“God, I don’t want to. I was doing it, of course, when I thought you might kick me out soon.”
Shock takes over his features. “You thought what now?”
I shrug, feeling a little sheepish. “You were mad,” I say in a small voice. “Like, really mad. You said you wanted to cancel the reception. I figured the conversation you wanted to have was you deciding we needed a deadline for me to move out. Or, worst case, tell me I had to be out by the end of the week. Or before you got back from your next away stretch. So I was lining up everything I could to prepare for what I thought was theinevitable ending here. I also organized some things to plead my case, too, in hopes I could convince you to let me stay. To give me a chance.”
His face goes through a series of expressions as I talk—consternation, worry, sadness, and finally curiosity. “You did? What kinds of things?”
I shrug, feeling self-conscious now. “I mean, I don’tneedto plead my case, do I?”
“No.” He kisses me as though to erase the thought. “Of course not. But I am curious what you thought would sway me if you were convinced I’d be ready to kick you out.” He makes a sound of disgust and dismay. “God, I hate that I made you feel that way.” Hugging me tighter, he kisses me again. “I’m sorry, Hailey. Can you forgive me?”
I kiss him again too. “Of course. As long as you forgive me.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.”
I make a soft sound of disagreement in my throat. “I’m self-aware enough to know that I don’t always respond to relationships the best. Which is why I have a track record of relationships that fracture or just dissolve. So I looked online and found some therapists. I reached out to a couple today, and once I decide which one I like better, I’ll schedule an appointment. I saw a therapist for a while through the university, but once I graduated, that wasn’t an option anymore. Now that I have insurance …” I shrug. “I think it would be good for me. And I’d hoped that if you saw me trying to work on myself, it would help you feel better about letting me stay.”
“I think therapy would be good. I saw a therapist for years after Hunter died, and I still talk to the team’s counselor and sports psychologist pretty regularly. Since you never got that when you were a kid—plus all the bullshit your parents have put you through—having someone help you work through that would be beneficial for you. I want you to know, though, that Ilove you regardless. You getting therapy doesn’t change that for me.”
I smile. “Thank you,” I whisper, tears prickling at my eyes again. My emotions are raw after talking about Hunter and the aftermath of his loss, and Jason’s tenderness brings all those feelings to the surface again. The way he treats me is such a stark contrast to the way my parents do. If they saw me upset, or if I told them I wanted to go to therapy—hell, when Ididtell them I wanted to go to therapy when I was in high school—they’d scoff and tell me to get over myself.
“What else did you want to tell me?” he asks gently, and it takes everything in me not to squirm.
“I texted my mom. I told her about the reception, and I said that if they could come and be happy and supportive, then they were welcome. But if they weren’t able to do that, then to stay home.”
“Wow.” He hugs me tighter, kissing me again. “That’s …” Swallowing hard, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that to make me happy. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things that make your life worse just to make me happy. Okay?”
I nod, letting out a sigh that’s equal parts relief and sadness. “It wasn’t just for you, though I will admit that your reaction—the fact that you were clearly hurt and all I did was get defensive instead of explaining my reasoning so you’d understand—gave me a little push. But I needed to at least tell them. And part of me still wishes they could just … be happy for me. I don’t know why that’s so hard for them.” The last part comes out on a whisper, and a tear tracks down my cheek.
Jason makes a pained sound, his hand coming up to wipe away the tear. “I don’t know either,” he whispers back. “I hate that they’re like that, and I wish I could do something to fix it.I doubt me showing up at their place and yelling at them would make a difference, though.”
That makes me laugh a little. “No, I don’t think it would work, either. But thank you for wanting to do that.”
“Did your mom respond at all?”
Shrugging, I pull out my phone and open the texts. “She just said she doesn’t know what to say to that.”
He reads through what I sent and her response, taking his time, then slowly shakes his head. “We’ll count them as a no, then.” Passing my phone back to me, he cups my cheek with one hand, tilting my face so I meet his eyes. “For what it’s worth, my mom will be happy to hop in and do all the mom kinds of things with you. She’s been hounding me since I invited them to the reception, begging to help, asking about what you might want or need. She hasn’t reached out to you directly because she doesn’t want to be overbearing or overwhelming, but she’s always wanted a daughter. Not that she’s crazy and will expect you to call her mom or anything. Unless you want to. Or decide you want to later.”
I roll my lips between my teeth at his rambling, and he smiles, drawing in a breath. “Sorry,” he continues. “You get the point. My family—both my biological one and my hockey one—already considers you one of their own. I know it’s not the same as your own parents being good parents. But you’re not alone anymore, Hailey. You have me and all the people I bring with me.”
“Thank you.” I mouth the words more than speak them, too choked up to make a sound.
He kisses me and wipes away my tears with his thumb. “I love you, Hailey MacKay.”
“I love you too, Jason Chalmers.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jason
HavingHailey in my lap like this has my dick turning into a hockey stick, but with how wrung out she is emotionally, I don’t want to start grinding into her and being like, “Hey, baby, wanna fuck?” Not that I would ever say it likethat, but I don’t want to be crass and disrespectful.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask instead. “Or another drink?”
She nods. “I could eat.”
I pat her leg a couple times, then give her another kiss before helping her to her feet so I can get up. I don’t hide the fact that I’m adjusting myself as I head for the kitchen, and she giggles behind me.
