Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
For a moment when I enter, I forget Emily is still here. She offers me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I ruined your plans. I can help you put your groceries away and we can talk about it if you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m really sorry if this hurts your feelings, Em, but I have no interest in rekindling our relationship. I think it’s best if you go.”
“I can be just a friend. We can talk like friends.”
Her voice is too desperate, eyes too pleading. I don’t believe it for a second and even if I did, I can’t afford to keep her in my life if I want Willa. “We can’t be friends. That’s not fair to Willa. I’m sorry, but you can’t rely on me like that and I’m absolutely not going to rely on you.”
“But Jack—”
I push past her, opening my door. “I’m sorry. Safe travels back to Chicago.”
Her expression turns to resignation and she nods her head sadly. “I’m sorry.”
Emily leaves, and I’m left alone with the weight of the morning’s events crushing down on me like a boulder.
Things sure got fucked up and I’m not sure how to fix them.
♦
By the time I’m at the Christmas tree lot, I’m more pissed than anything. I’d really looked forward to doing this with Willa. Maybe I’d even romanticized it, and now I’m here alone. It pisses me off because Willa refused to talk things out. She freaked and left, and that’s not the way I operate. I like communication because I’m a mature fucking twenty-five-year-old.
Christ, it burns me up. All her talk of the age gap, mostly focused on me being younger, and today I’m the more mature of the two of us.
Frustration billows inside me, a storm brewing in my chest as I walk up and down the rows of trees, not one of them appealing to me. The warring emotions in my chest range from a physical ache, the emptiness almost suffocating, to a sadness that maybe this isn’t meant to be. Maybe Willa just isn’t in a place she can give me what I need.
I take in the families and couples walking among the rows of evergreens, laughing and holding hands as they pick out the perfect tree while I wander aimlessly. It only takes me about three minutes to realize I don’t want to be here and I head back to my car. Fuck the tree and fuck Christmas. I’m in official humbug mode.
Not sure what will make me feel better, I know a good workout will get my mind off things for a while. I head to the arena to use their facilities since it’s a Saturday and we have the day off. I doubt anyone will be there and with my mood, I’d like to be alone rather than use the gym in my condo complex.
When I arrive, I’m surprised to see Penn’s vehicle in the player parking garage. He doesn’t drive anything flashy, at least not by the standards of being one of the highest-paid hockey players in the league. A Range Rover that’s a handful of years old and could use a good wash.
I find him in the gym when I enter and my first thought is I’m glad he’s so standoffish because I don’t feel like interacting. He’s working at a rack of dumbbells, currently doing shoulder presses. I slide by but he sees me in the mirror and says, “What’s up?”
I don’t respond. Payback I guess, for the two months of near silence and pulling teeth to get words from him. I head to the farthest rack and proceed to do some dynamic stretches before I launch into squats.
For the next fifteen minutes, I’m blissfully in my own world. I ignore Penn and he ignores me. I concentrate on the burn and fatigue of muscles pushed to their limits, but thoughts of Willa keep popping into my head.
And that pisses me off too. I’d like to let that go for a bit but—
“You okay?”
I turn to face Penn standing there, a towel wrapped around his neck. I’m adding another plate to the bar and I turn my attention back to it. “All good,” I say.
From my peripheral vision, he starts to walk off, taking me at face value, and you know what? That pisses me off too.
“No, wait,” I snap, turning to face him. He stops, looks at me with uncertainty. “No, I’m not okay.”
A look of panic shutters Penn’s gaze and I like that he’s on the defensive.
I let out a bitter laugh. “You haven’t wanted a damn thing to do with anyone on this team and you’ve forbidden me from talking about your past, but guess what… you can damn well listen to mine.”
Penn’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t back away. He doesn’t say a word either and I take that as tacit permission to continue on.