She freezes mid-crawl, then sits back on her heels with a look that’s equal parts disbelief and disgust. “I’m not asking you to hike Everest or hit the gym with me. I’m asking you to be my boyfriend and come to one goddamn party.”
“And I have practice in the morning,” I reply, trying not to sound like a total dick. “It’s draft year, Sab. I need to focus.”
She climbs off the bed, smoothing down her dress with way more care than necessary, then spins to glare at me. It’sthatglare, the one I’ve been seeing more and more lately.
“So the draft’s important, but making your girlfriend happy isn’t? You don’t think our relationship’s starting to fizzle out a little?”
“Fizzle?” I echo, cocking my head, more confused than anything. I mean…we don’t fuck like rabbits anymore but I think that’s normal when you’re busy with school and a sport that takes up all your fucking time.
“Yes, fizzle!” She screeches. She’s at full volume now, throwing her arms out like that word should be obvious. “You’re like the worst boyfriend ever lately. We don’t have sex, we don’t go on dates, and God forbid we talk about our engagement!”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling the dull throb of my headache start to bloom behind my eyes. “We aren’t engaged.”
“That’s the fucking point!” She hisses, jabbing a perfectly manicured finger at me like it’s a weapon. With how sharp that point is she might actually be able to draw blood. “We’ve beentogether for two years and you’re going pro. Don’t you think it’s time we settle down?”
Um. No.
I definitely fucking don’t.
The idea of marriage right now feels… wrong. Like, deeply, fundamentally wrong. I’m twenty-one. A senior in college. I’m on the verge of making it to the NHL. After years of training, battling injuries, withstanding pressure and expectations…I’m right there.
And now I’m supposed to just… settle down? Tie myself to this life I’m not even sure I want to keep? Lock in a future before I even know what my lifeisyet?
But I can’t say any of that without sounding like an asshole. And if I say it the way it’s running through my head, she’ll absolutely throw something at me…again.
“It’s too soon, Sab,” I say instead, trying to keep my voice even and reasonable, despite the way her volume is shredding my last nerve.
“Two years!” She screams. “That’s how long we’ve been together. How is thattoo soon?”
I groan and throw my head back against the pillow. “I really don’t want to talk about this again.”
She lets out a furious breath and starts stomping around my room, her heels clicking like fucking gunshots against the hardwood. I know my roommates can hear all of this through the walls, and I also know I’m going to catch shit for it later. I just… don’t care. Not right now. This isn’t a new fight. It’s the same argument, same volume, same unresolved tension that keeps growing into something I don’t know how to name.
The the ugly, selfish, hard-to-swallow truth is that I don’t know if I love her.
And that makes me feel like a complete piece of shit.
Yeah, the sex is great. Being with a beautiful girl, someone who’s always down, always available, always proud to show me off has been easy. It’s super fucking convenient.
It’s not like I’m a fucking douchebag either. I don’t cheat and I don’t flirt with puck bunnies. I show up, I do what I’m supposed to do, and most of the time I go to the parties she drags me to. I hold her hand in public, I say the right things, I keep the image polished.
But when it comes to us, we don’ttalkabout anything. We don’t visit each other’s families. We don’t spend time together unless it’s fighting or fucking. We don’t discuss our futures or our goals or our dreams.
That’s the pattern. Going out and showing off our relationship, coming home to fight or fuck, blowing up at each other, and then starting all over again. And now she’s pushing for a ring and for a life when I can’t see with her in it.
At least not clearly. Not in the way I know I should. But that doesn’t even mean we need to end things. It just means I’m not fucking ready and I don’t think I should be punished for that.
“But I want to talk about it,” she says, and her voice shifts into something lower now, softer.
I sigh again, trying to keep my voice calm and gentle, “I’m not ready for marriage, Sab.”
Her bottom lip immediately juts out, the wobble so exaggerated I can’t tell if she’s about to cry or if she’s playing me. Which, honestly, is a thing she does. The woman can absolutely make herself cry if she thinks it will get her what she wants.
“God, I’m such a fucking idiot,” she says, voice trembling. My chest tightens and I have to remind myself that giving into this would mean a marriage that I absolutely am not ready for. “I’ve given you access to my body, and that’s still not enough for you. You won’t ever commit.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, frustration snapping through me. “Is that a joke? We’re completely monogamous. I do everything you fucking ask. I don’t want to go to a party when I’ve got practice in the morning…is that really what this is about?”
“It’s about everything!” She yells, and just like that, the tears vanish. Gone. Poof. I’m telling you it’s fucking weird magic or some shit. “I want a future, Griffin. I want to be married. I want a life with someone who’s not just gonna drop me the second he goes pro. I want a boyfriend who shows up when I fucking ask.”
