“Not me,” I mutter.
His eyes widen. “What happened? You can talk to me, Vik. That’s what friends are for.”
That’s another weird thing.
I’ve never really had friends.
Yes, I’m friendly with my teammates. I’ve had roommates and guys I could go drinking with, but making friends has been hard because of the language barrier. It got easier in Atlanta because of Kelly, and now I speak much better, but I’m still not used to the idea of friends. Like West and Bodi and Simon and Felix. We’ve had a lot of fun together, and it really didn’t end just because West and Bodi got into serious relationships.
We still spend time together. Laugh a lot. Share things.
And he deserves to know what’s going on because he’s been here, supporting me, for all of it. Not to mention Serena and Holly are extremely close, so he’s going to find out anyway.
“She has job interview in New York City. A firm on Wall Street.”
He knits his brows together. “I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”
I throw up my hands. “This is my question! Why? I do not understand and I’m…pissed.” There. I said it.
“Understandable.” He hesitates. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, and I’m only playing devil’s advocate because it might bring you some clarity. Is there anything you said or did that could have made her think you weren’t serious about giving the marriage a try?”
That’s been on my mind too.
I know one part of it and that’s the thing I’m struggling with. In the moment, I lashed out because I was hurt. In retrospect, I may have been unconsciously pushing her away because we’ve danced around the one major issue between us: whether or not I would expect her to move to Russia after I retire.
Would our conversation have gone a different way if I’d answered differently? And by the same token, does she not love me enough to go with me? To at least visit and see if she might be happy there?
I didn’t offer up the possibility of staying here, though, either.
So, we’re both bad about communicating our needs and wants.
The thing is, I don’t know if she loves me. Without that, it’s impossible to make important decisions.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit finally. “My feelings are a jumble. My head, my heart, my stomach—everything feels sick and weird. This is why I am only thinking about hockey. I cannot think about her right now or…”
He nods sympathetically. “I understand, buddy. Really. But it’s impacting you whether you think about her or not. And I think you owe it to her, and to yourself, to have one completely honest conversation. Otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering. What if. What might have happened if I’d just been honest… you know?”
I nod. “I cannot do it now.”
“No. But if she comes on Wednesday, you have to.”
“How do you know you’re in love?” I demand as we step out of the elevator.
“You know that sick feeling you just described? That’s your answer. If you didn’t love her, you’d be pissed or frustrated or whatever. But not sick. You’d just want this to be over with. The fact that you still want her, still want to talk to her, maybe work things out—that’s your answer.”
“This is bullshit,” I mutter. “Love is supposed to make you sick?”
“Sometimes. Especially when you’re fucking it up.”
“Well, that is fucking bullshit,” I repeat in annoyance.
And the bastard just laughs.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Holly
I surreptitiously watch game three on my phone while sitting at a high-end restaurant with my potential new employers. A whole group of them take me out, both men and women, and I know I’m going to be getting an offer. The interview went great, I like everyone I’ve met, and the possibility of making a fortune is extremely enticing.
