Page 95 of Blocked Score

I love Scarlett, with every single fucking fiber of my being. But I haven’t vocalized that yet.

I’ve been in love with Scarlett since Chicago. It feels so … default. Like the natural state of things. I take it for granted that I’m in love with her.

But without using my words, without expressing myself, how can I expect her to understand how I feel?

If there’s a single ounce of doubt in Scarlett’s mind that I love her, then I’m to blame.

“And I’m just …” Scarlett pauses, as if she’s searching for the right words. “Tired of things never feeling settled in my life. Even if everything goes right, it’s at least two years of doubt, of insecurity, of worry. I’ll always wonder how Lane really feels, if he’s not having second thoughts while he’s all the way on the west coast.”

That’s never going to happen. If I haven’t made that fact clear to Scarlett through my words and actions, I’m the one at fault.

But I know how to fix that.

Instead of bursting into Scarlett’s room and telling her she doesn’t need to be worried about any of what she’s talking about, I have a way to show her.

Just as quietly as I snuck up, I sneak back down. Put my shoes on. Grab my phone, and go outside to make the most important phone call of my life.

48

SCARLETT

After venting to Harper early today, I feel some relief, though I know my worries about my and Lane’s future are going to start gnawing at me again sooner or later.

But it’s just residual insecurity thanks to how shitty every other relationship in my life has been. Maybe by the time he actually moves a couple months from now, I won’t even be worried about it at all anymore.

Maybe …

It’s getting into evening, and my stomach just had its first rumble of the day. I’m about to text Lane to ask if he wants to get dinner somewhere, when I see him step in to fill my open doorway.

“Hey, Scarlett. Let’s talk for a sec.”

There’s a seriousness in his tone. A tiny spark of insecurity goes off inside me, no matter how much I try to avert it.

In the back of my mind, I can’t help but imagine him preparing to tell me that, since he’s moving to San Jose to start his pro career, we should get on the same page that this relationship is just going to be a short term thing until he boards that flight to the west coast, even though I don’t believe it.

“Sure,” I say, nodding to my empty desk chair next to the bed I’m sitting on.

He takes a seat. “I’m not going to San Jose for the upcoming season.”

I blink. Then I blink again. “What?”

“I’m playing for Montreal. Two-hour drive away.”

I’m blown over. Totally unsure what to say.

But I know I should say something. So, I default to the last word that left my mouth: “What?”

He grins. “I don’t want to be a whole continent away from you. I want to be as close as possible. I spoke to Montreal’s coach when I was in Minneapolis for the Frozen Four. I sensed there was some interest. But I’m already drafted to San Jose. So, I got on the phone with San Jose and literally begged them to trade their rights to sign me.”

“You can’t be serious.” I’m still having trouble processing this.

“My starting salary’s gonna be a little less than it would’ve been if I’d signed with San Jose.” He shrugs and laughs. “Okay, a lot less. But it’s worth it to stay as close as possible to you.”

“But … why?”

“Well, I heard you talking to Harper earlier today.” He raises his arms, palms open in an apologetic gesture. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have listened in. But when I heard you …” He shakes his head. “I had to do something.”

My eyes go wide. “You didn’t.”

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