AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What?” she asked impatiently.
“I don't know if I'm cut out for the real deal.”
She looked confused. Her eyes roamed the floor before looking back at me… Teary pools started building up on her lower eyelids, and my chest tightened.
“Then,” her voice cracked, and she swallowed before beginning again. Accusation slid into those hazel eyes. “Then what am I supposed to do, Duke?”
I had to look away. This hurt too badly. “I don’t know.” I knew that was a lame reply, but it was all I had. I sat down on the workout bench.
“No! Look at me,” she demanded in a stronger voice. She walked toward me and pointed her finger at my chest accusingly. “If you think that… If you think that we are meant to be together and we’re the real deal,” her voice was shaky now, “but youdon’twant to be with me, then whatdoIdo, Duke?”
She waited for a response from me, but I had nothing. A couple tiny tears broke free and she quickly swiped them off her face. It made me feel lower than low. It made me feel like the shittiest douchebag alive. I wanted to reach for her, hold her face, kiss away those tears, but I knew I had no business doing that. I swallowed the burning lump in my throat and dropped my head.
“Do you know how infuriating that is to hear?” She paused, waiting for me to look back up at her. “Why is letting someone love you such a bad thing?”
And that was too much for me. “Because, Claire,” I snapped. I stood, towering over her. “Because what if it breaks? I don’t want to break you!” I yelled down at her.
She stepped back, away from me, shocked that I’d raised my voice at her. And I immediately regretted it. I regretted the space between us, but I knew I had to put it there.
“You already fucking did, Duke.” She covered her mouth, trying to smother a sob before turning and walking away much quicker than she should’ve been moving.
All the guys in the weight room stared back at me in shock.
As soon as the door swung shut behind her, I threw an aggrieved punch at the padded wall.
“Fuck!” I roared.
I hated myself. I promised to protect her… but I was always the one hurting her.
36.Duke
I stared up at my bedroom ceiling wondering how many times I laid here in this exact position dreaming to be with Claire. And now that I had finally gotten with her, I threw it all away.
Three more weeks.
I could make it three more weeks in Northfield without her, couldn’t I?
But in the back of my mind, I wasn’t so sure of that answer anymore. I wasn’t so sure that I’d ever be okay to come back here again. Because she was everywhere. She was in all my memories of this place, and I knew it’d be too painful to be here without her.
From what I overheard at the rink she wasn’t supposed to step foot on the ice for a few more weeks– doctor's orders. But could Craig really keep her away? Even if she couldn’t skate, I had a feeling she’d be at the rink next week… and I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face the look of disappointment on her face when she regarded me, or worse, the look of disgust.
Wasn’t it enough that I hated myself for not being able to be with her? I guess I deserved her hate. I had promised her things and it was my fault I couldn’t deliver. I was the coward who was afraid of loving her.
“Duke! Food!” Sav’s voice carried up the stairs from the kitchen.
I didn’t feel like eating, but I knew I had too. I couldn't afford to lose weight; I was supposed to be working on gaining more this offseason.
I slowly made my way down to the kitchen and got in line for steak and potatoes.
My parents were big into eating outside on the patio these days and I knew I wouldn't be able to wiggle out of that too easily. I just had to pretend to be in a good mood for as long as it took me to scarf down my food, then I could escape to my room again.
I started to follow a shirtless Johnny out the backdoor to the patio, when Griff’s strong arm blocked my way.
I looked at him in question. “Dude, what the hell?”
He gave a head nod toward Sav, who was sitting at the table looking oddly professional. She had her reading glasses perched on her nose, her hair was straightened and parted down the middle, and she wore a nice white shirt without any traces of spit-up on it— a first in about a month. She motioned to the chair across from her.
“What is this, some kind of intervention?” I asked dryly.
