Instantly, guilt crashed through me.
“Bianca…”
“Why?” she suddenly demanded. “What have I done to you that makes you hate me so much?”
I could hear the hurt. I could see it. In this moment, something changed. She was raw and unguarded, a completely different person than the one at the arena today.
“I don’t…” I moved closer, unable to stop myself. “I don’t hate you.”
“What is this, then? Sunday we were friends, I thought, and now it looks like you are purposely going out of your way to sabotage me.”
“I’m not,” I said, running my hand through my hair as frustration mounted.
There was no way I’d be able to explain that my cruelty was self-defense. That I couldn’t face her because I’d been in pain ever since she’d approached me in the rink on Friday night and that practice was only making it worse. I couldn’t explain to her that every time she got too close, every time she looked at me, it felt like she could see past the walls I’d worked so hard to build.
“Then what?” She stepped closer, her eyes searching my face for answers. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
The question hung between us. I could feel the truth clawing its way up my throat wanting out.Because I am terrified of needing you. Because I watched my father become so dependent on my mother after his injury that she left, and when she was gone, there was nothing left of him. Because you were humming in my kitchen the other morning and we spent a wonderful day together on Sunday and for the first time it felt like home, and I can’t let myself want that.
She stopped in front of me and placed her hand in the center of my chest. When I met her eyes, it was all I could do to keep from taking her mouth with mine.
I’d almost said it, almost, but I swallowed those words back down and looked down at where her hand rested, burning a hole in my chest.
“Bianca, you’re overthinking this,” I said, turning everything off like a switch.
“Evan…”
“I skipped a meeting. That is it. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
Her hand fell away from my chest, and she backed up, hurt flashing across her face. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Right, of course.”
There it was, the sound of her professional, clinical voice.
“I’ll make sure that report gets filed. Won’t happen again.”
“Bianca…” Again, the harshness in my voice took me by surprise.
She paused this time, waiting for me to continue.
I should just tell her. Just tell her the truth.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
I was pushing her away to protect myself. Bianca didn’t wait; she left the kitchen and went into her room without another word, shutting the door behind her and leaving me in the kitchen, where I could feel the weight of what I’d done.
Tonight wasn’tthe same restlessness I’d felt lately. Aside from thinking about earlier, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my shoulder grinding with pain. It was a deep ache that pulsed with every breath I took. It had started when I’d finished in the gym after practice and had gotten worse the longer I’d been home. Now, I lay in the dark, my ice pack pressed against the joint, my jaw clenched so tight that my teeth hurt. I knew I had to tell someone.
But I also knew that telling someone meant I was asking for help. And asking for help meant becoming my father.
I rolled to one side and squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard to block out the memory of my father sitting in that old stained recliner that had become his home, barking at me to grab theremote, or demanding I get him a beer to wash down the handful of pain pills he’d just taken, or to help him to the bathroom. Dependency had eaten him alive, one small, simple request at a time, until there was nothing left of him. I would rather destroy my shoulder than end up that way.
I steadied my breathing, turning my thoughts to what else was keeping me awake. The one thing I definitely didn’t want to examine. Bianca. Her words from the other night at the rink, so soft and certain:“Maybe I want to see you like this.”
Those words played over in my mind. Maybe she wanted to see me vulnerable and see all the broken parts of me. No one had ever wanted to see that before, especially my last girlfriend, Jess. She was exactly the way my mother had been; she looked at weakness and moved away, not closer, and there was no way I was going to show Bianca that. She had no clue what she was asking for.
Another wave of pain ripped through my shoulder, traveling up my neck and into my jaw, causing me to let out a strangled moan. I placed my hands on both sides of my head, begging for it to go away. When it didn’t, I got up.
