“Mabel and I watched the game last night,” she says. “That penalty against Wilson was so bad. They showed the replay and it wasn’t even his stick that hit that other guy. It was one of their own players.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s too bad refs don’t get written up when they make a mistake like that. Or something.”
I nod.
“And then when that bonehead checked you into the boards, it should totally have been a penalty.”
I rub my forehead where an ache has developed behind my eyebrows. “Nah. It was a clean hit.”
“He jumped about a foot into the air to hit you!”
I’m almost amused. “A foot, huh.”
She blows out a breath. “Well,Ithought it should have been a penalty.”
She falls silent, watching out the side window, and I’m too busy dying inside to have much to say. What am I supposed to do? Let her walk away? Again?
My pride tells me… yeah. Let her go.
But… my heart tells me I have to try. Even though I know it’s just asking to have that internal organ stomped on.
I have to be honest with her. I have to take the risk.
There are no people with cameras at her place and I score a parking spot on her block when someone pulls out just as we arrive. We unload her things and carry them up to her apartment.
She drops the bag she’s carrying and sets the guitar on the floor with a big sigh. I slant her a glance at that, but she walks into the main room. “Well. I’m home.”
Memories of the night I showed up here and found her a beautiful train wreck flood back. I don’t ever want to see her like that again. I’m glad she’s doing better.
She turns to face me. I haven’t moved from the foyer. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “Well.”
She moves closer. “I’m glad you’re okay with this.”
“I’m not okay with this.” The words spill out of my mouth.
Her eyes latch onto mine, her eyebrows sloping down.
My nerves hum and my gut twists. “I don’t want you to go.”
She blinks slowly. “Marek…”
“I can’t do this anymore. I want a real relationship.”
She looks like I just slapped her. And the expression on her face feels like a gut punch for me. I let one side of my mouth curl up. “I didn’t think asking us to be together would be so repulsive after the time we’ve spent together the last month and a half.”
She presses the heel of her hand between her breasts. “No! It’s not… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started something with you when I’m such a mess. I shouldn’t have had sex with you. I thought sex would help. I thought human connection would make me feel something, instead of numb. And it did.” Her burnt honey eyes shimmer. “It did. Maybe… I’ll see how things go… and we could?—”
“No.” My stomach churns and a sour taste rises up my throat, as I remember all those months where I kept hoping to hear from her. Where I kept looking for any sign of her online. Where I kept fantasizing about her. Aching for her. I’m not doing that again. “I’m not going to hold you back. It’s better to just end things. I can’t do this half-assed anymore.”
She stares at me, her eyes wet and burning into me, her lips parted. Then her eyebrows pull down and her forehead creases, her look changing from want to anguish. She closes her eyes and her shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.”
I struggle for words. Struggle to control my shaking throat. I love her too much to hold her back from accomplishing her goals. Finally, I say, “I know. You need to follow your dreams. I know how important it is to you. I know how important your music is to you.” I swallow. “I don’t want you to go. But I want you to be happy. Go find yourself. Find that happiness.” I turn toward the door, then look back at her. “Bye bye, butterfly.”
And then I leave.
Because I’m about to lose my shit.
