The sound of my phone vibrating on the counter cuts through the silence, and Tanner’s name lights up the screen.
My hand twitches to answer it. I’m dying to tell him to come over so I can beg him not to go. To stay here with me so we canfigure this out together. I want to make promises I don’t know how to keep. I want to be selfish.
But Tanner’s worth more.
I let the phone buzz.
The silence that follows is deafening. I snatch up the remote, cranking the volume up until the noise drowns out the sound of the rain on my window and the heavy silence filling my condo. But it doesn’t drown out the voices in my head telling me to grab onto him and never let him go.
I’m doing the right thing. I want Tanner Sinclair to achieve all his dreams, to have everything he’s ever wanted.
Even if it breaks my heart.
I’ve been pacing since I ignored Tanner’s incoming call half an hour ago. Back and forth. Scrape the ice, tap the posts, focus on the puck—except there is no puck. There is only my empty condo.
I stop at the kitchen island and grab the spray bottle of granite cleaner. I wiped this counter ten minutes ago, but I spray it again because if I stop moving, I feel like I’ll get swamped with a tidal wave of regret. The smell of chemical lemon assaults my nose. I scrub hard enough that a jolt of pain shoots from my pec into my neck.
Good.Physical pain, I can handle. I can ice it or take a pill for it. I can’t take a pill for the fact that I’m in the process of destroying one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I freeze, the rag clenched in my good hand. It’s not the phone this time. Reality is standing in my hallway.
I close my eyes for a second.Breathe in.I visualize my mask. Not the physical fiberglass-and-Kevlar one with the Sasquatch paint job, but the other one. The one I wear to face the media after a bad loss. The “Veteran Louis” mask. The “Team Guy” mask. Relax the jaw. Unclench the fist. Smirk on standby.
I walk to the door with my heart in my throat. I can do this. This is what’s best for him. He deserves to have his dreams come true. This man deserves everything.
I pull the door open.
Tanner’s standing there, looking like a wet dog. His hoodie is soaking wet, and his hair is plastered to his forehead, dripping onto his nose. But it’s his eyes that get to me. They’re wide and almost frantic. He’s breathing hard, like he ran up the twelve flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator.
“I have to talk to you,” he blurts out. The words tumble over each other. “I—why didn’t you pick up your phone?”
Every cell in my body screams at me to reach out and wrap him up in my one good arm. I want to pull him inside, strip him out of those wet clothes, and spend the whole night warming him from the inside out. I want to show him how much he belongs here, how much he belongs with me. How I never want him to leave.
Instead, I step back, creating distance between us as I swing the door wider, a silent invitation, but I keep my hands strictly to myself.
“Hi, come in,” I say. My voice is steady.
Tanner steps over the threshold, dripping water onto the hardwood, and starts pacing immediately, mirroring the track I was wearing into the floor a few minutes ago.
“Minnesota wants to trade for me,” Tanner says, his voice tight. He runs a hand through his wet hair, spiking it up. “I’d be their number one goalie. They want me to be the starter. “
“That’s incredible, Sinc,” I say. I move toward the kitchen, needing more distance between us.
“Carson said he doesn’t want to trade me, but if I’d rather go, then he’ll accept the trade offer.” He turns to me, looking lost and so very alone. My chest feels like it’s cracking wide open. The analytical machine that usually runs Tanner Sinclair’s brain seems to be glitching. “Lou, he told me I belong here, but he won’t hold me back if I want to go. It’s astarting job.”
He stops pacing and looks at me across the counter, searching my face. He’s begging me to give him the other option. He wants me to tell him:You belong with me more.
I look at him. If he stays with the Sasquatch, he’s my backup. He sits on the bench in a ball cap, watching me play. And eventually, the light in his eyes dims. Eventually, when he looks at me, the only thing he’ll see is the guy standing in his way, not the guy he wants to be with. I’ll be the anchor dragging him down.
I refuse to be the reason his career stalls. My shoulder throbs in protest as I stiffen my spine.
“Tanner,” I say calmly. My voice is the one of the guy who’s been in this league for twelve years and knows how it works. “Look at the math.”
“The math?” He blinks.
“I’ll be back in a few weeks. I have a no-move clause. This is my net. That hasn’t changed.”
