How did I end up here once again? Opening up and trusting someone when I clearly had no business doing so. An old Mark Twain quote comes to mind: History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.
Kennedy places a supportive arm around my shoulders. “Let’s order our sandwiches and brainstorm ways to make that grown man cry, okay? I have a rolling pin and lemon zester in my car, so we’re off to a good start.”
I push through the heavy doors of the Bobcats Community Ice Rink without a plan in mind. All I know is that I need to talk to Cole. Kennedy’s suggestions would’ve ended with one of us in jail, and Sophie blames herself for my upset, so she wasn’t much help. Though I’m a don’t-kill-the-messenger kind of person, she faults herself for not telling me sooner. Kenn promised to smack some sense into her while I deal withthis.
Today’s practice is closed to the public, so the only noise besides my footsteps is the fast-moving blades of the players racing around the ink and a puck hitting the boards. Thankfully the security guard remembers me—probably from when I got knocked flat on my ass—and lets me through without issue.
I climb up the steps of the bleacher-style seating that faces the ice and sit on the cool, metal bench three rows up. Instantly, my attention is drawn to Cole, who’s running practice shots with the team. Watching him is a punch to the gut, making my lungs constrict.
Does his team know? His coach? How many games does he have left with them before he leaves?
I close my eyes and focus on breathing, despite how painful it is. Breath in. Breath out. I’m not sure how many times I repeat this, but when my heart no longer feels like it’s beating out of my chest, I open my eyes.
In that instant, as if choreographed, Cole notices me and slides to a perfect stop, a smile lighting up his face. He shouts to his coach, then hops out of the box and stalks toward me. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry, but I straighten my shoulders and walk back down the steps to meet him beside the plexiglass.
He grins at me, the signature tilt of his lips causing my knees to buckle. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were coming to watch.”
His cheeks are pink from exertion and the cool temperature inside the arena, making it so damn hard not to cup his face with my hands to warm him. “I’m not. I need to talk to you.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Talk about ripping off the goddamn Band-Aid.
Frown lines bracket his mouth, concern flaring in his eyes as he takes in my defensive stance. He blinks, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
He peers back at the ice, then focuses on me again, apprehension and confusion etched on his features. “Um, no. Not right now, anyway. Why? What’s up?”
I nod, an ache settling deep in my bones. Why is it that no matter how hard I try, or how hard I love, I always end up getting hurt?
With a surprisingly steady voice, I say, “So you aren’t being traded to the Devils?”
Panic flickers across his features, and he reaches for me.
With a shake of my head, I take a step back. Unless he wants to lose a hand, touching me is not in his best interest right now. Kennedy’s waiting in the car with a pastry dough cutter, and she isn’t afraid to use it.
“I was planning to tell you,” he says, his face twisting into a grimace. He glances back at the ice, where a few of his teammates have stopped skating to watch us. “Can you stay until the end of practice? We need to talk about this, but I don’t think now’s the best time.”
A brittle laugh escapes me. “When exactly is the best time, Cole? Clearly, it wasn’t during the past few weeks, or even months. The conversation about season tickets didn’t feel like the right time? How about when you told me you loved me?” My voice wobbles on those last words, but I keep my chin lifted. “Do you just need more time now so you can come up with an excuse aboutwhyyou didn’t tell me?”
“It wasn’t like that, Maya. I tried to tell you?—”
“I don’t care that you tried. In the end, you had ample opportunity, and you didn’t. Even my own goddamn brother knew you were being traded before me.”
He takes a step forward but doesn’t attempt to touch me this time. “Don’t be mad at Elliott. He overheard me on a call with my agent, and I asked him not to say anything to you until I figured out how to broach the subject.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head, backing up another step. “And here I thought Logan had told him.”
“Please trust me when I say I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I was being selfish.” He links his hands behind his head and paces two steps to my left, then turns and paces back. “I guess I just wanted things to stay how they were for as long as possible.”
“And then what, Cole? You’d tell me the day before you packed up and moved across the country? Sounds like a great plan to me.”
“No, I—fuck. I don’t know.”
I hug myself to ward off the chill of the rink. “Did you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?”
