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“There’s no one here who’s a threat to you. Our staff are trustworthy.”

“All of them?” He stares at me as if I were a toddler.

“Yes.” Yes, I want to believe in Santa Claus and miracles now.

We slowly walk back into the open-plan office and let our gaze wander over every corner. There’s no one here.

“Come on. We should get going,” I finally say.

We both turn toward the exit, where our gaze falls on the elevators. The glowing number display on the middle one shows the elevator going down. Seven, six, five, four . . .

“Argh.” The sound Evan lets out is almost inhuman. Quietly tormented, miserable. His social mask is so tightly stapled to his face that I’m afraid he’ll break beneath it.

“Maybe someone’s calling him from downstairs right now,” I muse aloud.

Evan snorts. We keep staring at the display. One.

One. The lobby.

I swallow.

One.

I beg the damn thing to move up and bring Carly into view. She must have forgotten something.

The elevator isn’t moving anymore.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I force them back down.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Evan doesn’t even hear me. “I have to get out of here.”

In silence, we walk to the elevator and, without looking at each other, ride down to the underground parking garage where Evan’s car is parked. He almost never drives himself. Today is an exception.

We step into the cool garage. Evan unlocks the car with his key; it’s parked right by the entrance. Without a word, we get in.

Instead of driving off, he runs his hand over his thighs. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t take it.”

My heart clenches. I can’t get air into my lungs.

Immediately, he gives my hand a squeeze, looks out into the garage, and lets go. “Just until after the playoffs. Not . . . not what’s between us. Only right now.”

Relief, frustration, and understanding churn together in my stomach into a devilish mix. I nod.

“Parker, please understand. I’m sticking to what we said. But I have to wrap up one thing first before I can take care of the other.”

I nod again.

“Say something. Please. I’m falling apart here,” he pleads with me. Quietly, almost whimpering.

“It’s okay.” The words come out of me without any tone.

“It’s not. Please.” He glances around again, leaning toward me. “I love you. But I can’t handle this. Not now. We’ve become way too complacent over the last few weeks. The fact that I’m here.”

Of course, he’s right. Despite his reservations, I’ve been trying to push the limits of what he can handle.

I nod more firmly now. “It’s okay. Really.” My gaze falls on his beard. I won’t get to see it soften. Maybe I won’t see Evan again until the beard is gone. After we win the Cup. Silly. What am I thinking? The man is worried about his very existence, and I’m fretting over some facial hair. “I love you. We’ll make it work.”