Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I spoke with Crossland—Mr. McClaren,” she quickly corrects herself. “And told him about my situation. He has connections all over the world and happens to know the producer of the show.”
I tilt my head, relief and happiness sitting right next to confusion. “And the owner was more than happy to do that kind of favor for you? Just because you're our skate coach?”
Blakely bites her bottom lip, worrying the pink flesh between her teeth as she sits back down. Something about the way she's looking at me feels like she's about to pull the rug right out from underneath me. “That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” she says. “I haven't told you this before because I wasn't sure if one, we were serious, and two, if it would change your opinion about me—”
“Nothing could change my opinion about you,” I cut her off, wanting to reassure her because she looks so damn worried. “I'm wild about you, you know that.”
“And I really hope you'll feel the same way after I tell you the truth.”
She takes a deep breath, the action seeming to take hours instead of seconds as the anticipation builds up.
“My middle name is Wren,” she says, wringing her hands. “My actual last name is Hardin.”
“As in Coach Hardin?” I ask, my brain slowly putting the pieces together.
“Yes,” she says. “As in Dad.”
Holy fucking shit.
Now I'm the one pushing off the couch and pacing in front of it. Everything clicks together, the secret Nash and Pax knew and didn't want to tell me, the first night we met and Kiplin somehow knowing to stop me from asking her to come home with me that night, right up until Coach was telling me about a trade not one hour ago.
“Lawson?” Blakely asks.
I'm having a hard time focusing on any one emotion—anger, confusion, and feeling like an idiot are currently in the first three places.
“I am really sorry—”
“You're sorry?” I cut her, off shaking my head. “You're sorry for what, Blakely? Not trusting me enough to tell me that your dad is my coach? Or you're sorry that it took you this long to realize you might actually want to be with me enough to tell me the truth?”
I know I’m being irrational, but that doesn’t stop the hurt crashing through my chest. “But your dad knew, right?” I ask before she has the chance to answer my previous questions. “Your dad has to know about me. About us.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Wow, this is just fucking great.”
Blakely gets off the couch, looking up at me with utter confusion. “Look, I get I messed up by not telling you, but I have to be honest with you, I'm not really understanding the anger here. I didn't mean to hurt you, but can we talk this out rationally?”
“Talk what out, Blakely? I've put all my cards on the table. I’ve shown you time and time again how committed I am to you. I've given you the space that you've needed to heal from your past relationship. I'm not trying to force you into anything or rush you into anything, but I’m crazy about you and you couldn't even find the little bit of respect you needed for me to let me know the truth? To let me know something that could affect my entire career.”
Tears line her eyes as she gapes at me, and my already breaking heart is tearing into shreds seeing her that way. The last thing I want to do is make her cry, but I’m shocked it’s come to this.
“Your career, that's what you're worried about? That's what you're angry about? I told you I've already come clean with my father and with Crossland. They're fine with it. We just have to file something with HR—”
“No, you don't get it,” I cut her off. “Blakely, your dad is trying to trade me to the Sharks.”
“What?”
“Do you think for one second that offer came in on its own? What, for the playmaker on one of the worst teams in the NHL? Fat fucking chance. Your dad found out about us, and now I'm on the chopping block.”
She actually looks like she didn’t know, which gives me the tiniest bit of relief that this wasn't some elaborate attempt to put space between us.
“Yeah,” I say. I reach in my pocket and show her the number that her father gave me. “He literally told me about this an hour ago, and now you're dropping this bomb on me. It all makes sense. If you would have trusted me in the beginning, we could’ve gone to him together and he would’ve realized I’m in love with you and have no intention of hurting you or disrupting your career. But now we'll never know.”
“That's not true,” she fires back, but I'm already shaking my head and heading toward her front door. “Lawson, he didn't do this on purpose. I know he wouldn't. I told him how much I care about you. I told him I loved you—”