"I never asked you to stop caring."
"You asked me to let you go. Same thing."
"It's not the same."
"Isn't it?" I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You broke up with me so I could focus on hockey. So I could take this opportunity without feeling guilty. But the thing is, I do feel guilty. I feel guilty for wanting you more than I want Seattle.I feel guilty for not being able to move on like you apparently have."
"I haven't moved on."
"You haven't?"
"No." She looks down at her hands. "I've been pretending. Trying to convince myself that leaving was the right thing to do. That you'd be better off without me in the way."
"In the way of what?"
"Your future."
"Youaremy future." The words come out before I can stop them. "Or you were. I don't know anymore."
She’s quiet for several seconds, and then she gets up and goes back into the house, leaving me alone in the cold.
I sit there for another ten minutes, finishing my beer and trying to figure out where we go from here—trying to figure out if there even is a "we" anymore.
Eventually, I give up and go inside. Her bedroom door is closed, a clear sign she’s not interested in finishing our conversation.
When I open my door, I freeze.
Sutton is in my bed.
She's sitting up against the headboard, wearing one of my shirts.
My heart skips.
"Hi," she says quietly.
"Hi." I close the door behind me.
I should tell her to leave. I need to protect myself from this woman who has the power to turn me inside out.
But I can't make myself say the words.
Instead, I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed.
She shifts, moving behind my back. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For leaving. For not talking to you. For making everything so complicated."
"It's okay."
"It's not okay. I hurt you."
"Yeah." I look at her. "You did."
"I thought I was doing the right thing."
"I know."
"But I wasn't. I was just scared." Her voice breaks. "I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
