I press my lips together, wanting to tell him he can speak for himself, because I’ve lost enough people in my life and don’t want to risk hurting like that again. But the way he’s looking at Jack, the way he’s still living and loving even after losing two of the people he loved most in the world, makes me wonder—for the first time in forever—if that could be me some day.
“Besides, you and Hayley were young and dumb. Just because that ended badly doesn’t mean you and Morgan would make the same mistakes. Don’t miss out on actual happiness,” he says, giving me a quick glance, “just because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
Liam gives me a nod. “Sure you’re not.”
As I look back toward Morgan, I realize that I may actually be telling the truth. Because I’m not scared,I’m fucking terrified. Terrified that I’m already starting to develop feelings for her when I know I can’t have her, and terrified that eventually I’ll have to watch her be happy with someone else.
I should run, as fast and as far as I can, before this gets any more serious in my mind.
But I already know that I can’t do that. If there’s anything these last twenty-four hours have shown me, it’s that I like my life a whole lot better when she’s in it. Even if it can’t be forever, I’ll take whatever we can have together for now.
“Iwould never have thought to have pizza delivered to the beach,” Morgan says as we sit on the blanket with the fire crackling in front of us and the waves crashing beyond. I built us a makeshift fire pit in the sand, just like the kind Liam and I made when we were teenagers.
“It’s quite the hack when it’s been a perfect beach day and you’re not feeling ready to leave the ocean.”
She relaxes against my chest as she takes another bite of her pizza. Sitting between my legs, she’s basically using my body as a chair, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now. Sitting here talking about my childhood and what it was like spending the summers down here as a kid, then moving here permanently after my dad died, and having Max move down here once he and my mom got married, has been therapeutic.
I never talk about my past with anyone but Liam or Max, but Morgan makes me want to open up about everything. Sharing the good memories I have of my dad before his addiction changed his personality and made him into someone I didn’t know was freeing, like I finally let go of a heaviness I wasn’t aware I was carrying.
“So do you use the place here as a summer house, like your mom did when you were a kid and your family still lived in Boston?”
“Yeah. When she left the house to me, I think she hoped I’d raise my own family here.”
“Do you think you will?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll get married or have kids.”
“Oh yeah? How come?” Her curiosity is a nice change. Usually that statement sparks a response more along the lines of “You’ll change your mind one day,” or “You just haven’t met the right person yet.”
“Honestly?” I ask as her head sinks back into the crevice between my chest and shoulder. “I watched how losing my dad, first to his addiction and then to death, almost wrecked my mom. I watched how losing my mom almost destroyed Max, and I’ve watched him chase those memories ever since. I watchedwhat losing Kelsey did to Liam. And... I just don’t think I’m cut out for that.”
“Cut out for losing people you love?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
“But two people you loved very much both died, and you’re still here, living. You’ll be here, whether you let love into your life, or not... you just won’t get to experience that kind of happiness.”
“I thought I was in love, once.” The admission is so quiet I’m almost surprised she hears it over the sound of the waves.
“Yeah? What happened?”
“She left me. I got called up to the NHL and we were supposed to move together, but she ended things rather than coming with me.” I still can’t bring myself to speak her name or talk about her reasons for not moving with me.
“I’m sorry that happened,” she says, turning on her side and nuzzling her face into my chest. “You know, lots of people have relationships that end badly, especially in their twenties. It doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”
“That one wrecked me,” I say, holding her close and thinking about the darkness that overtook me after I moved into a new apartment, in a new city, by myself. How truly alone I was. How I almost succumbed to that darkness. How I almost lost my career because of it. “The only thing that saved me then was hockey, just like it did when I lost my mom. But the thing is, my hockey days are numbered.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m thirty-three. They don’t let you keep doing this forever just because you love it. Eventually, there are younger and better players who rise up to take your place. It’s the nature of professional sports.”
“And you . . . think you’re past your prime?”
“Not yet. But last year was a wake-up call. It made me realize that I don’t know who I am without hockey.” I don’t know what possesses me to admit this, but there’s something about her, something about the way she listens, that makes me feel like I can say the quiet parts out loud.
Her arm slips around my waist as she gives me a squeeze and says, “Maybe the problem is that you’re giving one-hundred-percent of yourself to hockey, so there’s nothing left for other aspects of your life? And like you said, hockey’s not forever.”
