I’m just grabbing my coat in the entryway when Jake walks into the apartment. I hadn’t even realized he was on his way home, so his sudden appearance startles me. “Jeez!” I exclaim, laughing in relief. “You scared me.”
His gaze softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“How was practice? Is Pedersen royally pissed?” I still feel awful that Jake was late this morning. Obviously it’s not entirely my fault—it takes two to tango-bang. But if I’d remembered he had morning skate, I would’ve made a point to shove him out of bed.
“Yeah, he was none too pleased. Worked me extra hard, but I deserved it.” Jake shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up. Then he rakes both hands through his hair. “I take it you haven’t gone to see your dad yet?”
“No. I was actually on my way out now.” I texted Dad to let him know I was coming, and his response was I’ll be here. With my father, that could mean I’m here and ready to talk, or I’m here to yell at you some more. It’s really a crapshoot.
“Do you need to leave right this second or do you have a minute to chat?”
I refrain from furrowing my brow. Chat? And why does he keep running his hand through his hair? Jake’s not usually so fidgety. Anxiety flutters in my stomach. “Sure. I’ve got a minute. What’s up?”
He heads into the living room, gesturing for me to follow. I do, but I don’t feel great about it. Because now I’m noticing the slump of his shoulders. He’s lacking his usual confidence and that worries me.
I allow the concern to surface. “What’s going on?” I ask quietly.
“You know I was late for practice today,” he starts.
Didn’t we just go through this? I study his troubled expression. “Right. You were late, and…?”
“So it was a disservice to my team.” His long fingers comb through his hair again. The dark strands are becoming increasingly rumpled. “We’re one game away from potentially playing in the Frozen Four. Two games away from potentially winning the whole damn thing.” He bites his lip. “I can’t afford to be late for practice.”
Guilt floods my body again. “I know. I guess what we can take away from this is…no more morning sex?” I offer in a lame attempt at a joke.
Jake doesn’t even crack a smile.
Uh-oh.
I lower my butt onto the arm of the couch. He remains standing.
“When the playoffs first started, I told everybody on the team they had to make sacrifices. I told Brooks he couldn’t party. Told Potts and Bray they couldn’t drink. Enforced a drink limit on the other guys.” He gives me a pointed look. “Forced McCarthy to end it with you.”
My stomach continues to churn.
“And they all did it without question. They put the team first.” He shakes his head, clearly miserable. “I used to put the team first, too. But I’ve completely lost my head since I met you.”
I’m starting to feel sick. I don’t need to be clairvoyant to know where this is heading, and I can’t fucking believe it.
Last night, I was more vulnerable with him than I’ve ever been with anybody else. I told him about the pregnancy and the miscarriage, the emotional breakdown, the broken relationship with my father. I sliced myself open and said, Look, here it is. Here I am.
For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be soft.
And this is the result?
My eyes are stinging. I press my lips tightly together. I don’t say anything, because I’m scared I might cry, and I refuse to show any weakness.
“I forced everyone to get rid of their distractions. Which makes me a total hypocrite, because I wasn’t willing to give up mine.”
“And I suppose I’m yours?” I’m surprised—and rather proud—by how steady my voice sounds.
“You are,” he says simply. “Since I met you, you’re all I think about. I’m fucking smitten.”
My poor, confused heart doesn’t know how to react. Does it soar because Jake—a guy I admire and respect and who I’ve been falling hard for—admitted to being smitten with me? Or does it sink because he’s acting as if that’s a bad thing?
“And that’s why I think we need to cool it.”
It sinks. My heart greets my stomach and they both begin to ache.
“I can’t ask my guys to place all their focus and energy on the team if I’m not willing to do the same. So maybe when you go to your dad’s today…” Jake trails off, awkwardly sliding his hands in pockets. “Maybe it would be better if…”
Another harsh dose of reality settles in.
“…if you just stayed there,” he finishes.
“You want me to leave?” I say flatly.
“I’m going to be spending every waking hour of the next three days preparing to beat Michigan. That’s all I’m allowed to think about, Brenna. You being here is a distraction. We already saw that this morning.” His voice sounds tortured. “I need to be there for my team.”
What about me? I want to shout. Why can’t you be there for me?
But I know better. There’s no way in hell I’m revealing my internal devastation over this. I revealed myself to him last night, and today he’s dumping me.
Lesson learned.
“Hockey needs to come first for me right now.”
And that’s when I hear it—the tiniest flicker of dishonesty. Is he lying? His expression is so pained and unhappy that it’s obvious he’s not jumping for joy at the idea of breaking up. But I’m not about to beg anybody to be with me. I’m going to take his reasons at face value. Because I’m an adult and I don’t play games. If he’s telling me it’s over, then it’s fucking over.
“It’s fine, Jake. I get it.”
He falters. “You do?”
“Hockey comes first,” I echo with a shrug. “And it should. This is what you’ve worked for your entire life. I don’t expect you to throw it away for a relationship that was going to end anyway.”
A slight frown touches his lips. “You really believe that?”
“Yes,” I lie. “I told you this once before—this can’t go anywhere. You’re moving to Edmonton. I have another year of college left. It would be stupid to even try.” I rise from the couch. “I’m sure my dad will be fine with me moving back. And if he’s not, then I’ll stay with Summer. My landlords said the basement will be ready any day now. Who knows, maybe it’s ready now and they haven’t had a chance to call me yet.”
His fingers slide through his hair for the millionth time. “Brenna…” He doesn’t continue. His remorse is unmistakable.
“It’s all good, Jakey. Let’s not drag this out. We had some fun, and now it’s time to move on. No biggie, right?”
Pretending I don’t care is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. And I must be doing a convincing job of it, because Jake nods sadly.
“Anyway, I’m going to go grab all my stuff now, make it easier. It’s only one drawer so…” My voice breaks. He gave me a drawer and now he’s taking it away. It feels like someone took a rusty blade and stabbed it into my heart a hundred times.
In Jake’s bedroom, I quickly empty the contents of the drawer and dump everything in my suitcase. Then I duck into the hall bathroom and sweep up my toiletries. I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, but if Jake contacts me about it later, I’m going to tell him to throw it out. Even though I’m alone, I force myself not to reveal a sliver of emotion. One slip-up and I’ll be crying. And I’m not allowed to shed a single tear inside this apartment.
Rolling my suitcase behind me, I return to the living room. I saunter over to Jake, squeezing his arm. Touching him makes me want to die.
He stiffens for beat, and then he raises his hand and touches my cheek. His thumb brushes lightly over my bottom lip. It comes away with a faint crimson smudge.
“Rocking the red lips this early in the day, eh?” he says roughly.
“It’s my trademark.” It’s my armor, I think silently.
Right now that armor is the only thing keeping me from breaking down in tears at his feet.
