“That’s not what this is about.”
“Okay.” I scoffed, crossing my arms and blinking back tears. There was no way I would let him see me cry. “If it’s not that, then what is it? There’s got to be a reason you’re pulling a one-eighty on me. Is it someone else?”
He frowned. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’d do this, so I guess we’re even.” I grabbed the linen napkin off my lap and tossed it on the empty plate. Bracing my palms on the table, I stood, pushing back the red velvet chair. “I have to go.”
“Don’t leave,” Luke pleaded, reaching for my arm. “We can have a meal together, can’t we? I still want to be friends.”
More like he wanted to be on good terms with my brother, who played for the Callingwood Bulldogs with Luke. Unceremoniously dumping defenseman Derek James’s little sister was sure to make for awkward conversation in the locker room before the next game.
Then again, my brother had never stood up for me. Why would that change now? For someone who was a force to be reckoned with on the ice, Derek was a total pushover in real life. He had the spine of an invertebrate.
I yanked my arm out of Luke’s flimsy grip. “Not even remotely possible.”
“Bailey, don’t be like this.”
My heart wrenched. Be like what? Upset that he blindsided me? Anyone in my position would be devastated.
“Let me drive you at least.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. You’ve done enough.”
Seconds crawled by as I lingered in front of the table, wanting to leave but unable to make my body cooperate. My feet stayed firmly glued to the floor, stuck in some form of malignant denial. This couldn’t be happening. This was Luke. My Luke.
I studied his face, tracing the features I knew better than my own. Pale blue eyes framed with thick lashes; strong jawline, cleft in his chin; and a Roman nose that was slightly crooked from a break in minor hockey. I always said it added character to his otherwise perfect face.
It was a face I’d woken up to. A friend who’d seen me at my worst. A lover who’d witnessed my most vulnerable moments.
But this person sitting before me was a stranger.
“You’re still coming to the game tomorrow night, right?”
The sadness in my gut morphed into rage. Even now, he wanted me as a groupie.
“You have got to be kidding.” I snatched my purse off the chair beside me. “I’ll be at the game, but only because of Derek. Not you. I’d cheer against you if I could.”
The next morning, I perched at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and a plate of food that I had zero interest in actually consuming. My stomach turned as I pushed the now-cold scrambled eggs around my plate, trying to muster up the will to eat.
According to the digital clock on the stove, it was a quarter past eight, which meant I’d been staring at my food for nearly an hour. My mother always said a hearty breakfast was the key to starting the day on the right foot, but no amount of food could fix the events of last night. Nothing could, short of a magic wand.
“Good morning!” My roommate Amelia breezed into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffeepot. Clearly, her day was off to a far better start than mine. She was already dressed in a cropped pink sweater and distressed jeans, and her curly brown hair was woven into a thick braid. I was still unshowered and wearing ratty purple pajamas, my long hair in a tangled rats’ nest. My skin was blotchy, my eyes swollen, and my heart empty.
The idea of being single again after a year and a half was akin to being adrift, lost at sea without a compass. I didn’t know who I was without Luke. I didn’t want to know.
With her back turned, Amelia poured herself a massive cup of french roast, then went to the fridge and pulled out the vanilla creamer. “How was your birthday dinner?” She shut the door with her hip.
“Well—” The words got stuck in my throat. “Not great.”
Amelia laughed and stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. “Why, Luke keep you up all night?”
It was like being stabbed in the heart and the gut at the same time.
She spun around to face me, her dark chocolate eyes probing me from over the top of her pink mug. “You do look pretty tired.”
Given that I’d been hit by the breakup bus, I was sure I looked more than tired. I probably looked like a troll.
“Uh, not exactly.”
She took a sip of her coffee, raising her eyebrows. “Where is Luke, anyway? Is he still asleep?”
Another stab.
“He isn’t here.” But he should have been.
“Oh.” Her forehead crinkled, mild confusion registering. “Did he have to train this morning? I thought Paul said they didn’t have dryland today.”
“No,” I said. “He dumped me.”
Amelia froze with the petal-pink mug halfway to her mouth. “What?” Her eyes snapped up to mine.
“Yup.” I looked down at my plate and took a bite of soggy whole-wheat toast. Since the alternative to eating was discussing the breakup, my appetite had suddenly returned. Amelia stared at me, wide-eyed. I wished I’d printed out a pamphlet I could distribute instead of having to relay every painful detail. A news bulletin of sorts.
I swallowed and added, “He said we should ‘take a break.’ And then it turned into a breakup.”
Part of me still didn’t believe it was real, but another part—a bigger part—was resigned to it.
“Sweetie.” She set down her cup and walked around the island. Sitting on the stool next to me, she scanned my face with concern and touched my arm gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“What happened? I don’t understand.”
Neither did I, but that didn’t matter. And now I had to relive this horrible breakup conversation over and over again with all my friends and my brother, as well as with my parents. Breaking the news, witnessing their shocked reactions, and enduring their awkward pity. I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want hugs. I didn’t want to talk about it—at all.
“We grew apart, I guess.”
“Still, you must be devastated. I feel terrible for you, B.”
Amelia and I had lived together for over six months and got along fabulously, swapping clothes, sharing makeup, and binge-watching bad shows on Netflix. But we’d met because Paul and Luke played together, which meant that her life, like mine, all but revolved around the team. Now she was looking at me with the level of shock and horror one would expect at the news of a death.
Was she really concerned for me? Or was she worried that she and Paul would be next? Would they be next? Like Luke, Paul was a third-year with NHL aspirations. Maybe they all had a pact to dump their girlfriends and live it up for their last year of college.
Or maybe I was the only dead weight.
“Yeah, well…it happens.” Avoiding her eyes, I grabbed my plate and stood, pushing the stool away from the counter. “Anyway, I need to shower and hit the library. I have an article to finish before the game tonight.”
If it was even possible to focus on writing right now. That part might be a stretch. Or it could be a good escape. I could lock myself away from reality and ignore that my love life had just imploded.
“You’re still going to come?”
The question landed like a slap, even though I knew she didn’t mean it that way.
“I have to,” I said. “Derek would never forgive me if I suddenly boycotted their games.”
Besides, I wasn’t sure what I would do to fill my time if I didn’t.
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CHAPTER 2
OceanofPDF.com
ALL I DO IS WIN
Chase
Our pre-game ritual for home games was sacred. Practice skate at Northridge Arena, nap at home, meal at Ironwood Grill, then back to the rink early to warm up and shoot the shit. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It wasn’t that we were superstitious, but deviating from this particular sequence of events tended to result in losses.