Page 82 of Playing the Player

“What do you think is gonna happen if I tell him?” I snap, raising my voice. It’s been a long ass day. I don’t need this shit right now. “Tell him that I broke our rules, that I have feelings for him. And then what?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “He tells me none of it was real? That everything we went through, everything I felt, was just because of some stupid deal?” My eyes well with tears, my nose and throat burning. “I can’t do that.”

Olivia pulls me into her, wrapping her arms around my body and squeezing me tight as the tears fall. My body shakes with silent sobs.

I’ve always had feelings for Conor, even when I was still with Max, and that’s what makes all of this worse. I was just too scared to say it out loud until now.

“He loves you, Sasha. Everyone can see how much he loves you. I think deep down, you know it too.” Her words are soft, comforting, but I don’t believe her. Why should I? I have been here before, people saying how much Max loved me, and look how that turned out. “I’m gonna give you some tough love here, okay? And you can’t be mad at me for it.”

I nod my head, unable to get any words out through the tightness in my throat.

“You either tell Conor how you really feel, or you end it. No more sleeping together, no more ‘fake’ dates. Either it’s real or it’s done. No in between anymore.”

I fucking hate this. I hate everything she’s saying because I know it’s true. I can’t have Conor and pretend it’s not real.

“Why are you so scared?”

“Max really hurt me, Liv. But what I feel for Conor is so much more than I ever felt for Max.” I confess, shame weighing heavy on my chest. “If Conor hurt me, I don’t think I would survive it.”

“Conor isn’t Max though. He’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you. He’s a good egg.”

Each word lands like a punch, because deep down, I know Olivia is right. I don’t think Conor would ever hurt me like Max did, but right now, I’m not ready to find out.

I need time alone to process everything without using him as some sort of coping mechanism for me to get over my distrust of men. And it wouldn’t be fair on Conor that he has to wait for me to figure it all out. I still have too many broken pieces to put back together before I can hand my heart out to someone else. Even someone like Conor.

Especially someone like Conor.

33

Conor

I haven’t been this bored since, well ever.

My parents brought me back to my apartment the day after the accident. They stayed for another four days to make sure I wasn’t going to accidentally kill myself trying to butter toast one-handed, then eagerly set off to continue their road trip.

I didn’t mind that they wanted to leave so soon. I was a moody bastard all week.

I’m angry at the player who threw me into the boards for no reason and somehow walked away without so much as a warning.

I'm angry at the officials for calling it an accident, saying there’s no reason to open an investigation and take it further.

I’m angry at my teammates because not one of them defended me on the ice and I know that’s unfair. Everyone was doing their part out there that night, like we always do, but I’m still just so fucking angry.

But most of all, I’m angry with myself for even letting this happen. I knew that team played rough and I still let my guard down, thinking I was safe because I didn’t have the puck and that one second of misjudgment has cost me half a season. The one thing that can really get me out of my head is gone in a flash. I know it’s temporary, that it won’t be forever, but it still sucks ass.

The only thing that has made this situation even remotely bearable is Sasha. She’s been amazing, even taking a few days off work when my parents left. I’m not a child, I don’t need taken care of, but it’s been really fucking nice.

Something’s different though. She seems distant. There’s a faraway look in her eye when she thinks I’m not looking. There’s a sadness behind her eyes that wasn’t there before. She says she’s fine, just tired, but I don’t believe her. Something is going on in that beautiful head of hers and it’s driving me insane not knowing what it is.

I’ve been hauled up in my apartment since I got home from the hospital, not wanting the attention from people that I normally thrive on. It’ll be too depressing. Just a constant reminder that I won't be back on the ice anytime soon.

But, it’s Sasha’s birthday in a few weeks and I need to get her something special, something she will love. A birthday gift and a thank you for everything she’s done for me. Something to show her how much she means to me. She carried me through the worst week of my life without anything in return. She deserves the world.

I’ve been searching these stores for the past hour and nothing has caught my eye. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels like enough. Maybe I could take her away for a few nights. Or is that weird for a fake boyfriend to do?

It’s been months and I still don’t know how to navigate this. Are our dates real? Are the kisses fake? Every look, every touch, every moment. I don’t know if any of it is real or not.

I could just ask her like a normal person. I should ask her, but my pride is getting in the way. If she looked me in the eyes and told me it all meant nothing… I honestly think it would break me. I can’t lose another good thing. Not now.

Giving up on shopping altogether, I send a message into the boy’s group chat.