“Jamie,” I practically whisper.
He flinches, as if he’d been somewhere else and I’ve just brought him back to reality. He straightens too quickly, immediately favoring his knee, and that’s when I see it.
The way his hands tremble and the tight, unfocused look in his eyes.
Oh. Oh no. He’s having another panic attack. Shit. I reach out to touch him but decide it’s probably not a great idea. I pull my hand back quickly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says breathily.
“I know,” I reply. “But here I am.”
He drags a hand through his hair and turns away from me. “I’m fine, Ellie. Just go.”
It’s a lie, just like the last time.
“Jamie, you’re not. You’re shaking and dripping in sweat. That’s not fine.”
His chest rises sharply, then stalls. He presses his palms flat against the bench like he needs the solidness of it to keep himself upright.
“I fucked it up, Ellie,” he tells me. “I fucked everything up.”
A part of my heart cracks at the utter sadness in his voice. Shit, I’m not supposed to feel this way. Not about him.
“Fucked what up, Jamie?” I ask, curious as to what he could be referring to. It couldn’t be all about the game, could it?
“I should’ve got help sooner. I should’ve told someone about my knee when it first happened. But I didn’t. I thought I had it handled,” he cries, his breath catching. “Now I’m here, my career is over, and I can’t even coach this fucking team. I can’t help them the way I should. And I…”
He sucks in air like he can’t get enough.
My chest tightens.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Look at me. You what?”
He looks up through wet lashes, his eyes searching mine. God, he’s beautiful. I really have missed those eyes looking at me like this. Like he needs me.
“I fucked up with you.”
My heart stops and everything goes silent. That’s the last thing I was expecting him to say.
“Jamie…” I begin.
“Please forgive me, Ellie. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’m fucking shitty. But I need you to forgive me.” His head falls to my shoulder, and he cries. He cries harder than I think I’ve ever seen a man cry. For once, he’s showing emotion. He’s showing me the realhim. Not the hot, cocky hockey star image he’s built up for the world. But him.
“Shhh…Jamie,” I coo. “Jamie, breathe with me.”
I feel his jaw clench.
“Come on,” I demand, firmer now. “You’re spiraling. You need to breathe.”
His eyes lift to mine, and they’re dark and frantic.
“I’m not supposed to fall apart,” he says with a sniffle. “Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of you.”
“You’re allowed to be human, Jamie,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head, breath still uneven.
“I can’t stop thinking about everything at once. The game. My knee. My team. Fuck!” His laugh is broken. “You. I can’t stop thinking about you, Ellie. It’s driving me fucking insane. You’re just… you’re always there and you’re perfect and knowing I’ll never get the chance to… it’s killing me.”
