He lied. Being an assistant coach was huge. “Nothing crazy?” I asked, my control snapping. “You weren’t just named assistant coach of the team?”
“Naomi,” he said, his voice firmer than before. “I didn’t lie to you. I would never do that. A lot is going on, and I’d like to talk to you about it tonight. I’ll text you before I head over?”
“Sure.” God, I sounded bitchy. Cami’s knowing glare told me I did too. “See you later then.”
I hung up, hating myself for acting so childish. I almost-loved the guy, and I shouldn’t have acted like that. This was why feelings were messy. They made people do stupid shit. I rubbed my face with my hands. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Hm, that feels like a loaded question I’d rather not answer.”
That made me snort. My sister was back in my life, and I didn’t want anything ruining it. “Probably a good idea.”
“But,” she said, arching her brow and leaning closer to me. “It’s clear that you’re scared.”
“I am.”
“Of what? Getting your heart broken? You’ll be fine. Mom’s fine.”
“Yeah, with her new family. She calls me once a month now, but they’re getting shorter and shorter.”
“I get a few texts, so be thankful about the calls. Maybe that wasn’t the best example, but you get what I mean. If you’re scared of him picking hockey instead of you, you’ll have to get over that. Is this his dream? What young athlete gets a chance to be an assistant coach before they graduate? Don’t jump to conclusions and hear him out, Nana. If you really care for the guy, you’ll listen.”
Wow. My sister’s words were like a sucker punch to the gut. How could I be upset with him if this was his dream? He mentioned feeling lost without hockey, and now he had a chance to make a difference. Find a new home. I had to wait and let him explain. I closed my eyes and nodded. “You’re right.”
“I know, but it feels good to hear you say it.”
We changed topics after that, but her words stayed with me all afternoon. The day wore on, but each time I looked at my phone, without a text or call, my stomach hardened. At nine, Cami checked in on me, and the buzz of my phone sent butterflies through my gut.Not Michael.I texted her back, but the weight in my stomach worsened.
I tried to rationalize all the things that could’ve happened. He was busy, obviously, but to tell me he’d stop by? I sighed, the hope ofusdisappearing more and more. The same, horrible feeling that I wasn’t worth it came back full force. Like all the times my dad made promises and backed out.
It wasn’t until eleven that I got a text from him.
Michael: I’m so sorry. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be over.
* * * *
Dad: Gotta reschedule the project thing again. Hank quit, and the team needs me. Hope you don’t mind.
I stared at my phone the next morning, unfazed by my dad’s second attempt atnotmeeting with me. The first time—Michael and Cal stole his attention. This time… Hank. Sure, theteamwas always more important. Not his daughter. Never me. There was always going to besomeoneor something else that mattered more. What if he needed Michael? What if Michael turned out to bejustlike him? Cancelling plans. Not realizing how much he’d hurt me. The first couple of times I’d forgive him, sure. But then how long would it go on?
I rubbed my temples and tried not to let my fingers tremble.
Three things were clear after getting a shitty night’s sleep and waking up to my dad’s text. I couldn’t be upset with Michael for figuring out his dream or future. He deserved the world. The second thing that became clear was the fact hockey would be his main priority. It made sense.
But I wasn’t sure I could handle that. I knew what it felt like after watching my mom, and as the leftover daughter, I found out the hard way about coming in second place. Protecting my heart was important because it had never really felt whole. The third thing was the fact I didn’t want to lose Michael. If we weretogether,there was a large chance we’d break up and it’d be awkward and horrible.
Staying friends was safer. Easier.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, and I let Michael into the apartment, trying not to cry at how badly I wanted to pull him to me.
“Hey,” I said, my voice scratchy.
“I brought you coffee.” He set a cup on the counter and bent down to kiss the top of my head. “Man, it has been a fucking weird twenty-four hours.”
“Michael.”
He stilled and looked at me, his blue eyes narrowing and frown lines forming all over his face. God, he was so handsome. I gulped, finding my courage to do what I needed to.
“What is it?”
