Laughing, she nods, then reaches for the remote. “Oh! It’s about to start.”
After the game, I text Jason.
Nice playing tonight
He takes ages to respond, and when he does, it’s a perfunctory
Jason
Thanks
I stare at my phone for a while, hoping for more, wondering if I should say something, maybe ask a question? Anything to try to spark a conversation. But with a sigh, I set my phone aside and turn to my violin instead.
If this is going south, I need to get myself set up to survive without him. Would Marissa be open to having a roommate if it came down to that? That’s a big ask of a new relationship, but …
Grimacing, I push those thoughts aside and focus on the notes and rhythms in front of me. I can’t control Jason or Marissa or what happens with anyone else. But I can control if I can play this to the best of my ability. I need to land some gigs, nail my audition, and start reaching out to area music teachers to drum up some students. And the sooner, the better.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Jason
Somehow I manageto do some of the best playing of my career while we’re away, channeling all of my anger and frustration into the game. It helps, but only while I’m on the ice. Once I’m off it, I’m back to stewing in all the anger—at Hailey for not understanding what I meant, at myself for thinking I was clear enough, at the situation where I’ve realized the reality is that she’ll never think I want her for her own sake instead of from some sense of duty or guilt.
“Good job this week,” Coach says as we’re boarding the flight to head back to Seattle. “Married life obviously agrees with you if you’re playing like this.”
“Heh. Yeah. Thanks.” Little does he know that my marriage is a sham. And as much as I don’t want it to be, I don’t know how to change that.
She’s reached out multiple times while I’ve been away, and I’ve responded, but our exchanges are short and perfunctory. I’m not sure if I’m more to blame for that or if she is. I haven’t given her much of an opening for chatting, but the reality is thatusually I’m the one pushing our conversations, and now that I’m not, they’re all dying as soon as they start.
Knowing Hailey, though, that could be because she’s worried about bothering me. The fact that she’s initiated every text exchange this time means something, right? It has to.
But what if it means that she thinks you’re mad at her and she’s just trying to fix that. Not that she actually cares about you.
The thing that’s fucked me up the most, though, is the fear that she’s only gone along with what I wanted—the sex, the closeness—because she was worried about making me mad and jeopardizing her ability to stay with me if she didn’t.
I know I asked if she was okay with it … or, I’m pretty sure I did, at least. But what if she lied when she said yes?
That thought makes me want to vomit every time it rears its ugly head.
I’ve never wanted a woman to be with me out of fear or obligation. I’d rather never have sex again than be with someone under those circumstances.
I thought …
Well, I thought we were building something real. Sure, maybe we went about it in a weird order, but I thought we were going from friends to more than that. Yeah, we got married in the middle there, but that was so she’d be secure.
And somehow that’s how everything got so fucked up.
Now I don’t know what to do …
Do we take a few steps back, sit down and talk things out, lay all my cards on the table, and let her know that I wanther? Not because she’s Hunter’s little sister, but because I’ve fallen forher—her talent, her passion, her sense of humor, her beauty—everything.
Sure, when her car broke down in front of my house, I helped her out because she’s Hunter’s sister. I’ll admit that was myinitial motivation. I’d have called a tow for anyone, but inviting her in, feeding her, paying for everything? That was a hundred percent because of her connection to Hunter. Even if I hadn’t promised him that I’d look out for her, I would’ve done the same thing.
But since then? I’ve gotten to know the woman she’s grown into. And … who wouldn’t fall in love with her?
I pull out my phone and open my text messages with her, rereading the last week’s worth of texts. It doesn’t take long. There’s not a lot there.
But … she’s been trying. And I haven’t been reciprocating for the first time since we reconnected.
