Page 137 of Slapshot Bride

I reach for her arm and pull her onto my lap.

“It’s a call from coach, baby. Some change of plans about the Chicago game. Didn’t want to wake you, so I came down to take the call.”

“Y-you’re not going anymore?”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest. My lips land on her temple.

“It’s still on, and I’m going. Just some last-minute changes on the meeting time for the trip.”

I don’t think about how the lie flows fluently. Instead, my head stays on the conversation I’d just had with her brother.

Lord. I can’t do it. Not now, not today.

I’m not strong enough. But I have to. I have to respect Mason’s wishes.

And I know he’s right.

I’m not the right man for her. Not with my reputation. Not with Maya hanging by a thread.

Fuck!

I should have told her the truth all along… let her in on who I truly am. What I’ve been hiding. Now, it’s too late.

She doesn’t need that in her life. Not when she’s doing well.

She doesn’t need me anymore.

She’s got a client. She’s got her mother back, half of her father, a brother who’d walk through a wall for her, two friends she’s reconnected with. She did all of that herself. I bought her a fifty-dollar camera and she built the rest with her own hands while I watched.

She’ll be fine. She’ll be better than fine.

She’ll be better off without me standing in the way. Without another scandal dragging her down.

Resting my head on hers, I decide.

I’ll end it.

Four days. Chicago, then Detroit. I’ll play, I’ll come home, and I'll tell her. I’ll finally let her go.

“Practice today?” she asks, raising her head.

I shake mine, because I can’t speak.

Eventually, I carry her back to the bedroom, and we lie in bed in silence. She soon falls asleep, leaving me to my thoughts, and I stay awake, watching her, memorizing every little curve of her angelic face, knowing it’s the last time I will ever see her this peaceful.

***

She drives me to the lot on Thursday.

Six-forty in the morning, gray light, my bag in the back.

She’s in my hoodie with her hair up and one hand on the wheel, the other on my knee. She seems super excited about the game, as she rambles on about her gig. She talks about the lighting, the venue, whether they’ll let her move a lamp. And I listen to all of it, smiling because I can’t help it.

I’m enthralled by this woman. By all of her.

She pulls in beside the bus. Wyatt is already at the door, yelling something at Kai.

She turns to me.