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Chapter Thirty-ThreeDon’t Let Go
Kodiak
Present day
IT’S ALMOST ONE by the time we get back from the game. Maverick hits the bar with some of the guys, but all I want to do is get back to Lavender. Despite winning the game, my body is still humming with nervous energy. There were scouts hanging around. There’s been a lot of chatter lately about the draft picks and contract offers coming at the end of the year—things I don’t want to think too much about, especially since Vancouver is a real possibility.
I stop at my place so I can hang up my hockey equipment and put a load in the wash. I also take a quick shower so I smell less like bus exhaust. Then I make the short trek down the street to Lavender.
The nights I don’t sleep beside her are few and far between. Her bed is only a queen, but I don’t mind the lack of space since it means she’s always curled into my side. I climb the stairs, the pit in my stomach getting deeper instead of closing up the closer I get to her. It’s late, and if she’s asleep, I don’t want to wake her, so I slip into her room without knocking.
I’m surprised to find the light beside her bed on, although sometimes she falls asleep reading. She sits up, and that heavy feeling in my stomach spreads through my limbs, making my cells feel like they’re made of lead.
I cross the room in three quick strides. My skin itches with panic as I take in her red-rimmed eyes and the tremble in her chin. I cup her warm, damp cheeks between my palms, but it doesn’t help settle the nerves, especially when two tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I need to tell you something,” she whispers.
A deluge of horrible thoughts come flooding in, overwhelming me. She doesn’t want me anymore. There’s someone else. She’s pregnant. I drop down beside her, and have to remind myself to breathe. “Okay. I’m listening. Freaking out, but listening.”
“I’m sorry.” She covers my hands with hers. “It’s not bad, but it’s going to complicate things.”
I nod and wait.
“I was offered an internship opportunity to work on costume design this summer for an off Broadway production company.”
My eyes widen, but almost immediately, excitement and pride give way to understanding, and that heavy feeling I’ve been carrying all night finally makes sense. “In New York?”
“Yeah.” She swallows thickly, more tears welling.
“The whole summer?” I don’t need to ask why she’s upset. We’d planned to spend at least part of this summer together. She was going to work at the library and take a course, and I’d coach kids’ hockey, like I do most summers, and train. And now she’s going to be hours away, too far to drive for a visit. We’ve been avoiding the other inevitability—finding out where I’ll be playing—but there’s no escaping this.
“It’s two months. It starts basically as soon as we’re done with exams, and I’d be there all of June and July.”
I’m trying to figure out how often I can fly there to see her. Selfishly, I want her to stay here with me, to find something local so it’s not as difficult. But I can’t be selfish when it comes to her future. Lavender is insanely talented, and she’s going to do great things.
“You have to take it.” I shift her so she’s straddling my lap.
“I know.” She traces an infinity symbol over my heart. “But it won’t be easy to go.”
“What if I came with you?” I scramble for a way to keep us together.
“To New York?”
“We could get an apartment. I’ll get a job, and then you won’t be out there alone. Then we can still have the summer together.” I don’t want to deal with the thing that worries me most—what’s going to happen after the summer. So many things are already up in the air, and I just got her back. I don’t want to let her go.
Her eyes light up with hope, but dim quickly. “What about hockey? You play all summer.”
“There are training camps in New York. I can talk to my dad and see if we can get me hooked up out there.”
“What if that won’t work?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. But you have to go, Lavender.” I force the words out, even though I feel the pain of them physically in my chest.
She runs her fingers through my hair, her smile sad. “I know I do. And I love the idea of you coming with me, if we can make it work. But even if we can’t, I need this. I don’t want to regret not going, and I don’t want that regret to taint what we have, not when we’ve already been through so much to get back to each other.”
