Page 119 of Here We Go Again

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He shrugs, his voice detached, almost cold when he says, “There isn’t anything to say.”

I take a slow, deep breath, my spine stiffening into a rod of steel. I won’t let him do this. Not again.

“No,” I say simply, tone stern enough that he rears back the slightest bit.

“No?” he asks.

“Theo, I don’t know what happened today or why you’re so determined to carry this burden by yourself, but you don’t have to do it that way. Please talk to me. I didn’t get back together with you just for you to shut me out again.”

His expression turns panicked at my words, and he runs a hand down his face. “I’m not shutting you out, I just⁠—”

“You are,” I say. “You had a conversation with your agent, and you never told me what it was about. You shut me down every time I try to bring up hockey or ask about your hand, and I’m guessing it’s because it’s hurting a lot more, and you don’t want me to know that. And today, how many of my texts and calls have you ignored? Mia told me you were at the hospital, so I’m guessing you got bad news, but I don’t like having to guess. So I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” I take a steadying breath. “Because I love you.”

His eyes cut to mine, and my heart starts hammering inside my chest. I haven’t said those words to him since we were seventeen years old.

“I love you,” I continue, “and this is what you do when you love people. You show up. Even when they say they don’t need you. You still show up.” My breath falters as a sudden wave of regret washes over me.

Why didn’t I do this back then? Why didn’t I force my way into Theo’s room and make him talk to me? Why didn’t I fight harder to let him know I wasn’t going anywhere?

My heart practically breaks at the thought. He told me he didn’t feel like he deserved to be loved by anyone. He wanted the solitude, the shame, the isolation. He wanted to hurt.

And I let him.

Why didn’t I fight? For this—for us.

I close my eyes, tears spilling onto my cheeks. But even as I wonder about impossible outcomes, the woulds and shoulds and could-haves, my brain catches up with my heart just enough to remind me of how young we truly were back then. Before Theo’s dad died, neither one of us had ever experienced the loss of a loved one—certainly not a parent. I shouldn’t be critical of choices I made then based on the emotional maturity and understanding I have now.

Love is easier when you’re young. When your world is small and safe, protected by parents who love you, who guide you through the reliable routines of growing up. We were good at loving each other, but we didn’t have a lot of experience being vulnerable. So when life got hard, we turned inward to protect ourselves, to hide our shame, our fear of rejection, our brokenness.

But loving someone means loving the broken parts too. It means letting someone love our broken parts.

Theo takes a deep breath, then leans forward, dropping his face onto his arms. “I don’t know where to start,” he says without looking up.

“Just blurt it out,” I say, repeating the words he said to me on the beach. “Don’t try to make the words perfect.”

He tilts his face up to give me a look, and I lift my lips in a small smile.

“It was good advice,” I say. “But also, I’ll sit here as long as you need me to. Take your time.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, then he takes a deep breath through his nose and clears his throat. “When Shawn called me at the beach house,” he says, “he told me the Jaguars are thinking about trading me. Nothing is certain. It’s just talk, but it’s always just talk until suddenly you’re on a flight to a different city with only twenty-four hours’ notice.” He sighs, his frustration evident in the tight line of his shoulders. “So I’ve been thinking about you staying in Atlanta, arranging your life to be here. Researching grad schools, making all these plans. And I’m afraid of screwing that up. I’ve been fighting so hard the past two weeks, playing hard, trying to prove that I’m not as dispensable as they think I am. But what if it doesn’t work? What if you changed all your plans for me, and they send me somewhere else?”

It takes a moment to process everything he’s telling me. It was scary choosing to stay in Atlanta. But not as scary as the possibility of living without him. If I found out tomorrow that he was traded to a different city, it would take some adjusting. But I know in my bones I would still want to make this work.

“Becca, all I want is for us to be together,” Theo continues, “but I won’t be the reason you don’t realize your dreams … again.”

My heart nearly splits in two. That’s why he’s pushing himself so hard. Playing through pain he really shouldn’t ignore. Because he wants me to live my dreams. And he’s decided I need to stay in Atlanta to do it.

The big dummy.

“Theo, you should have told me.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to just fix it. But now I’m having a second surgery, and I won’t play for at least the next three months, maybe longer. Which means I can’t prove anything on the ice except that I’m currently a liability.” He lets out a broken laugh. “You chose Atlanta for me. And I may not even be here.”

“Baby,” I say. “Look at me.” I shift and move toward him so I’m kneeling directly beside him. I lift my hands to his face, brushing my palms over his cheeks as I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. This close, I’m suddenly desperate to show him, to help him see what he’s clearly struggling to get through his stupid skull. “Theo, I didn’t choose Atlanta,” I say, forcing him to look into my eyes. “I chose you.”

He closes his eyes, his head dropping forward, then he lifts his arms and wraps them around me, tugging me onto his lap and burying his face in my neck.