Page 135 of Traded

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out before looking up at me. Carter wipes away the irritating eye leakages slipping down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Ro. Jesus. I mean, I saw you—”

“Four times,” I interrupt. “You saw me four freaking times, and it wasn’t enough to jog your memory? On the same day as theteddy bear toss?”

It’s not anger I’m feeling. It’s something else. Something that feels a bit like panic. “Where’s your head at, Carter?”

Because wherever it is, it’s certainly not with me.

“This fucking season...” He shakes his head. “Fuck it. I’m not making excuses, Ro. It was a shitty thing to do. And with everything going on with the pack… I fucked up.”

He pulls out his phone. “There’s a six-day break between game eighty-two and playoffs. I’m going to book somewhere for us. We’ll talk shit through with Liam and Jonas, and we’ll get on a plane out of here for a bit. Get some fresh air, clear our heads.”

“Somewhere really nice,” I say tightly. “Five stars. Silver service. All the fancy shit.”

“You got it,” Carter says softly. His hand drops to rub circles on my leg. “Was it bad? Last night? I’m sorry I missed that too.”

“I cooked for six hours.” I make my eyes big, and wide, and sad. The confessions I’m not allowed to make press against my chest. “I chose those dishes especially for you, and you weren’t there.”

For a second, he looks like I’ve booted him directly in the heart. Then his eyes narrow. “You didnot.”

“I did!” I protest. I splay a hand over my chest. “Do you know how hard it is to cook racks of lamb foreight people?”

“You’ve never cooked rack of lamb in your life.” His lips are twitching now. “You called that place we used for my birthday dinner when the whole team came over. Admit it.”

“So perfectly pink,” I whisper, pressing the back of my hand against my mouth.

He swoops in and kisses my lips. “Invoice came through to my phone app.”

Damn it.

“Hoisted by my own petard,” I sigh. “In my defense, I did make a really nice jus.”

“What’s a jus?”

“Heathen.” I nudge at his shoulder, and he grins. “My skills would be wasted on you, anyway.”

I lean forward to touch his cheek. His skin feels clammy. “We’re going to be okay, you know.”

“Of course we are,” he says immediately, winding his fingers through mine. He presses his lips to them. “The Titans have six games left, Ro. We’ll sit down with Liam and Jonas, work out a plan. We can do this like adults. I’ll speak to Coach about the team.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

He nods. “I was thinking—Ethan and I can swap timings. He goes in with them on the ice, I’ll work with Noah and Ryker. We can minimize time spent together to get through playoffs.”

He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “And come July first, I’m a free agent. No contract.”

I drop my eyes to his hands. “What about the apartment?”

He shrugs. “Let them have it if they want it. We’ll have to split assets anyway. You and I can find a house in Blackwater with a few steps instead of a twenty-floor elevator.”

“I hate that elevator,” I confess.

“Me too.” He kisses my hand. “Few more days, and it’s you and me again.”

I want that so much I could cry. “You promise? No taking it back, Reynolds. I’m gonna start looking at houses.”

He pulls out his phone, and mine buzzes. He gets to his feet. “Way ahead of you. I should probably get to the rink before they send out security. Coach fines by the minute.”

“Best get going before we can’t afford a house.”