He inhales. “For what, baby?”
“For complicating your life. For being a distraction during the most important series of your career. God, Bash, this is my fault.”
“Indigo Rose Bloom. Are you serious right now?” Frustration bleeds from each word.
“I…”
“This isn’t your fault. It’s not mine, either, even though it feels that way. I had an off game.” There’s a weighty pause, then he sighs. “Okay, a few off games. But none of that is on you, or even that dipshit ex of yours. That’s on me. But as my teammates so forcefully reminded me tonight after the game, the losses aren’t all on me. Even if my brain tells me they are.”
Despite the serious nature of the conversation, I can’t help smiling at the frustration in his tone when he talks about his friends. Like it pains him to admit they’re right, and he isn’t solely responsible for the outcome of their games. “They told you that, huh?”
He chuckles mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, I had a bit of a breakdown in the locker room after the game, so they kind of had to.”
“What?” I sit up in bed, the pillow I’d been clutching falling to the side. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s like I told you the other day. I don’t want to let my parents and my team down. I don’t want to letyoudown. The pressure I’ve been putting on myself caught up with me, I guess.” The stress and exhaustion in his voice can’t be faked, and my chest twists because I’m not there to comfort him.
I hate that he’s been crumbling under the weight of his own expectations.
“But the thing is, Rosebud, yeah, this may be the most important series of my career, but it’s still just that. My career. And you come before that. You always will. Always would have,if we’d been together for the last ten years. I need you to know that.”
When my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, I pick the pillow up again, hugging it as I hold the phone. “I’d never ask you to put me before your career.”
“I know,” he says. “But if you did, I would.”
“Me too,” I tell him.
“I know, baby.”
Silence falls between us again, but this time, his breathing is slower, more even. Sighing, I lean back against the headboard. “You’re not out of this yet.”
“I know, but?—”
“No buts,” I say, cutting him off. “You guys are going to win this. I feel it. And I’m going to be there, cheering you on, when you do.”
I feel the sigh he lets out all the way down to my bones. “You’re right. We can do this.Ican do this.”
“You can.” I’ll say it a million times if I have to. Whatever it takes to get him to believe it. He’s one of the best goalies in the league. If anyone can pull this off, it’s him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably be less distracted?” I offer.
Sebastian chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?” The last word is warped by a yawn that triggers me to yawn.
“You should get some sleep.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t want to be tired on our date tomorrow. Will you be home when our plane lands?”
I consider it. Things have been so chaotic and distracting the last few days that I haven’t gotten any writing done, and when I sit down at the rental and try, I can’t seem to focus.
“I think I’m going to head to The Bean House and do some writing.”
There’s a rustling over the phone, and I can picture Bash trying to get comfortable in his hotel bed. “Are you sure? I’m worried you’ll be harassed there.”
It’s a concern I share, but I’ve enjoyed my freedom here in the Twin Cities. I’ve gotten used to it. And I’m not alone now. I have a network of friends who don’t live or work far from the coffee shop, and every one of them would come sneak me out the back door if I called them for an extraction. “It’ll be okay. Lola’s going to drop me off. She and Megan are hanging out tomorrow, and I can call her in for backup if I need to. She can be scary.”
“She sure can be,” he says, chuckling. “And I know Megan can throw a punch if it comes down to it. Okay, well, just be careful, please? I can pick you up there.”
