The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

I was an accessory

“THANKS FOR DOING THIS,” LYNSEY SAYS.

We’re in a small corner pub tucked away on a quaint cobblestone street. The interior is a blend of exposed brick walls, dark wooden beams, and a collection of tables, booths, and worn leather armchairs nestled in corners of the room. We find an empty pair of armchairs and sit across from each other.

It’s not as crowded as I would expect for a Saturday night. Only the murmur of conversation and occasional burst of laughter fills the air, offering a more intimate environment. It makes this feel like a date. But it’s not a date. And I’m distracted because I know Diana is pissed at me. It’s going to take a lot of groveling to make this up to her.

“So what’s up?” I ask Lynsey.

“I miss you.”

My mouth snaps shut.

What?

Lynsey gives a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with that right out of the gate, but that’s the gist of it. I miss you.”

I’m not sure what to say, but I’m given a reprieve because the waitress arrives. I order a pint of IPA. Lynsey gets a tea. She’s not much of a drinker.

Once the server’s gone, I rub my cheek, then the side of my neck, before my jittery arm drops to my lap. “I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit.

“You could say you miss me too.”

“I have said that,” I remind her. Resentment floats through me. “I told you I missed you almost every time we talked. And you haven’t said it back until now.”

“I know.”

“Which is sort of convenient, isn’t it?” That pang of bitterness grows into a tight knot in my throat. “Up until a few weeks ago, you had a new boyfriend.”

“It wasn’t serious with Tyreek.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was serious. You were with somebody else. And I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t been dating him, you wouldn’t have even considered transferring to Briar.”

Disbelief fills her eyes. “You think I transferred schools because of a guy? You know me better than that, Lindy. My future is far too important for me to act on whims.”

Something about her indignant response rubs me the wrong way. It’s one word. One word is the problem. Her future. Our entire relationship was about her future, her ballet schedule, her friends. Our lives revolved around what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go.

The realization smacks me in the face like a rogue hockey puck.

“I was an accessory,” I say.

“What are you talking about?”

“In our relationship. I was an accessory. I did everything for you, and it’s really fucking pathetic when I think about it. Every dance event that I could make it to, I was there. Front row center. And in four years, I can count on one hand the number of hockey games you attended.”

“That’s not true,” she protests.

“Three,” I tell her flatly. “Four if you count tonight. But I don’t count tonight because I’m still not sure what tonight is. I have a very good idea, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t like seeing someone else playing with your toys.”

A frown twists her lips.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what this is.” I shrug. “You’re jealous that I’m with Diana.”

“Oh, come on. I’m in no way threatened by some airhead cheerleader—”

“Don’t disparage her. I won’t have it.”

She instantly backpedals. “That came out wrong. All I mean is, you’re ambitious too. You also have a plan for your future. A solid one.”

“So?”

“So how does this girl fit into it? That night at your apartment, every time I asked her a serious question—what she wants to do after graduation, what her goals are—she would shrug and say I don’t know or we’ll see. I know you, Shane. You can’t be with someone who wings it through life.”

“I can be with whoever I want. And just so you know, she’s not without ambition. Anything that woman puts her mind to, she succeeds at.”

It’s the truth. Whether it’s a dance competition, training for nationals, taking the minutes in the HOA meeting… Diana lives her life to the fullest, no matter what she’s doing, no matter how mundane the activity. She’s smart and driven, and she gives a shit about the people in her life. Her family, her friends. Although her Saturdays are write-offs because of football games, she’s managed to attend all my Friday games. That’s right—Diana Dixon has already come to more of my hockey games than Lynsey did the entire time we were together. She went golfing with me simply because she knows I enjoy it.

“Our relationship was all about you,” I tell Lynsey. “I compromised on everything. Made sure all your needs were met. And you couldn’t even be bothered to feign interest in my sport.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t all bad—”

“Really?” she interrupts bitterly. “Because you’re making it sound like we had the worst relationship in the world. Why did you stay with me for four years, then, if I was so awful?”

“You weren’t awful. That’s not what I’m saying. We had a good relationship. Sometimes it was even great. But I’m starting to realize you broke up with me for a reason.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Maybe I made a mistake.”

“You didn’t,” I say simply. “We weren’t right for each other. I thought we were, at least in the sense that we were both ambitious and knew what we wanted from our future. The thing is, though, you didn’t want me in your future. That’s why you broke up with me. And I’m happy now with somebody else.”

The waitress returns with our drinks. But I’m already done here.

“Sorry, Lynz. I’ll always value what we had, and I’m happy to remain friends, if and when you’re ready for that. But…” I fish my wallet out of my pocket and pull out a twenty. “This should cover everything. Sorry. I can’t stay. My girlfriend’s waiting for me.”

I leave my ex in the pub and hurry outside. Standing on the sidewalk, I call Diana, but her phone immediately goes to voicemail. Yeah, she’s pissed.

Fuck.

I try Gigi next. Voicemail. Oh for two.

On the third call, I manage to get a response from Ryder.

“Hey, is my girlfriend with your wife? If so, can you put her on the phone?”

“They’re not here.”

A frown touches my lips. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“Diana didn’t want to go to Malone’s, so Gigi took her home. But me and the guys are here.”

“Shit, is she that mad?”

“Who, Diana? I don’t know. Gisele didn’t say anything.”

“All right, cool. Thanks.”

I head back to the arena and jog toward my Mercedes. I make the hour drive to Hastings, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel the entire time. I’m antsy and desperate to get out of the car. I want to see Diana and explain why I had to go see Lynsey. That I have no intention of getting back together with her. I know I’m going to take some shit, probably get yelled at for an extended period, but I’m hoping she’ll be able to see how sincere I am.

I get off the highway, bypassing downtown Hastings by taking the residential streets until I reach the cul-de-sac where Meadow Hill is located. I have to pass the main driveway on my way to the residence parking, and my spine stiffens when I notice the vehicle that’s leaving at the same time I enter.

It’s a police cruiser.