“I’m fine,” I told her.
Cruz shook his head at his locker, mumbling about idiots and machismo. “Could have whimpered and gotten sympathy,” he muttered.
I smiled, but I wasn’t willing to lie to Hana. I didn’t want anything but truth, respect, and love between us.
“Are you still at the arena?” she asked.
“In the locker room,” I said. “The game ended about five minutes ago.”
“Oh. Well, um, that was quick…”
“You sounded worried.”
“I was. I am.” She blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to think—what to feel about you, Paxton.”
“What do you want to feel?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I winced but absorbed her honesty. “That’s…” I couldn’t bring myself to sayfair.
“That was mean, wasn’t it? It’s just… You make me feel, Pax. And I’m not sure how to deal with that—if I want to deal with that again.”
Because of how much I’d hurt her. “I’m glad you feel something for me, Han. I care about you deeply. I worry about you and over you.”
“Pax, I…should go.”
As much as I wanted to ask her more questions, I knew not to push. Not when I was on such thin ice. In fact, part of me swore I could hear it cracking. “Okay.” I bit my lip, refusing to say goodbye.
She didn’t say it either, not right away. In fact, the silence grew, and my heart fluttered with hope.
“If I call you tomorrow, would you let me know how you’re feeling?”
I smiled, feeling like I’d just won the Cup. “Of course.”
“Good. Great.”
“Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “Bye, Pax.”
* * *
She calledme the next day, ostensibly to see if I was better. I wasn’t, and I was in a foul mood because my left eye had swollen completely shut while the right one was a slit. My head ached terribly every time I moved, and chewing was impossible.
Hana picked up on my surliness because she asked if I had someone to help with meals, driving, all that important stuff I couldn’t do while my vision was impaired.
I assured her that I did. “Mac—that’s our team captain, Cormac Bouchard—will drive me in to the complex in a while. I’m sure I could ask one of the guys or the CATS to help me out with meals or whatever…”
“CATS?” Hana asked.
“Comrades, allies, teammates, and spouses. Gunnar created the term to use instead of WAGS—wives and girlfriends—to be more friendly to all types of relationships.” I thought for a moment. “And because it’s a fun play on Wildcatters.”
“Yes, it is. Ida Jane told me about the CATS when I was at your game. I like that you’re being inclusive.” She was quiet again. With Hana, that meant she was processing. “But you don’t have a…special friend who can help you?”
“Hana, I haven’t been with a woman in well over a year. Closer to two. And it’s a cliché, I know, but those reporters are there to sell copies of their magazines or articles or whatever. It’s clickbait, Han, to highlight that I was seen with, like, four women coming out of a restaurant. And I think half those pictures are altered anyway. Just…trust me. I won’t lie to you.”
“I’d like to,” she said. But she made no promise to do so.
