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He lights up. “Yeah?”
I nod, smiling.
He tilts his chin to my phone on the coffee table. “Text her now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” He nudges me. “So you don’t lose your nerve.”
He’s right. I drag in a deep breath, grab my phone, and tap out a quick text to Laura.
“The place is probably gone by now,” I mutter. “Which is fine.”
She responds a moment later.Great! Are you free the morning of New Year’s Eve? You can take a look at the space then.
Rory reads over my shoulder. We’re supposed to be driving up to Whistler that morning for the League Classic game.
“We can make it work,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.
I bite my lip.
“Come on, Hartley,” he murmurs, smiling.
Reluctance surges through me because doing something big like this is scary, but Rory went over to his mom’s place even though he was nervous.
Sounds great, I text Laura before letting out a whoosh of air.
“Good job,” Rory says against my temple, and I flush, tossing my phone aside.
His eyes go to the framed photo of us sitting on his bookshelf before he glances down at me and smiles.
“Is this what you expected when you made that bet that we’d get together?” I ask. “Lying on the couch like an old married couple.”
The piercing look he gives me makes my heart skip a beat. “It’s even better.”
I need to say something about how I’m feeling. I never expected any of this to happen, and I sure as hell never expected to feel emotions likepossessiveandproudandsparkling, pinwheeling happinessaround Rory Miller. Anger knots in my stomach at my hesitation.
“Thank you for coming today,” he says.
“Of course.” This guy has no fucking clue what I’d do for him.
I think about Nicole and how happy she was to see him today. How she clearly threw the party together after she invited us because she wanted to see him so badly. When the downstairs washroom was occupied, she sent me upstairs, and I walked past her office.
“Your mom’s office was filled with your hockey stuff,” I tell him, and his brow creases.
“She hates hockey.”
“She had the newspaper clipping from the day you were drafted, all your jerseys, and a bunch of Storm merch in there.” An ache throbs in my chest for himandfor her. “She misses you, Rory.”
“I miss her, too,” he says softly in my ear, and my throat tightens.
He’s so honest with me, even when it’s hard, so I push myself to give him more of myself.
“Connor said guys like him don’t end up with girls like me,” I rush out. I can’t tell him the truth about how I feel, but I can give him this. I can take this tiny step forward with him.
His eyes sharpen, going hard at Connor’s name. I cross my arms over my chest, frowning at the floor, and in my head, I’m back there, years ago at the party, feeling the burning shame of not being enough for someone.
“I wasn’t enough for him.” I can barely get the words out. They’re slicing up my throat as I say them.
