Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
It’s an amazing opportunity and something he definitely shouldn’t pass up, but the slump of his shoulders and his tone of voice—yeah, I already know what he’s thinking about this chance.
“I don’t think you’re selfish,” I say. “I think you’re heartbroken.”
15
Rainn
I think you’re heartbroken.
I don’t know how Whit can read me the way he does, but I hate it.
His words may be the biggest truth I’ve ever been hit with, and the admission hurts.
Our food is delivered, but I’m too busy staring at Whit to even thank the server.
See, selfish.
“You looked at home on the ice tonight,” Whit says as he shovels food in his mouth.
Being on the ice, part of a team again, it was fun, and it surprised me how much I enjoyed it from a watching and helping perspective. When I was out there, I felt like I was breathing properly for the first time in four years.
But my high didn’t last. The crash came when I returned the skates I’d borrowed to Coach, and I had to acknowledge that I wasn’t coming back. That part of my life is over. The weight sat on my chest, and sucking in air became hard all over again.
“It was fun,” I say blandly.
“Come on, it was more than fun.”
“You have to understand I lost hockey a long time ago, so it’s hard for me to see past that.”
“The NHL isn’t everything when it comes to hockey.”
“You sound like Keller. But you’re biased. You never even entered the draft. Hockey has never been your future.”
“But I am still a hockey player. I understand the love of the game.”
Not like me, I want to say but refrain. Instead, I try to give him some perspective. “Just say something came along tomorrow and wiped out your entire farm—”
“Hey, whoa, why are you putting a jinx on me like that?”
I roll my eyes. “Guess you are a true hockey player, after all, with superstitions like that. Knock on wood”—I tap the table—“and all that hocus pocus. My point is, what if the future you’ve been looking forward to and working toward your entire life was ripped away from you?”
“I’d be upset for a while and then come up with a plan B.”
That answer is so … Whit. All optimistic and shit.
“Easy as that?” I ask.
“Easy as that. I wouldn’t sit around for years thinking about what was taken from me but what I could do to be happy again.”
I purse my lips. It really does sound simple when he puts it that way. But my only goal in my entire life has been hockey.
“I’m not saying you have to put a time limit on grieving, but you’re still in stage two, and it’s been four years.”
“What’s stage two?”
“Anger.”
“Are you saying if I go Zen, the world will open a million opportunities up to me?”
“Maybe not a million, but this guy with the hockey camp might be a good start.”
I huff. “I could see me yelling at the kids for not taking it seriously enough and being ungrateful little shits.”
“Oh, I had one of those coaches in high school, and it was horrible, but I don’t think you’d be that bad—you were great today.”
“Yay, I passed a puck.”
Whit shakes his head. “No, you did so much more than that. Just you being there gave the team a boost in morale. They wanted to impress you. If you were a nobody, why would they look up to you?”
Whit’s words are so sincere, so touching, that I might forget who I am for a second.
I reach over the table and lay my hand on top of his. “Thank you.”
Whit cocks his head. “For what?”
“Perspective, I guess.”
“Oh. Then, you’re welcome, but, uh, along with being a selfish jackass, ‘no hand-holding’ might need to go on the list of things you need to do so I can forget that kiss.”
I reluctantly take my hand back, but my skin tingles, wanting to touch him again. I want to keep feeling that connection that keeps happening between us. I want to feel the scruff on his cheeks against my lips again—to experience that burn I haven’t been able to forget. I want to explore my cravings for Whit, but I’m not sure how fair that is.
I take my time eating my dinner because I want to draw this whole night out.
“Want to order dessert?” That will keep us here longer. “You have to have birthday cake.”
“Coach will kill you, but I can never say no to dessert.”
Dessert only buys me another twenty minutes.
When Whit wipes his face with his napkin and leans back in his chair, I hold on to anything I can. “Want to come back to my place and torture me with whatever hockey movie you haven’t made me watch yet?”
Whit hesitates.
I hold my breath.
Please say yes. Please say yes.