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“Even though everybody already seems to know.”
“Even though everybody already seems to know,” I agree, smirking.
Nolan folds his hands on the bartop, leaning forward like he’s trying to find the words to say something.
“I could do this more often,” I finally say. The words come out casual, almost probing. Even though I spent hours and hours rehearsing this conversation in my head during the flight and the weeks leading up to this trip, I can feel myself forgetting everything I planned to say.
“Come to my games?” he asks.
“If you wanted,” I say.
Now he’s watching me very carefully. “What are you saying?”
I bite my lip. “I’m not trying to freak you out or pressure you,” I say slowly. “But I haven’t been with anyone else since you came back. Nobody.” I stare at my drink, then drag my eyes to him, judging his reaction. It’s something I’ve been stewing over for weeks and weeks, now. I’ve seen the pictures of him leaving the rink with women. Not as often as I used to, but I’ve seen it, and I’ve had to pretend I have no right to be mad or jealous. We haven’t labeled ourselves as anything official. And besides one conversation I’m not sure he took seriously, we never really agreed to be exclusive. Still, I have to admit it hurt to see he was sleeping with other women.
Nolan hesitates a long time, then he seems to deflate a little, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
His response feels like a punch in the stomach. My eyes try to water, but I use every ounce of will to keep it from happening. I don’t want him to see how much this hurts. “I know. I just–”
“Hey,” he says, touching my arm and then my cheek. “I wouldn’t trade what we’ve been doing.” He stops, like what he’s about to say is hard for him. His face screws up for a split second, then he looks natural again. “You’re my favorite, anyway.”
I smile reflexively, not wanting him to see the emotions at war in my head. I don’t want him to know that my heart is breaking, even though I should’ve never put it in his hands in the first place. If I looked down, I feel like I’d see a hole in the ground from where my stomach dropped out at those words. You’re my favorite, anyway. I’m just one of many, to him. And I’m the one who is an idiot for thinking it was any different. He never promised me anything but this. The closest we ever came to talking about being exclusive was a quick, joking conversation one time forever ago. If I really wanted it, I had more than enough opportunities to tell him exactly what I wanted. But I didn’t.
“Want to try the pretzels?” I ask, voice thick.
We push through the next minutes with a painful awkwardness hanging over us. This isn’t our usual routine. We never linger together when everybody else leaves. We always go straight to the physical–straight to sex. But something is different tonight.
I feel like I’ve been holding myself together with glue, tape, and popsicle sticks. Maybe I didn’t realize how fragile it all was until tonight. Now, though? Now I feel it all coming apart, and I’m doing everything I can to keep my composure in front of him.
“I’m actually not feeling that well,” I say.
Nolan looks up, suddenly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s no big deal. I think the cheese dip maybe just got to me. I may need to go back and sleep it off in my room. Alone,” I add after a brief hesitation.
“Oh,” Nolan once again looks like he wants to say something. His jaw ticks a few times, then he nods. “Alright. I guess I’ll see you next time I’m in Frosty Harbor. Unless you were planning to come to the conference finals?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, standing up.
“Alright.” Nolan stands.
We hesitate, and he pulls me into a hug. It’s so far outside of our normal interactions that I almost laugh, despite all the painful thoughts swirling in my head. He even pats my back twice before I pull out of the hug. I plaster on a smile.
“Congrats on the win,” I say.
“Thanks.”
I purse my lips, wave, and leave Nolan at the bar. It’s only once I’m outside that I finally let the tears come. They come hard and fast, because I know whatever we’ve been doing together just ended. I don’t know what that means for my future at Taste, but maybe it’s finally time to move on–to accept that we’ve been fooling ourselves into thinking this could last.
33
NOLAN
We’re celebrating again. Lately, it feels like we’re always celebrating. Unlike the last series, we cruised through the conference championship matches with a 4-0 sweep of our opponents. That means we’re going to be playing for the Stanley Cup.
The guys are cheering, clinking glasses, and all smiles as we lounge in the VIP section of a bar downtown a few hours after our win.
I want to be in the moment with them, but I can’t seem to drag my thoughts to right now.
