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I lie in my bed, the sheets coated in sweat, staring at the ceiling. I jolted awake from a nightmare a few minutes ago. It was some monster woman thing, all mixed in with my mother. I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I won’t be able to get back down now.
It’s not the nightmares. I get them from time to time. It’s that the second I wake up, I think of Emma. Day or night, I remember what we did by the fire, her body moving with mine. I remember how I walked out and pushed Michael away. Shut down my emotions.
I focused on the ice and the game. The team’s doing better. The hectic schedule makes it difficult to think about anything else, but for the first time in my life, I ask why? What is this all for?
Before, the game was enough, learning every intricacy I could. The patterns of offensive players, the unique way their skates touched the ice, even if it was only in the smallest details. Now, I thinkpastthat to the future. I’ve got all the money a man could ever need. I’ve got my health, which is more than some can say in this sport. I’m lucky. If I retired, I could…
I could what? Call up the girl I screwed and abandoned? Then, when I turn up at her house, make small talk with her dad? Her dad, who I basically told to go fuck himself, in polite terms?
Walking through the hotel suite, I stand at the window, stretching my arms out. This is bad. It’s four a.m. High-quality sleep is a big part of being a professional athlete, especially as you age. I haven’t slept an entire night once since I walked out on Emma.
My cell phone rings from the bedroom, deeper into the suite. I quickly grab it. There’s no reason my teammates’ sleep has to suffer too. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I reject it, then set my phone to silent. Not long after, I get a text and a voicemail notification.
Listening to it, every inch of me aches and burns. It’s her voice, sounding small and unsure. “Uh, it’s me, if you know who that is. Please call me when you get a chance.”
IfI know who that is? When I hear her voice, I immediately think about finding the person making her sound so scared and nervous and making them pay. But what if that’s me? What if simply callingmeis the reason she sounds like that? To her, I’m a monster—the prick who walked out.
I call her back immediately, sitting on the bed. My foot won’t stop tapping against the floor. It goes into overdrive even when I place my hand on my leg.
“Uh, hello?” she says.
I breathe huskily. Hearing her voice puts me right back on that top-floor balcony. Since then, I’ve wondered if anybody saw us. Not because I’m worried about snapshots of me, but if anybody else saw her like that… It was a private suite, so there was nobody above us to spy.
I’m there again, feeling her warmth, her wetness, reliving her giving herself to me.
“Logan?” she says, more insistently.
“I’m here.”
“I need to tell you something. Have you got time to talk?”
“I’m not doing anything,” I tell her.
My voice is coming out cold and robotic. I realize I can do it, over the phone at least, though it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I can close down my feelings, but when they explode…
“I’ll be quick. I know you probably don’t want to speak to me.”
I swallow. “It’s not that, Emma.”
“N-no?” she says.
“I left things badly. I shouldn’t have walked out like that, but your dad… He helped me while I was growing up. He was there for me, whether or not he knows it.”
After a pause, she says softly, “So you ghost him?”
I grit my teeth. I can’t explain how hard that was, but it felt necessary. Itwas. Hell, if Michael knew I was speaking to his daughter now, he’d be furious, and he’d have a right to be.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a pause.
“You don’t need to be. It’s fair. I’ve handled this like a jackass.”
I can’t be close to any of them. If I kept speaking with Michael, I’d keep thinking about Emma. I’d end up fantasizing about her and wanting her. I’ve become good at ignoring what I want and focusing on what I need to do. At least, I used to before that night. That’s my baseline: ignoring and burying.
“Why did you walk out?” she murmurs.
Because I could’ve told her I loved her right then. I could’ve meant it. I could’ve proposed to her. With my body content from the sex and the connection, I could’ve pledged myself to her forever with her dad sleeping in the next room.
I take the coward’s way out. “Isn’t it obvious?”
