Chapter 15

    Chapter Fifteen: She Is Back

    Gavin's POV

    It was two a.m. when I heard loud knocks on my door—urgent, one after the other.

    Rolling out of bed, I yanked my trousers off a chair where they had been thrown and slipped them on quickly. My heart raced faster than normal; only one person knew my address, and that was Iris.

    She might be in trouble.

    Thinking this, I sprinted down the stairs, almost spraining my leg in the process.

    "I'm coming!" I yelled, my voice strained as I approached the door.

    "Gavin—"

    I didn't even let her finish before I slammed the door in her face. It wasn't Iris.

    "Gavin, please, let's talk, okay? I'm sorry," she pleaded, her tone shaky and desperate. I could almost picture her on the other side, hands pressed against the door, fear in her voice. The sound of her screeching made my ears ring. I hated her voice.

    I loathe her. I hate her.

    Why was she here?

    Years had passed since the incident, yet she kept coming back. I didn't get it.

    Why?!

    The thought of her outside my house, banging on my door and pressing my doorbell, infuriated me. She was contaminating my space with her presence. Tomorrow, I would paint the walls—if I survived this night.

    In an instant, I grabbed my phone to call the police. As I typed in the numbers, Iris's name flashed in my mind. I hesitated, then erased the number and typed in hers instead.

    After a few rings, she answered, her voice drowsy and thick with sleep.

    "Were you sleeping?" I asked sheepishly, even though I knew the answer.

    "Good work, Sherlock," Iris shot back, sounding half-asleep and slightly irritated. She feigned a laugh. "No, I was playing Sofia the First with my imaginary friend—the nun."

    However, I was not in the mood for friendly banter. I stared down at my trembling fingers. It was a miracle that I was still on the phone. After all this time, she came back.

    Why?

    "Iris, she's back at my door," I said suddenly, my tone shifting to serious, my voice cracking with betrayal.

    "Shit," I heard Iris curse, a rare slip for her. Although her voice was just a whisper, I caught it.

    After a short silence, she inquired in an irritated tone, "Why?"

    "She's apologizing, I guess," I bit back, my jaw ticking. My face rippled with anger as I knocked down a vase near me. "Get her off my lawn, Iris. Please," I pleaded, desperation seeping into my tone.

    "Okay, Gavin, I'll be there, okay? Just let me get some clothes on," Iris replied, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety.

    I frowned at the excess information. I didn't need to know that my best friend slept naked. Still, she was always open about it; she said it had "benefits."

    "Okay. Thank you."

    I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me, the thought of that woman still lingering just outside my door. My entire body shook heavily; it felt like I was going to have a seizure. My eyes burned from tears—so many tears I had wasted on her.

    "Gavin, please, open the door. Please let me in. Please," she begged from outside, her voice soft and haunting.

    That voice... it hurt. I tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't. It was too familiar, too soft. It carried memories I didn't want—memories I would pay to have taken away.

    I tried shutting my ears and closing my eyes, but those memories felt like they were choking the life out of me. My stomach pooled with dread, and tears streaked my face.

    Each second felt like an hour. It felt like an endless Monday in February.

    "You need to give me another chance, baby. Please. I am begging—" she sobbed.

    "Miss..." another voice interrupted. My heart skipped a beat at the sound. A voice I cherished—it was Iris. She had driven here fast.

    "Who are you?" the woman demanded.

    "You have to get off this property, or I will call the cops on you," Iris stated firmly. I could imagine her in her favorite pose, arms on her hips and chest risen.

    "But he is my—" the woman started, in between sobs.

    "Get off," Iris commanded.

    "Gavin, my love, please," the woman pleaded once more, her voice breaking as if I was to blame for our separation or the resentment she left behind.

    "Ma'am, I am a police officer who lives nearby. You're disturbing my sleep with your sobbing. Please evacuate this area," Iris declared authoritatively, her voice cold and hard. She had the ability to play skillfully into a role, all thanks to her theater days.

    "Okay. Fine. Gavin, I love you," the woman whispered before finally leaving.

    I love you?

    Those three words were my greatest torture. It felt like someone was plunging a heated dagger into my already absent heart.

    How could three words, which were meant to be powerful, sound so abused out of her mouth?

    My heart slowed in pace when I heard her footsteps leave my front door. I let out a sigh of relief, my hands clammy with sweat. I needed a bath. I was sweating so much.

    Moments later, I heard Iris call out to me, "Gavin—"

    Fuck. I had forgotten she was out there. She helped me.

    However, I did not want her to see me this way—crying and covered with sweat on my cold floor, like a baby. "Please go, Iris. Please," I pleaded, trying to stabilize my voice.

    I was a grown-ass man. I had to learn to fight against my panic attacks. I had to. She was in my past—my worst mistake.

    Maybe Iris would hate me for driving her away. Instead of getting mad at me, Iris's voice was softer than before; she sniffed, "Okay. Good night."

    Unfortunately, I could not muster a reply. My mind was lost in the idea of that woman coming to my front door again. It scared me more than dying.

    ---

    The morning rays of sun and the chirping of birds woke me up. I had fallen asleep on the floor last night. The events played like a broken record in my head, and I felt my chest tighten.

    Reaching out, I touched the screen of my phone, and it came alive. It was six-thirty in the morning; I was one hour late for my morning exercise.

    Exercise and practice were essential when it came to the field of hockey. That day, as per my schedule, I was to focus on my arms and chest.

    Next, I would go to school to practice on the ice with the other team members. Quickly, I made my healthy protein shake and jogged to school wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

    As expected, only Aaron was there; he was skating in circles and playing around with the puck, fully clothed in his hockey outfit. From watching him, I could tell he was distracted, although he shot the puck into the net every time.

    Something was bothering him.

    Usually, I didn't give two fucks about him, but this might affect our success in our matches.

    "What's up, Archer?" I expected him to be startled by my voice, but he was not. He only came to a stop, turned, and gave me a smile—a half-assed one.

    "The sky."

    "Hahaha," I faked a laugh, already feeling irritated. That was the effect of that woman back in my life. "I meant, why is your head not in the game?"

    He frowned. "I'm focused."

    "And I am pregnant," I deadpanned, sarcastically.

    Confusion flickered on his features. "Huh?"

    Shaking my head, I crouched down to wear my skate shoes. I skated to him, my index and middle fingers tapping on my stick—one, two, three. "If you can get this puck on my pretty hands, I get to ask you a question."

    "Did you come all the way here to call yourself pretty?" A smirk pulled up on his lips. This motherfucker.

    Taking a strong stance, my hands firmer on my stick, I wore a cocky grin. "What? Should I say gorgeous?"

    With a swift move, I stole the puck from right under his eyes. I skated in circles around him, keeping the puck selfishly. He wrestled me for it with his puck.

    After I did, I got to ask him...

    "What is wrong? You've been distracted lately."

    "It's nothing." Aaron frowned. "It is something, but what do you know? You don't love anyone."

    I smiled back at him; if only he knew. It was a waste of time trying to talk to Aaron. He was a coconut. He did not open up easily, like me.

    After practice, I sat in the locker room eating 'healthy' chocolate bars when I received a text message.

    [ I found you a tutor ]