“I’d like to preface this by saying I’m not choosing sides,” Kennedy says. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate… no pun intended.” She eyes me, silently making sure I’m listening. “Imagine you meet this amazing guy. The two of you fall in love, and then you find out that your favorite author wants to co-write a book with you. But in order to do so, you have to move to Los Angeles for an unknown amount of time. Maybe one year, maybe five. You have no idea.”
She pops another piece of brownie into her mouth and wipes the crumbs off the front of her shirt.
“How would you tell your boyfriend that? Especially when his whole life—his family, his friends, the job he loves—are allhere? And on top of that, he’s skittish about relationships and change in general.”
God, empathy’s a fickle bitch.
Because when she puts it that way? Yeah. I understand where Cole’s coming from. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Kennedy studies my face for a thoughtful moment. “Doyou love him?”
“Yes.”
There’s no hesitation in my answer. I wholeheartedly love Cole. Even though he didn’t tell me about his trade, and even though he’s moving to San Diego.
I love his dedication and his drive. The way he cares. The crinkles next to his eyes when he laughs. The soft smile he wears when I talk about a book. I love how passionate he is about hockey and how earnestly he supports my quest to find my own passion. There’s no world, fictional or real, in which I’m not enamored by Cole Berrett. I think about him more times in a day than I’d ever care to admit.
He’s better than any book boyfriend I’ve ever had.
But unlike the fictional men who live between the pages of my favorite romances, Cole’s real. And he’s mine.
Kennedy tilts her head back and drops the last piece of her brownie into her mouth. “Okay, cool.”
I rear back. “That’s it?Okay, cool? You’re not going to ask any follow-up questions?”
She has the audacity to frown at me, as if she’s offended that I’d expect her to do that, even though we both know she totally would. “I’ve been friends with you for over twenty years, Maya. You take things at your own pace, but once you’re in, you’re all in. Now you just have to figure out how to tell him that.”
As I survey the pile of romance books that now decorate the floor behind my couch, a slow grin pulls at my lips. Because I have the perfect idea. “How would you feel about me getting back on the ice?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
cole
Plexiglass shuddersas I’m slammed into it for the third time in as many minutes. At the sound of a whistle, I whirl around, taking my gloves off and tossing them onto the ice. We’ve been playing 3-v-3 games during practice, but based on Logan’s behavior, the rules have changed, and it’s now 5-v-me.
“What the hell is your problem?” I shove him in the chest. “Why the fuck are you cross-checking me? I’m on your team.”
“You won’t be on my team for much longer, though, will you?” He smiles, but there’s no warmth behind it. “And you hurt Maya, which upset Elliott, which, in turn, upsets me. Get it?”
I level him with an unamused look. “One, I turned down the trade. Two, I?—”
He tackles me like we’re playing fucking football, taking me down to the ice, where my arm is quickly pinned beneath my side.Christ. It’s been a while since someone knocked me on my ass outside of a fight during a game. It takes a second to regain my senses, and only when Coach Henderson blows his whistle repeatedly does Logan back off a fraction.
“Ten-minute break,” Coach yells. “Clark! Control yourself, God dammit. This isn’t a fucking gymnastics floor routine.”
Logan grins down at me, his blond hair flopping against his forehead. “You mean it? You’re really staying?”
“Dude,” I groan. “Get off me. You weigh a fuck ton.”
A crease appears between his brows. “Iknewyou were lying to me when you said my jersey didn’t make me look fat.”
Using my one free arm, I shove him with all my strength. As he rolls onto his back, he lets out a whoop that reverberates around the rink. I push back onto my skates and wipe off the ice shavings scattered across my gear.
The rest of the team cools down with water or stretches, but Cameron and Jake skate to where Logan’s still sprawled on the ice and haul him to his feet.
“What the hell is going on?” Cameron asks, lifting his goalie’s mask.
“Captain Cole is staying.” Logan breaks into a triumphant grin. “He says he’d miss me too much to ever leave and?—”
