“Why?” I whisper.
He presses a fist to his mouth.
He’s not going to answer. But I’m resentful and sad and maybe a bit spiteful and I need to know, I need to know whether it really was me at the end of the day, that everything I tried wasn’t enough and that it never would be.
“You said—you promised this morning. You said before we got back, you’d tell me why. That you’d give me everything I wanted.”
I don’t tell him everything I’ve ever wanted stands in front me with wide grey eyes, full lips parted with his rough breathing, a living thief hidden under tumbling golden waves on his forehead.
“Before we go back,” he says, matter-of-fact. “I’ll tell you before we go back.”
“Now.” I try to stand up taller, stand my ground, demand this thing I think I’m owed. But one of my proverbial feet slips on the edge of that awful hole of ugly things between us, and I add, practically begging, “Please.”
“Just give me these next few days, Sloan. I promise I’ll tell you, I just, please—these next few days of you ... it’s—” He pushes off the couch, whatever words he was going to say tumbling into nothing, and he closes those few feet between us, tucking my hair behind my ears before he cups my cheek, thumb curving over the smattering of freckles and pressing in on each one. “Iwasn’t lying, Sloan. In any life, in any world, in any universe—it’d be you.”
I let my eyes flutter closed, and I lean into his hand. I shouldn’t—because as good and lovely as it feels, it’s maybe one of the most painful things that I’ve ever experienced.
But then he says his next words, and I think I’ve fallen down the hill and broken every bone in my body along the way.
“I might have left, but I never stopped loving you.” His hand moves to grip my chin, and he tips my face up to his. “That’s a fact.”
“You’re lying.” My words sound like I’ve fallen, too, maybe caused quite a bit of irreparable internal damage along the way—cracking and sad and like I’m in so, so much pain.
“I’m not.” He gives another resigned shake of his head. “Lie to me, then. The way you think I lied to you.”
I say the only thing I can think of. The biggest lie I could ever tell. “I don’t love you anymore.”
The blow lands, and so does the duality of it.
His eyes flash, his jaw tenses before he swallows, and I can see it all over him—the way those words hurt and heal him all at the same time.
“I’d like to be alone now.” I inhale, taking a small step back.
Another lie, and I think he knows, and I think this one hurts him, too, but he bites down on his lip, nodding, before he presses a rough kiss to my forehead and listens to me.
Sloan
Then - Seattle
My life changes forever on a Monday night.
Bohdan’s does, too, in a different, but all-encompassing, giant way just the same.
It’s a normal, regular game early on in the season. A team they’ve played before. I wasn’t even planning on coming to this one because I’m teaching a seminar this week, but he asked—all formality and beautiful eyes and a smile I’d crawl for. One brush of his mouth against mine, this promise of all the time we’d get to spend together later before he leaves for a road trip, wrapped up in those navy sheets that make Bohdan look more otherworldly than usual, and I was done for.
But he packed my textbooks in my bag for me and left them by the door.
I’ve seen Bohdan get hit before—all kinds of hits really, cross-checking, bodychecking, legal and illegal contact.
I’ve even seen him get a concussion before. More than once.
It’s not even the first time I’ve seen him hit the boards.
But nothing ever quite like this.
It happens too fast for me to even really notice. I’m more focused on the textbook in front of me, propped up on my knees, trying to concentrate on my proposal instead of the ambient chatter and noise of all the other partners sitting around in the lounge with me.
They’re up 3–1, and he’s already scored. He looks great, he always does, and I think it’s safe to be something other than ever present, ever vigilant.
