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I walk away so she can’t question me any further, but immediately feel bad. It’s not just my decision to make. While yes, technically, we‘re talking about my designs, everything I do is only possible because of Sara’s encouragement and financial support.
“Sorry,” I say, spinning around. “Let’s talk to them about it. Maybe see if someone will come here to discuss it all in person.”
Sara smiles but shakes her head. “No, you’re right. They’re taking a huge risk on something they’ve never seen. I’m sure there’s some minor disclaimer that I’m missing.”
My stomach twists. God, I’m a horrible person. “No, Sara. That’s not what I meant.”
“Hear me out.”
“Okay.”
“What about if we use this opportunity to look into expanding. Maybe we could start with an online store?”
“That could work, only shipping from here wouldn’t exactly be easy. It’s definitely something we can look into.”
“Great.” She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.
Ugh. “How about we still find out what the boutique has to say, just in case,” I say, watching Sara’s smile grow.
“Okay, let's do that. Let’s at least hear them out.” She tries to hide her new bout of enthusiasm, but it doesn’t work, and while I try to smile back, the idea of being a part of something that big makes my stomach swirl, and I’m not sure if it’s nerves or elation. If this is a real offer, and not just something Jesse conjured up, then it could be my answer to leaving this place, something I’m still working toward. I just want to do it on my own terms.
“We’ll work it out together,” Sara says, and I know with no uncertainty that she’ll back me one hundred percent, no matter what.
But what the hell do I want?
Chapter Nineteen
Jesse
Theteamsitsquietlyas our head coach finishes his spiel before dismissing us from our official duties for the day. Once again, we nailed practice. Everything ran smoothly, like a well-oiled machine. If I was a superstitious man, like some guys on the team, I’d probably be nervous.
Our goalie, Knuckles, believes that if he successfully stops every puck in a practice shootout, then he’ll miss when it really counts, but if he misses one in practice, he’ll be fine. We’ve told him many times over the years to miss on purpose, but it doesn’t work that way.
My linemate, Ace, on the other hand, believes that it all comes down to the flavor of his toothpaste. When he was in the juniors, his team hadn’t won a game in a few years. One day, when he was getting ready, he noticed that his new roommate had replaced his regular toothpaste with a strawberry flavor because he was allergic to mint. Ace thought nothing of it, even said it tasted delicious, but then his team won. He claims he headed straight to the store after the game and bought ten tubes of the stuff in case he couldn’t find it again. And he still swears by it today, even when we lose.
I could never afford to be superstitious. I had to pool all my energy into my game. I had to believe I was the only one in control of my destiny. The only way for me to play well was to shut everything else out and focus on the game alone. Because if I were to ever let outside influences in, I’d likely buckle. And that in itself became my ritual.
It’s the reason I avoid the media, it’s the reason I don’t have many friends, and it’s the reason I’ve never even tried to let anyone into my life. Willow being the exception. Willow beingeveryexception.
It’s now been three weeks since I last saw her. Threefuckingweeks. And while every second without her is destroying me from the inside, I can’t even be angry about it. It’s my goddamn fault.
And I wouldn’t even change it, given the chance. If she hadn’t pushed me on it, I would have continued to take the blame for Jade’s death. I deserved that. It should have been me forced to live with the guilt because God only knows I don’t feel guilty about other things I’ve done.
But now that Willow knows the truth, it kills me that she pushed me away. She won’t take my calls; she only occasionally responds to my texts—she’s just gone. Sticking to her “I don’t need you in my life” notion.
Not even caring that I might need her.
That for me, it’s only ever been her.
I’m lost in thought as we all collect our things to head home, but aware enough to hear a few of the guys organizing to meet up for a beer, while others complain about an early morning photoshoot they’ve been roped into. Quickly throwing my bag over my shoulder, I sneak out the door, not wanting to be pulled into either of those conversations.
But I’m not quick enough.
“How is it that you and Pippa are barely speaking and shestillgets you out of media commitments?” my teammate Clayton asks as he moves into step beside me.
“Just lucky, I guess.” I shrug, but it’s the truth. After Pippa volunteered me for a magazine photoshoot last month—when Willow was in San Francisco—I assumed that was the end of my run. That she’d be putting my name forward for everything, or at the very least, no longer giving me any special treatment. But I was wrong. Other than the barely speaking part, nothing’s changed, and I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Is she doing it to keep the peace, or does she feel sorry for me? After all, her sister pretty much ghosted me after I left Pippa’s apartment, yet I can’t stop thinking about her.
“Your luck can’t last forever,” he says before walking in the opposite direction. And if that’s not a statement of my life, I don’t know what is. I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. For shit to get real. For my luck to run out. Every time I see a police officer walking toward me, my heart stops. Every time I get a call from my foster parents, I hold my breath until I hear the smiles in their voices. From the day I left that hospital in Oregon, I’ve had luck on my side. But I’ve used so much, I must be nearing the bottom of the barrel. And I have a feeling it’s all about to end.
