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Playing With Fire

Page 299

by Brittany Holland

For a second, I think he's going to argue.

Instead, he nods. “Okay.”

He walks toward the door. Then stops. “Becks?”

I look up.

“That night at North Pines,” he says quietly, “I wanted to kiss you so fucking badly I could barely think straight.”

My eyes burn.

“But I didn't. Because I thought staying away from you was the right thing to do.” He pauses. “I've spent five years telling myself that.”

“And now?”

He looks at me. “I don't know what the right thing is anymore.”

I wish that answer didn't hurt as much as it does. Because I know he's trying. I know he loves the people in this house. And I know how much he's afraid of losing them. But I can't make this decision for him. No matter how badly I want to.

“Good night, Bishop.”

He nods. “Good night, Becks.”

The door closes softly behind him.

I stand there for a long time before climbing back into bed.

Darcy moves closer, pressing his warm body against my side.

I pick up the photograph from my nightstand.

Eighteen-year-old me is smiling up at Bishop like he's the answer to every wish she's ever made.

I used to think the worst thing he ever did was make me believe he didn't want me.

Tonight, I found out he did.

And somehow, that hurts even more.

Because wanting me has never been the problem.

Choosing me is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

BISHOP

I've played through broken fingers, cracked ribs, and a shoulder injury that probably should've kept me off the ice for another month. None of it compares to the way Delaney looked at me last night.

Not angry. Disappointed.

Like she'd finally figured out I wasn't the man she'd spent all these years believing I could be.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling of the Beckett guest room. The same ceiling I've stared at every Christmas morning since I was a teenager. Same little crack near the light fixture. Same dresser against the wall. Same quilt Mrs. B insists on putting on the bed every winter, even though I've told her a hundred times that I'm perfectly capable of bringing my own blankets.

This room has always felt like mine. Last night, for the first time, I wondered if I was going to lose it. And that right there is the problem.

Because when Declan asked me what was going on with his sister, I didn't think about the woman I'd spent the last month falling asleep beside.