“I know.”
“Don’t make it harder than it has to be. I’m just helping Amelia and Dex. Especially because Amelia is still laid up and can’t walk without crutches.” Amelia tore her meniscus during a game and has been stuck with a brace and crutches ever since. I knew it killed her that she couldn’t help, which is why our friend group of Mac, Cassie and I agreed to help Dex and August with the move.
“I’m not here to make it anything,” he says quietly. “But you’re here. And I’m here. And maybe that means something.”
I turn away, my heart thudding.Or maybe it means nothing at all.
The lights flicker.
Once. Twice. Then dim to a low, barely visible glow.
I still, one hand braced on the wall again. “If this thing drops, I swear to god?—”
“It won’t,” he replies, but his voice has lost some of its calm.
We both stand still, listening to the mechanical nothingness.
Then he sighs and slides down the wall, sitting cross-legged on the floor like we have all the time in the world. “Might as well get comfortable.”
I hesitate. Then, with a muttered curse, I join him on the floor of the elevator. I draw my knees up and wrap my arms tight around them.
For a moment, neither of us speak.
Then he says, “You still hate me.”
I don’t look at him. “I don’t have the energy to hate you.”
“That’s worse.”
I shrug. Although, I’m surprised he doesn’t call me on my bullshit. I’m never short of an insult for the owner of the Tampa Bay Blaze. The team that I just happen to play goalie for. August claims that his dad, Maxwell Cromwell, made the decision to draft me because he had no idea who I was.
He leans his head back against the wall, “I didn’t think it would be this hard seeing you again. Having you on the team.”
“You thought I’d be what? Grateful? Flattered?”
“I thought you’d moved on,” he remarks.
“I did. Until I ended up on your team. Opened up all the old wounds.”
He looks over at me, really looking at me. Brown eyes study me, making me uncomfortable and wishing I had somewhere else to go in the small space. “I didn’t do it to get close to you.”
“No,” I spit out. “You did it because you always want control. Your dad had you approve the roster; everyone knows that. You knew I was coming.”
That landed. August doesn’t deny it.
The lights flicker again and for a second, we’re in darkness. Just breath and memory and the buzz of old tension.
When the lights come back on, I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
“I loved you,” I remind him quietly. “And you left like it was so easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then why did it look like it?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. “Because it thought if I made it clean, it would hurt less.”
I turn towards him, my eyes sharp. “For whom?”
