“You never told me everything about that night,” she says. “Just that you left before morning.”
I swallow. “I had to.”
“Had to,” she repeats. “Or wanted to?”
I close my lids briefly. “Had I stayed, I wouldn’t have gone.” The truth of it settles in.
Elena is subdued for a beat. “And now?” she asks.
Now he’s everywhere again. My body remembers his touch; I worked hard to forget it. My job connects directly to him. The one thing I never compromise on. “I can’t do that again,” I say.
“You meanlet someone in?”
“I mean risk everything.” I turn back to her. “This job isn’t Rockford. I’m not an assistant anymore. I’m not invisible.”
“You’re important now,” she nods.
“Yes.”
“And that scares you.”
“No,” I correct. “Losing it does.”
Elena regards me for a long moment. Then she pours the wine and hands me a glass. “You know what I think?” she says.
I take it, bracing myself.
“I think you’re less afraid of losing your job…” she pauses.
“…and more afraid of him not wanting you the same way this time.”
The words hit too close. “That’s not?—”
“He mattered,” she cuts in gently. “You don’t walk away from an encounter that intense unless it mattered.”
I stare down at the wine. “I followed the rules. They were new rules at the time, and I couldn’t surrender to temptation.”
“And how did that work out for you?” I don’t answer. Because the truth is sitting heavily in my ribcage. She leans her hip against the counter, expression tight on me. “Tell me something,” she says. “What did you do when you found out he made the NHL?”
My throat tightens. “I was in the library,” I admit. “Someone posted a clip.” I can still see it. Max grinning like he owned the world. “I told myself I was happy for him.”
“And?”
“I watched every game I could find.”
Elena’s brows lift. “Every game?”
I top off my wine. “It was research.”
She laughs. “Of course it was.”
I shake my head. “I tracked his stats. His penalties. Every time he got into trouble.”
“Every time he got hurt?” she adds. I don’t respond. I don’t have to. Elena pushes off the counter, stepping closer. “This isn’t over for you.” She places her palm on my shoulder.
“It has to be.”
“Does it?”
