Page 79

"It's not that simple."

"Why?"

"Because she's just left. Because she's got a life there. Because I don't know what the fuck she wants from me yet."

Gabe's expression changes, the teasing easing out of it. "And what do you want from her?"

The answer comes so fast I almost say it, her.

Not six more days. Not another night at the lake house. Not a few weeks of good sex and phone calls before we go back to our separate lives and pretend this was fun while it lasted.

I want her here when I wake up. I want to know what she's thinking when she goes quiet. I want to hear her talk about the things she cares about, even when I don't understand half the details. I want to make room for the life she already has, not demand she abandon it to fit into mine. I want more than I've earned the right to ask for, but I want the next ten, twenty, thirty, hell, the next seventy years with her.

“Everything.”

"That's the problem," I say.

Gabe nods slowly. "Yeah. I figured."

I pick up my beer again, though I don't drink.

"She has a whole life waiting for her. Her family. Her responsibilities. Everything she's supposed to do." I drag a hand over my jaw. "I'm not going to show up on her doorstep and tell her to throw it all away for me."

"Good. Because she'd probably have you arrested."

"Fuck you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He studies me for a moment. "Then don't ask her to throw anything away. Find out what she actually wants."

"And if she doesn't want this?"

"Then you'll know."

"That's your advice?"

"My advice is to stop trying to live through the worst possible outcome before anything's even happened."

I look at him.

He shrugs. "You do it on the ice, too. You see one bad possibility, and suddenly you're trying to control every fucking thing around it. You can't. You know that."

I hate how much sense he makes.

On the ice, I can trust my instincts. I can read a player, anticipate a move, force the play in the direction I want it to go. Off the ice, with Anna, every instinct I have tells me to move closer, close the distance, make sure she knows I'm serious before she has time to doubt me.

But she didn't leave because she didn't want me. She left because she has a life, a family, and obligations that existed long before I got my hands on her.

If I turn up in Germany demanding an answer, I'll become one more person trying to decide her future for her.

I'm not doing that to her.

"Patience," I mutter.

Gabe laughs. "You say that like it's a medical condition."