The unexpected trip down memory lane was giving him indigestion and the bitter taste of betrayal coated the back of his tongue. He needed to get in his car and leave, to go home, throw some leftovers into the microwave and watch some game tapes to see if he could figure out how to fill the shoes of the hockey giants who’d left his team.
If that was truly what he needed, then why could he not urge his feet to move until Clare had pulled herself together and driven after Mason?
In the driver’s seat of his car in the empty parking lot, he picked up his phone and hovered his thumb over her name in his contacts. His brain condemned the idea entirely, but his heart spurred him forward. Sure, she was out of bounds romantically, but they could be friends again, right? She certainly looked like she could use a friend. And what could be the harm in sending her a message telling her it was nice to see her?
***
Elliott had been gone from Minnesota for a year, playing hockey and traveling the country. But he was back—albeit temporarily—and he wanted to see his girl. Just thinking about Clare loosened the straps around his chest.
He’d missed her. So fucking much.
He’d missed her seventeenth birthday, the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas—all their favorite holidays. He’d missed it all. Had she done everything they used to do, but with someone else?
They had so much to catch up on. What they’d been doing, how things were going, and they sure as hell needed to talk.
Christ, did they ever need to talk.
She worked in a small, family-owned frozen yogurt place after school and on the weekends. Her parents had told him what shift she was on so he could surprise her, and when he hopped off the bus and tossed his equipment bag in the trunk of his parent’s car, butterflies warred in his stomach.
Would she have forgiven him for leaving? Maybe. But probably not.
Clare Reynolds could hold a grudge better than anyone else he’d ever met. Sure, he’d hurt her by going to play hockey, and the look of soul-deep betrayal on her face when he’d left was forever burned into his memory. But hopefully her love for him, for their friendship, their history together, would make her see reason and forgive him for chasing his dream across the country.
She hadn’t broken her radio silence and called him, nor had she answered any of his ten thousand—okay that might have been a slight exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like it—messages. But now he was back in town and going to stand in front of her—she couldn’t ignore that.
Well, she could try, but he wouldn’t let her. She meant too much to him not to fight for her. And he was going to fight with all he had.
He’d tell her that, too. That he loved her. That he’d always loved her. He’d fought it at first, then feared it, then as their friendship grew, so did his fear of fucking everything up by telling her he had more-than-friend feelings for her.
But he wasn’t afraid anymore. He missed her. Every single fucking day he was away from Minnesota left deep gashes on his soul and he was going to tell her. He was going to kiss her until she stopped being mad at him, and for backup, he was going to bring her peonies as a peace offering—she fucking loved peonies.
He had a plan, he had a bouquet of fragrant peonies on the passenger seat next to him, and a nausea so fierce he almost changed his mind and drove home for Mom’s meatloaf. But he needed to tell her how he felt, even if she hated him.
If she hit him, he’d take it like the hockey player he was. Then he’d kiss the fight right out of her.
Creamy Dreams was bustling. They had a killer two-for-one deal on Thursday nights that brought damn near everyone in the city to their doors. He squeezed through the tightly packed bodies clumped around the entrance and scanned behind the counter.
Her back was to him as he stood against the far wall, peeking between customers to steal a glimpse of her, but he could pick out that mousy brown, messy bun anywhere. When she turned, she took his breath away, flushed pink cheeks, bright red lips and a matching red bow tied around her bun.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her temple and blew air upwards, making her bangs flop against her forehead. It was hot as Hades in the small store. She wore a lime green polo shirt that seemed snug fitting around her tits.
Holy shit, she’d filled out.
She took a step away from the counter, pushed her hand into the small of her back and arched her body, bringing the rest of her torso into view. Was that a…bump? He stopped breathing. Stared dumbfounded at the woman he loved more than life itself.
She was pregnant? Why hadn’t his parents told him she was with someone? Prepared him for the fact he was going to show up to win her back by telling him to expect to find her ready to pop out a fucking kid. Why hadn’t they saved him from the soul-tearing agony and embarrassment crawling all over his body at the sight?
But he couldn’t look away. She was an incredibly stunning mother—though he wasn’t sure whether the glow was from the overhead lights, the temperature of the room, or the fact that she was so beautifully pregnant.
Either way, she was the most breathtaking vision in a lime green polo shirt he’d ever seen. But she was someone else’s now. He’d lost her for real and there was nothing he could say or do to get her back. And even if there was, he wasn’t the kind of man to break up a relationship for his own benefit.
Fuck.
Backing out through the crowd, he was careful not to be seen. On the sidewalk outside, an elderly woman ate froyo at a table. When she met his gaze, he handed her the flowers without a word, and trudged back to his car.
Every step away from Clare hurt more than the last, and by the time he closed the car door and started the ignition, the pain was so deep, so acute, that he was sure he would die on the spot.
How could this have happened? How could she have moved on from him so quickly? Every day he’d been missing her, pining for her, and she’d been sleeping with someone new.
