Sandro’s stomach cramped sharply. He could imagine Bennett’s alarm going off in the morning. Could imagine Bennett slapping it off and cocooning himself in bed all alone, trying to motivate himself to get up. The image brought tears to his eyes that he blinked away.
“I loved hockey,” Bennett continued. “And I loved playing hockey, but not the NHL brand of hockey. The longer the season went on, the more it felt like I was drowning under the pressure. Being here, filming you and your team, it’s reminded me of all the reasons I both hate and love the sport.” The way he spoke, all matter-of-fact and calm, it almost sounded like Bennett was telling a story about someone else. But maybe he was unaffected now because he was fifteen years removed from it. “So at the end of the season, I quit. Because the thought of doing another season of the exact same thing . . .”
Sandro deflated against the door. If he’d been butter, he would’ve melted right into it. “I’m sorry. That . . . That sucks, B.”
If Sandro could kick his own ass, he would. The one time Bennett had tried talking to him, partway through their rookie seasons, Sandro had responded by telling him to wait it out.
Once you’ve got your NHL legs under you and you’ve adjusted to this life, you’ll be fine.
Fucking hell. No wonder Bennett hadn’t leaned on him. He’d been an unsympathetic asshole.
“Did you quit me for the same reason?” he found himself asking. “Because the thought of being together for another season?—”
“Jesus Christ, Ro, no.” Bennett shot up from the bed and stalked toward him, long legs eating up the distance between them. “You were the best fucking thing in my life.”
Anger bubbled and Sandro tried to suppress it. “Oh yeah? That why you broke up with me?”
Bennett opened his mouth, then clacked it shut on a wounded noise. He dropped onto the end of the bed. Shoulders rounded, hair curtaining his face, he stared at his hands for a long moment. “Do you remember what your rookie season was like?”
Surprised by the question, Sandro straightened off the door. “Vividly.”
“So do I. You had eighty-nine points—thirty-five goals and fifty-four assists in eighty-one games. You were killing it out here, Ro. And I was drowning. Did you really think I was going to bring you down with me?”
What the . . . What the what?
The bubbling anger boiled over, flushing heat through Sandro’s body. “So you broke up with me to what? Protect me? Jesus fuck, you’re such an idiot.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
That brought Sandro down a peg.
“I couldn’t breathe, Ro,” Bennett said, quieter, which belatedly made Sandro realize that they’d been half-yelling. “I couldn’t breathe, and you were having an all-star season. There was no way I was going to dump all of that on you and risk being the thing that interfered with your game. Do I wish I’d handled things differently? Yes. But I didn’t know how to deal with everything I was feeling back then, Ro. I didn’t . . .” Exhaling roughly, Bennett dug the base of his palms into his eyes briefly before dropping his hands. “I’m sorry. I?—”
Sandro went to his knees at Bennett’s feet and wrapped his arms around Bennett’s waist. Bennett made a sound of confusion, but Sandro kept holding him until the anger, the disappointment, the sadness, the years of wondering what if . . . they bled away, swirling down an imaginary drain and leaving him here, in the present.
Where things could be different.
He pressed a kiss to Bennett’s chest, then met his gaze. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t lean on me.”
“What? No, Ro, you?—”
“Don’t try to make excuses for me,” Sandro interrupted calmly. “If I’d been the kind of partner you needed, maybe things would’ve been different. But I wasn’t.”
“Sandro, stop. That’s not?—”
“Instead of listening to you,” Sandro said, speaking over him, “and standing up for you, I glossed over your problems. And because of that, you stopped talking to me, and because of that, I buried myself in hockey to escape the pain of you pulling further and further away from me.”
Bennett’s expression was pained. “Ro?—”
“We’re both at fault for what happened. But we were kids, B. I mean, we were younger than Eli. We didn’t know anything.”
“And now we do?”
“Well, no, probably not.”
Bennett chuckled, and the sight of his smile was all Sandro needed. Without thinking twice about it, he blurted, “God, I was so in love with you back then,” and swallowed hard when Bennett’s eyes went glassy.
“I know,” Bennett whispered. “I loved you too.”
