I was officially out of my element.
“Do you want something to drink?” Luke asked, his blue eyes twinkling playfully in the candlelight. He was wearing a gray suit with a white dress shirt beneath it—top button undone—and his blond hair slicked back neatly. “Now that you’re finally legal, I mean.”
“Sure,” I said. “Um, you pick something for us.”
We were celebrating my twenty-first birthday at one of the swankiest restaurants in the city. I rarely drank, and I couldn’t pronounce most of the words on the wine list.
As the only child of two well-to-do lawyers from Chicago, Luke had grown up dining at places like this every weekend. But as the youngest of four children born to a nurse and a teacher from a suburb outside Minneapolis, this was outside my wheelhouse. My family’s idea of a big night out was hitting Applebee’s, and even that had to be worked into the budget.
He nodded and reached for the wine list. “I’ll order a bottle of wine.”
Luke flipped through the pages, looking over the selection with the intensity of someone purchasing a new car while I fidgeted in my seat, wishing I hadn’t borrowed Amelia’s heels. They were half a size too small and pinched my toes like crazy.
Prior to slipping into these torturous shoes, I’d spent the better part of the afternoon putting on makeup and getting ready. My roommates nearly took an eye out helping me apply fake lashes; it was a serious ordeal, and one I vowed never to repeat.
I crossed my legs and surveyed the restaurant to distract myself, taking in the opulent gold accents and framed artwork lining the walls. The other tables were largely occupied by people at least ten years older than us, all well-dressed and well-groomed. I wouldn’t have chosen this place myself, given the chance, but Luke had surprised me. It was the thought that counted, right?
After another minute, he shut the menu and set it aside. As if we’d summoned him, our server instantly reappeared. He was astonishingly tall, reed-thin, and looked like he would blow away in a heavy breeze.
“What can I get you started with this evening?” He gave us a bland smile that said he didn’t believe we could afford to be here. It was half-true.
“We’ll take a bottle of the River Estates Cabernet Sauvignon,” Luke said, handing him the wine menu.
“Excellent choice.” The server gave us a little bow before turning on his heel and leaving.
I hoped he would return soon so we could order dinner. After living on peanut butter sandwiches for a month to afford the little black dress I was wearing, the thought of seeing a loaf of Wonder bread or a jar of Jif ever again made me want to hurl. Now I was ravenously hungry for real food, though the menu was written entirely in French, which I couldn’t speak, let alone read.
Luke reached across the ivory tablecloth and took my hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb. “I’ve been thinking a lot about after graduation.”
“Do you have news?” Excitement bubbled in my stomach. I leaned closer, studying his face in the candlelight. “Who does Gavin think will bite?”
As captain of Callingwood’s Division I hockey team, the Bulldogs, Luke’s game had been solid over the last year. A number of NHL teams had showed an interest in signing him, which gave him a degree of bargaining power and almost guaranteed he would go to the league.
The big question now was which team he’d sign with. Specifically, which team his agent, Gavin Harper, could squeeze the best offer out of.
He drew in a breath and flashed me a tense smile. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
My stomach fluttered. “Okay.”
This was it. We were finally going to make a plan. Long-distance would be tough, but we could do it. It was only for a year while I finished college. I could fly to him, he could fly to me, and in the off-season, we could live in the same city. Plus, we could FaceTime every day. Totally doable.
Our server reappeared, pouring a small amount of ruby wine into each of our glasses and waiting expectantly. It took a moment to realize he was waiting for us to sample it, but I didn’t know what wine should taste like in the first place. I watched while Luke swirled the dark red liquid in his glass and tasted it, then nodded in approval. The server filled our glasses partway before leaving again.
“It looks like it’ll be Tampa Bay or Dallas,” Luke began.
“That’s great.” I took a sip of my wine, suppressing a grimace. It was astringent, like sour grapes and sadness. How did anyone find this enjoyable? “I know you’ve been hoping for that.”
“I have. But…” He trailed off.
“What is it?” A money issue? Or a disagreement over the terms? Luke wanted a clause in the contract to ensure he’d get playoff time in his first year, should the team make it that far. But not all organizations were willing to agree to that.
“I think we should take a break.”
My mouth went dry. “A break?”
Luke nodded. “I’m leaving soon. Let’s not make that harder than it needs to be.”
I blinked, trying to process his words, but my brain kept freezing like a glitchy computer. Error: does not compute.
“You’re not leaving until the end of the school year.”
“But you knew this was coming…right?” His expression was somewhere between pity and incredulity.
My breath snagged and my eyes pricked with tears. Of course I didn’t. If I did, why would I have poured myself into this sexy, low-cut dress I couldn’t afford, borrowed Amelia’s four-inch heels from hell, and put on this much makeup? Hell, I was even wearing lipstick. Lipstick.
Obviously, I thought we’d discuss commitment, not coming to an end.
“Wait.” I frowned, working through the subtext behind what he’d said. “Are you asking for a break? Or a breakup?”
He hesitated. “The second one, I guess.”
“You guess?” My voice climbed an octave, drawing the attention of the people dining around us. Several turned and stared. A few even glared. “We’ve been down this road before, Luke. This time it’ll be permanent.”
Luke cringed, making a lowering motion with his hands. “Let’s not make a scene, B.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I grabbed my wine and took an unladylike gulp. Gross. Slamming the glass down, I shot figurative daggers at him.
“Am I embarrassing you while you break up with me in public on my birthday? Is that why you did it here? So I couldn’t make a scene?” Hot tears welled again. I gritted my teeth and swallowed. Right now, it was easier to be mad than sad.
“No, it’s not—I didn’t mean for it to come out like this.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I wanted to be fair to you. I didn’t want to lead you on.”
“Right.” I laughed coldly. That he’d been thinking about it was a handful of salt in a fresh wound. I was wearing lacy underwear beneath this dress. I’d planned to sleep with him later, while he was working on an exit strategy. How could I have been so oblivious?
“I can’t believe you’re doing this after you begged me to get back together with you this summer.”
“But that’s just it,” he said. “We’ve been together for a long time. Pretty soon, the league will rule my life. Where I live, where I play, what I eat, everything. I need some time to myself.”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to disguise the waver in my voice. “Time to play the field and hook up with puck bunnies, you mean? Just like the last two times.”
During our two other “breaks,” I waited around for him while he slept with at least one other person. He groveled to get me back after both incidents, and foolishly, I forgave him. I thought he’d actually changed.
“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.
