I clear my throat and swallow, but the actions do nothing to ease my constricted muscles. I knew this would be hard as hell but her posture and her seeming indifference to me make it even worse than I’d ever imagined.
“I hope you know I never wanted this to happen,” I start.
She fiddles with the cap of her water. “I’m sure you didn’t. The Caribou PR team must be really pissed.”
I grip the edge of her quartz countertops and stare at the sparkled flecks that catch the sun streaming in through the window over her sink. “I had nothing to do with that tape being released. It was just something I did back in college on a dare, you know. Everybody does wild shit in college. The girl, um… Maddy, she told me all the copies had been destroyed. But I guess she lied.”
Catrick wanders into the room and stares at me. As if he can sense the rising tension, he turns around and heads out, tail flagged straight in the air. Great, even he hates me now.
“Why are you blaming her? Last time I checked there were two people in that video.” Her words land like a punch to my throat. She suppresses a little shudder and for the first time since I arrived, disappointment seeps into her neutral expression when frankly, I’d prefer anger.
Because I seem to always let everyone I love down.
I press my lips together, searching and failing for the words that will smooth this over and make everything right again. Bring me back to a time when I felt hopeful about my future with her in it. Sue-Ann watched me having sex with someone else. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to see her with another man. When I think about it, nausea bubbles up.
I lean forward. “I’m not blaming anyone. I just want you to know that I didn’t do it!”
She pauses as if she’s trying to collect her thoughts and I can’t ignore the way she drops her gaze to her lap. “It isn’t even the sex tape, or who released it. It’s immaturity. I can’t be with someone who’s going to be involved in scandals. Sue-Ann’s can’t stay afloat in a small city like Duluth where everyone knows everybody’s business if my personal business stinks. You should have taken care of it if you didn’t want it to get out. You should have destroyed it. But you were cavalier about it and you got burned. How many other skeletons do you have in your closet that might bust loose as time goes on?”
I give my head a violent shake. I don’t think I’m lying, but the truth is—with as many drunken benders that I’ve been on over the past few years—I’m really not sure. When women fuck professional athletes, they sometimes like to keep souvenirs. “This is the only one that I know of. I called Maddy and confronted her. She’s sorry, but I guess she wants to be on some reality show called Love Island and doing this gave her social media a boost. Why are you being so hard on me for a college prank?”
Sue-Ann looks at me then. Really looks at me. And her anguish is palpable because it mirrors my own. Her voice cracks as she whispers, “Because you called her babe. You said the same things to her that you say to me. You made me feel important to you when I’m not. You made me feel like a damn fool. I opened up to you against my better judgment because you pushed, and I got flattened for it. It won’t happen again.”
I adjust my Caribou cap since it feels way to tight on my throbbing head and stare at the blank look in her eyes. That pain from only moments ago—she’s masked it well.
She’s already gone, building a wall between us and hiding behind it.
I’ve lost.
I’ve lost the one fucking thing that mattered to me outside of my family and hockey. And I don’t know if I even give a shit about hockey anymore. Because it’s never going to be the same to play a home game without Sue in the stands seeing the man inside the pads and proving to me how much I matter.
I let her down.
I destroyed everything good in my life just like I always do.
I take a step backward, stars floating before my eyes. “Um… okay. I get it. I’ll see myself out. But if nothing else, you have to know how sorry I am that this happened. If I could go back and do it over again…”
She nods but then looks away like she can’t stand the sight of me.
With a sigh of shame, regret, and all the things I envisioned for our future that have now died a tragic death, I spin on my heel and slip out her front door like the piece of shit I am.
On my way down the path, I spot a perfect yellow rose, the color of friendship. And I realize that’s what I’m going to miss most of all. Take away our smoking hot chemistry and Sue and I are true friends. We inspire each other to be better. We enjoy spending time together—working in the store, talking, sometimes just doing nothing.
Yin and yang.
Get it right, fuckup. You were friends.
Past tense.
She doesn’t even want to be your friend anymore let alone your lover.
I lean over to touch the velvety petals with my fingertips as my eyes glaze over with the emotion hitting me square in the chest. The moment I inhale the bloom’s heady scent, I hear a hissing noise. Thinking somehow Catrick followed me outside to exact his revenge, I spin around to look. With a spitting sound, Sue’s automatic sprinklers rotate and douse me in a cold mist. As the water soaks through to my skin, I shake my head.
Wiping the water from my eyes, I can’t think of a person who deserves the icy treatment more.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sue-Ann
I flip through the channels, my heart whomping against my ribs. Once I reach the local station, my finger stops. Reaching for the huge glass of Cabernet on the end table, I take a sip and welcome the sensation as the warm liquid soothes my throat and then all my limbs.
Two men on the TV are droning on and on about the Caribou’s losing streak and how the third line needs to step up and produce or the team’s playoff prospects are going to be in trouble. They say that Adam Spencer can’t carry an entire team on his shoulders, no matter how broad they might be.
The third line is Max and Blaine’s line.
I wonder if Cora is in the stands right now, pining away for a man who probably wants her just as much as she wants him. She’s just a beautiful girl trying to hide behind a façade. But she’s breaking her own heart by not even taking a chance just to avoid the pain.
Paper tigers stand in their way. Worthless nothings that could be easily dispelled by vulnerability. Why are we humans so scared to reveal the important things? Because we’re afraid it will backfire if we’re exposed and we’ll lose the thing we’re trying to hang on to.
The thing we think we can’t live without.
So living in misery seems better than shining a light on the darkness of the truth and possibly ending up with something even better.
Max and I told the truth. And now I’m sitting here with my ass on my overstuffed sofa and my cat at my side watching him on TV. Living.
Life goes on. It can be done.
But man does it hurt.
How could I have been so wrong about something that felt so damn right? How could the local naughty boy, the kid always in some kind of trouble, be the same guy who folded t-shirts to perfection, the one who scratched Meatball’s tummy just the way she liked it until she groaned her doggy pleasure, the one who made me feel like there was nothing in this world we couldn’t accomplish if we did it together?
I tell myself that while Max Monroe brought fun back into my life, it wasn’t worth the turmoil. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t cried myself to sleep every single night thinking about his hands all over my body, his jokes making me laugh out loud, or his consideration to my customers, always bringing them the perfect pair of jeans without ever asking their size.
I even think about Mrs. Garcia. She asks about Max every single time I see her and then I just feel the pain all over again.
And I unplugged HHH, taking away his juice. I can’t stand the sight of him right now.
I miss Max and the easy way we were around each other.
Even though I still don’t know much about hockey, I’ve been w
atching him and hoping for the best. I want him to succeed and be happy. And I know how much the game means to him. But ever since we went our separate ways, he’s been tanking his play. He’s come up empty.
No goals. No assistants. Nothing.
And the media’s new pastime is busting his balls. It’s almost like they enjoy building a man up again just to watch him fall.
My hand raises, and I wish I could reach through the screen and tell him everything was going to be okay. That this all ends well. But I can’t do that. Not only because telekinetics is not real, but because I have no idea how this all will end and those hopeful words could be a lie.
If Max doesn’t get it together, he could very well lose his career and end up doing something else.
I drink almost the entire bottle of wine, and my head gets fuzzy. During the third period, even though he hasn’t seen much ice time, Max draws a penalty for hooking and stomps his way to the box. On the way, he slams his stick on the ice and it shatters, sending splinters of wood all over the slick surface. My heart aches for him, but I have no idea what I can do about his poor play. I didn’t ask him to fuck someone and tape it. I didn’t have anything to do with that tape being released onto social media and breaking us up.
This is all on him.
And he needs to pull on his big boy Armachillos and figure himself out.
*****
Just as I’m about to flip the store’s lights off and go home for the night, a knock sounds on the door.
“We’re closed,” I call, straining my eyes, but I can’t see much in the waning light. I hope it’s not Max, stopping by to argue the inarguable. It’s over. The sooner he gets that through his skull, the better for him and his future.
But he hasn’t reached out to me since that day in my house when he walked away. He has no reason to come here now. Probably just some latecomer who doesn’t understand that we close at eight p.m. and have ever since the day I opened the doors for the first time.
I stride toward the front door and point toward the “CLOSED” sign. A beautiful girl meets my gaze, she must be about high school age and puts her palms up into the air, mouthing, ‘please.’ She looks vaguely familiar, and I rack my brain trying to figure out if she’s been in the store before. I unlock the door and crack it open a few inches. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m Meg. Meg Monroe. Can I talk to you?”
My heart gives a thump in my chest, but I swing the door wide and let her slip past me. Long black hair swirls around her slender shoulders. She’s wearing ripped skinny jeans, knee-high leather boots and a jean jacket over a tight tee. But it’s her eyes that get me most. They’re so blue they twinkle like the light of a thousand stars.
They’re his eyes.
I look away before I do something stupid underneath the weight of that mesmerizing gaze, like tell her I love her brother.
Because love doesn’t just fade away in the blink of an eye.
But it will fade eventually. It has to or I could end up dying from the pain.
“What can I do for you, Meg?” I ask, gesturing her inside. There are comfy chairs outside the dressing rooms, and I offer her a seat. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have coffee, tea, and water.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though,” she says, snuggling down into the light pink velvet upholstery and glancing around.
I remember the day I picked out these chairs. Now, they’ve had so many customers sitting in them while selecting their special occasion outfits, they’re part of the fabric of the store. They’ve seen and heard things that could inspire a chick lit novel.
I look at her, breath stalled in my lungs, waiting to find out the reason for her visit.
“You’re really gorgeous,” she says, surprising me. “I can see why he picked you.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure how to respond. Not sure why she’s here.
“Did he tell you about her? About Maddy?”
I lift one shoulder and let it drop. “Not really. He said something about her wanting to be on Love Island, so that’s why she released the tape. And that she cheated on him years ago. But everybody has exes. They don’t need to seep their way into the present.”
Meg’s leg swings back and forth. She’s built like a gazelle. “But she did this time. And she’s been trying to get back with him ever since she cheated. They were together in college, and they were together when he got drafted. I never liked her much. I knew the score. But Max was blinded by her rack. He’s a tit guy, if you didn’t know. And not silicone either.”
I watch her, surprised by her frank language and wonder if Max knows she’s here—if he sent her on some warped recognizance mission so she can manipulate me. As I wait to hear what she’ll say next, she whips out her phone and responds to something on social media, then slides it back into her pocket.
“Is there something you need to tell me? About… Maddy?”
“Yeah, she’s a whore. But then Max was too back in the day. But Milo sent him here to straighten his ass out. And I think it worked. He was back to being himself where he smiled more than he frowned. And he played hard out on the ice, ya know? Just like back in college when he thought he had the world by the tail. It’s like I had my brother back finally.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Was Maddy that important to him?”
“Nah, not in the end. She fucked over my brother when she cheated on him and then she fucked him over again when she released that tape on social media. If she knew him at all, she’d know that embarrassing him in front of the whole town would never work. He’d never take her back. He’d never take her back anyway. He loves someone else.”
My stomach clenches. This conversation is going from bad to worse. I wonder what she thinks I have to do with this drama or how I could fix Max’s issues. I can’t. He has to fix them himself.
Before I can reply, she leans forward and says, “Are you hearing me, Sue-Ann? Max loves you.”
I scrunch my nose into a tiny ball. “What?”
She swings her arms wide. “Max loves you. In fact, you’re the only woman he’s ever loved. I’m his sister. I know these things. But now I wanna know what you’re gonna do about it?”
“He does not.” The moment the words escape, I realize I sound like a kid on the jungle gym arguing about the cutest boy in class.
She crosses her legs at the ankles, and the leather of her boots squeaks. “When it comes to my brothers, I’m always right. You need to work this shit out with him before he gets cut from the team and loses his dream.”
This is Max’s sister, I know he adores her, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but this speech still sends a sliver of annoyance up my spine. How dare she come here and say this? If Max cared—if he loved me—he wouldn’t have given up. He would have fought for us. He wouldn’t have fucked up in the first place.
Instead, he walked away without a backward glance, and he didn’t even seem upset about it.
“Listen, Meg. I know you love your brother, and he loves you. You wouldn’t even believe how he talks about you and the rest of his family. You’re his whole world. But he doesn’t love me. He left my house a few weeks ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
She twirls a lock of raven hair between her fingertips and then smacks her lips. “He’s a dude. They have that stupid ego and pride and all that. You can’t always just consider a man’s words, you have to look at his actions. He’s moping around—playing like shit. He hasn’t even taken Meatball to the dog park when he used to do that every Saturday, even in winter. The other day, Mom made him goulash and he wouldn’t even eat it. It’s his favorite. Ultimately, he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. That’s why he set you free. He thinks you can do better than him. If he didn’t care, he’d be acting like it. Believe me. He cares.”
The wise words of the young hit me square in the chest. Could it be true? Does Max love me? Are his actions because he thinks that I don’t love him enough? But then�
�� I never told him the truth because I was afraid too. And I still am. Inhaling a ragged breath, I consider my options.
Leaning forward, I crook my finger. “Then tell me what you think I should do.”
She waggles her raven eyebrows. “How do you feel about trailers?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Max
I almost didn’t come tonight for family dinner night, but in the end, I let my mom talk me into it. I haven’t really felt much like eating. I haven’t really felt much like anything. Isn’t it funny how your heart doesn’t break all at once? Nah, it comes off in chunks—each one dropping when you least expect it. The moment you snap the light off at night. Chunk. When you go out of your way to drive to the arena just so you can get a glimpse of a certain girly store. Chunk. Mom cooked tater tot hotdish from scratch and she baked an apple pie, so I relented. Just as I bring the first bite of casserole to my mouth, a knock sounds at the front door.
“Meg, your boyfriend’s here,” Matt calls out from his place on the threadbare sofa with the remote in one hand and his phone in the other. “Meg and Tyler sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
My sister walks by and smacks him upside the head, which only earns her a middle finger as she sashays away. “Think I’d bring him around you buffoons?”
My fork stops, suspended in mid-air. “You have a boyfriend? For reals? Why haven’t I met him? What if he’s not good enough for my only sister?”
She flops down in the seat next to me and helps herself to a huge spoonful of the Minnesota tradition. After she chews, a little moan escapes. “Yummy. First of all, I could care less if you approve. And second of all, I’m not sure how much I like him.”
Oh, to be Meghan. Completely self-confident and unaffected by life. Who cares if he likes her? She only cares if she likes him. With my heart squeezing in my chest, I lean in close and give her a one-arm hug.
“What the hell was that for?” she spews, wiping her lips with a white paper napkin.
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