“I do that because you don’t know what you’d be getting,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Stop assuming you know what it is I want and allow me to decide.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but I could hear the steel underneath.
“You should want easy, Bianca,” I said, swallowing hard.
She brought her other hand up and rested it against my chest as well. “What if I don’t want easy? What if…what if I want you?”
Her words were like a physical blow to my gut because I knew what she was saying wasn’t true.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You do not know what I am.”
Her eyes held mine. “Evan, I know exactly what you are. You are an injured man who is scared to death because he doesn’t know how to deal with what is in front of him. That is all.Everything will change, and the man who can laugh and love will appear when the pain is gone. I already know it, and that is why I’m still standing here.”
Sweat trickled down my back.
Everything I’d learned from watching my parents had told me it was impossible for someone to want a broken version of a person.
“Evan…” she whispered as her hand traveled up to my cheek.
I took a step back, breaking the moment before I did something I wouldn’t ever be able to take back.
“I need to shower.”
I grabbed my towel and left her standing there, her pulse probably racing and her mind spinning out of control, just like mine was. I knew without a doubt I was in trouble. Deep, irreversible trouble. For the first time in my entire life, someone stood in front of me who actually wanted me, one who could see every ounce of my trauma. And she refused to leave.
After the locker room incident,my mind had been on everything but the game, so it didn’t shock me when we lost. I opened the condo door, stepping into the darkness. This time, the usual light that Bianca normally left on in the living room was already off.
Why was I doing this?I thought to myself as I made my way down to her door, raised my hand, and gently knocked. Why was I questioning myself? I knew exactly why. I banged again.
My shoulder had given out in the last few seconds of the game. It hadn’t flared; it wasn’t aching; it had given out. I’dwound up for a slapshot and my arm just…stopped. Went dead. Another player hit me from behind, and I dropped my stick. It clattered to the ice, and I stood there, chest heaving, staring down at my arm as if it belonged to someone else. I couldn’t feel a thing.
I’d been able to lie to myself for so long, and now I couldn’t anymore. I was ending my career because I was stubborn. It had been one hell of a drive home, and now the pain was so strong I could barely think straight. A thin layer of sweat covered my body. I couldn’t breathe through the pain either, and there was no way I could be alone with it for another second.
I’d walked to her door. Desperate. Every step I took that brought me closer to her door almost killed me because knocking meant that I was admitting need. I was becoming my father, the man who, only a year after his injury, lost his wife because she could no longer stand the sight of him.
I knocked again.
The door opened, and Bianca stood there. Her hair was loose, her expression shifting from surprise to worry.
“Evan?”
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, wincing from the pain.
“I can’t…my shoulder…it’s…”
Only the words didn’t come.
“Come in,” she whispered.
Her expression didn’t change to annoyance. Instead, it turned warm and steady, and she stepped back, giving me space. Or perhaps a choice.
I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to go to bed and suffer alone, so I stepped inside.
Her room was dimly lit; the only light on was the small salt lamp on her nightstand. Her room smelled like lavender and something sweet, reminding me of her.
Bianca immediately came to my side, guiding me over to the edge of her bed, her movements careful. I glanced at the small desk in the corner where she had a pile of supplies laid out. Ice packs, compression wraps, as if she’d known I’d break.
