That either made him very pathetic or very sad.
Both, maybe?
It wasn’t that Bennett was still carrying a torch for Sandy. Not exactly. Just that with the benefit of hindsight, there was no denying that he could’ve handled things better. Breaking up with Sandy and ending a four-year relationship with almost zero explanation before he’d crawled home to his mom’s to lick his mental wounds?
Not his brightest moment.
In fact, it was probably the single most colossally foolish thing he’d ever done.
But there’d been reasons for his actions, and although he hadn’t had the capacity to communicate those reasons at the time, now he was desperate for a chance to explain because . . .
Well, because Sandy wasn’t so much the one who got away as the one Bennett had been stupid enough to let go.
And considering their relationship was the one Bennett had compared every relationship to thereafter . . .
Okay, fine, yes, he was still carrying a torch for the guy.
Pathetic and sad.
And given the way he’d ended things, he wouldn’t blame Sandy if he didn’t want anything to do with him.
But how did he tell the man who’d once meant everything to him that he’d broken up with him because the pressures of playing for Chicago had made him hate the sport—and thus his life—and he’d left Sandro because he’d had to deal with his shit and he hadn’t wanted to drag Sandro down with him? Would Sandy even care anymore?
Casually, as if Sandy had known he was there this entire time, he lifted his dark-eyed gaze from the phone and met Bennett’s from across the room. There were a dozen feet between them, yet the distance felt like a yawning chasm, wide and bottomless.
The breath caught in Bennett’s throat, and he was suddenly hyperaware of the space he took up in the room in a way he hadn’t been before. Trailblazers’ players, coaches, and staff mingled and laughed and shot the shit while Eli waved at the GM to grab his attention.
Sandy held Bennett’s gaze and Bennett’s lungs squeezed tight.
Fuck, Sandy was even more handsome now than he’d been at twenty-two. He’d always had a naturally sun-kissed hue to his skin that he’d inherited from his father, and his jaw was more angular than Bennett remembered, his face long and narrow with cheekbones that went on forever. His dark brown hair was short, sitting in a messy, just-got-out-of-bed cap on his head, and the short beardstache was sexier than it had any right to be. He was broader and more muscular than he had been fifteen years earlier, the NHL having kicked his fitness into shape.
Bennett was staring at what could’ve been and it felt farther away than ever.
Hi, he mouthed, desperate for any reaction from Sandy. A smile, a wave. Hell, even a fuck you, because that would at least mean that Sandy felt something.
Sandy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, and something flickered behind those dark-as-sin eyes. Surprise? Bitterness? Apprehension?
Once, Bennett had been able to read him like a book. Had practically made it his job to know everything about him. Now, there were too many years between them, and Sandy’s expression was closed off in a way it had never been before. In fact, it was so closed off that Bennett didn’t expect him to respond, and his gut cramped in preemptive loss.
But hi, Sandy mouthed back.
Bennett let out a puff of air, a mix of shock and delight punching through him.
“You okay?” Fowler asked.
“Huh?”
“Bennett, Fowler.” The GM, Ramsey, approached with a wide grin. “You found us. Thanks for going to get them, Eli.”
“Sure thing,” Eli said and pulled out a chair at the table.
Ramsey positioned himself directly in front of Bennett, nearly blocking his view of Sandy. Bennett leaned sideways slightly to keep Sandy in sight.
Sandy raised an eyebrow like he was amused by him, which sent Bennett’s stomach into a freefall.
“What’s the plan for today?” Ramsey asked.
Fowler elbowed Bennett in the ribs, a clear get it together, and he pulled his gaze off Sandy and got to work, feeling a little more hopeful than he had in a long time.
