes!" Jack shouted, another sob racking through his body. "But she won't listen, please, Quinn, just go get her I need to know she's okay."

"Okay," Quinn nodded, following after me.

I didn't know what to do, and in my confused and vulnerable state, I called Faye. She answered on the third ring, smiling brightly.

"Lyla! He—"

"Are you alone?"

Faye paused for a long moment, trying to decipher whether I was crying or not. "Yes, what happened?"

"You need to leave Reid or I can't come home."

"What?" She snapped, scowling. "You can't be serious."

I sighed, wiping at my eyes. "I am. He's dangerous and you don't really know him. He's going to hurt you, abuse you. He's stalking me, Faye, staking—"

"You are ridiculous, Lyla," Faye shouts. "I'm finally happy and I've finally found someone who likes me for me, everything about me, and because you can't have Jack you're jealous!"

"What? No?" I screamed, anger burning in my chest. "That isn't what this is about, Faye, in high school he—"

"He what? Cause no matter what you tell me, it'll just be bullshit, Lyla."

I couldn't believe  what I was hearing, what I was having to go home to.

"Faye, please, I'm telling the truth."

"Reid loves me, Lyla, he told me today. He loves me and I love him and if you can't accept that then you need to move out."

I sucked in a breath, terrified that Reid had put Faye under such a strong spell. Before he came into Faye's life, she trusted her best friend and room mate, but now . . .

"Maybe you're right," I whispered. "Maybe I should move out."

"Maybe you should," Faye snapped. "By the time you get back your stuff will be packed. Go find a dorm to live in, or keep living with a man who will never love you, I don't care."

A man who will never love you.

The words rang in my mind, echoing around in my skull. I couldn't respond, because, she was right. Jack didn't love me, not truly. His words were exactly that, only words. He hadn't proved his love. He hadn't broken things off with Hillary, hadn't been honest with me, hadn't given me a reason to trust him.

Jack had turned into exactly what the media painted him as. A playboy. A bachelor. A heart breaker and womaniser of the NHL.

Jack didn't love me, Jack was using me because he knew I would do anything for him.

I recognised the headlights of Quinn's Audi pulling up on the side of the road, the older Hughes brother jumping out of his car and running around to where I was standing, my hands clutched to my chest and tears still staining my cheeks.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling me to his chest, one of his hands cupping the back of my neck, the other around my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in the crook of his neck. "Where do you want me to take you, sweetheart?"

"Home, please," I told him, sniffling.

"New Jersey?"

"No," I sighed. "Home. Crestwood."