My pulse skitters sporadically.
Are we going to fight about this?
I don’t want to fight about this. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“I texted Santiago and let him know I had a personal matter I need to handle and might miss the game today.” I speak softly in case Paisley isn’t as asleep as she seemed to be, and also in the hopes that my sudden nerves don’t come through my voice. “I’ll get a meeting with the athletic director at CVU about inappropriate behavior from some of their players. It’s never a bad idea for coaches to remind their players where the lines are and what the consequences are for crossing them. Or to remind the coaches and athletic director that the pro sports teams are watching how they handle problems.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I don’t ask if he’ll get in trouble for missing practice.
He’ll deal with that if he has to, but if I were his coach and heard the situation, I’d give him the day off to do what he needs to do.
So I nod like my heart isn’t hammering harder and harder with every second. “We should get to bed. It’s late, and tomorrow—todaywill be rough.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, he sits there, head cocked to one side, continuing to study me.
And I don’t want this to be what I’m terrified it is.
Him, deciding I’mtoo muchagain. Too independent. Toosomething.
I wipe my mouth, then my nose, desperately hoping for any distraction so we don’t have to do this. So we don’t have to fight about any part of tonight.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“You’re not freaking out,” he says slowly.
It’s my turn to stare blankly at him. “I’m pretty good in a crisis. I’m pissed and I’d like to put my fist through something, but no, I’m not freaking out.”
“About us,” he says.
My heart lurches.
While I’m sitting here thinking he’s stifling anger over how I handled Paisley’s problems, he’s sitting here worried about us.
Just like I’m worried about us.
We’re both worried about us. “Am I supposed to be?” I whisper.
He opens his mouth, blinks a few times, then shakes his head. “No. But I thought—fuck. I was afraid you’d say we shouldn’t keep seeing each other if it means we miss important calls like this one. And I wasn’t going to say anything, except it’s not fair to you to not tell you when I’m afraid too.”
Oh. Oh, my heart.
He’s not preparing to drop a breakup on me. He’s waiting for me to find the next excuse to drop a breakup on him.
I scoot closer to him and slip my arm through his, then lay my head on his shoulder, my heart settling into a calmer rhythm. “I can see where you’re coming from.”
“I just—I like what we have, and I—I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“You’re not fucking anything up. And all of that fear? That was the old Addie. This Addie’s trying very, very hard to enjoy things like having a hot hockey player boyfriend with the patience of a monk.”
He covers my hand with his and squeezes, then presses a kiss to my temple. “I love being with you.”
I love you.
He’s been telling me for weeks.
I love you.
