Page 37 of Paxton

She forces a laugh, and I want to punch myself.

“Paxton,” she says my name like a warning filled with a heavy dose of pity, and it only makes me feel that much worse. “You know me.”

“I know,” I say quickly.

“Marriage seems like a fairy tale only few achieve.”

“Like your parents,” I say, nodding and doing my best to swallow down the pain that is wreaking havoc on my insides.

She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but fucking hell, it still stings. I hoped that whatever is happeningbetween us would be different. It certainly feels different. But maybe that’s just because I’ve been in love with her forever.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “That kind of relationship doesn’t happen to everyone. They’re almost nauseating with how much they love each other.”

She’s not wrong, her parents are the epitome of marital status. They genuinely love each other, respect each other, fight for each other, and put their relationship first. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, a hopeful one, even.

That could be us.

I want to say it.

I want to tell her that so damn badly.

But there’s not a shot in hell that I’m going to blow the time she’s given me.

Even if it’ll hurt all that much more in the end.

She’s worth it.

“When is the next time they’re coming to Bangor?” I ask, desperate to steer the subject back to some common ground that doesn’t feel so damn precarious.

The tension in her shoulders settles a bit and she looks back out at the waves crashing toward us. “They can’t get out until Thanksgiving probably,” she answers.

“Five months? What’s keeping them?” They don’t usually go that long between visits.

“Dad is getting inducted into the NFL hall of fame,” she says.

“No shit?” I ask, smiling at her. “That’s amazing. About damn time too.”

She laughs. “He’s only been retired six years,” she counters.

“Still, I was shocked he didn’t get it that fifth year of retirement. He was the best running back on the 49ers for over a decade.”

Monroe pulls out her phone and pushes it toward me. “You should call and tell him that, he always loves being reminded,” she teases.

I shrug, moving to take her phone. “I’ve got no qualms calling your dad,” I say confidently, but she pulls the phone away, settling it next to her.

“You’re ridiculous,” she teases.

“Why?” I ask. “Because I love your parents? They love me back.”

“Everyone loves you back,” she argues.

Not everyone.

I almost say the words out loud, but catch myself. I know Monroe loves me. She’s my best friend. And that’s okay. She doesn’t have to love me in the way I love her.

“So, it’ll be a fun Thanksgiving with an NFL hall-of-famer then,” I say. “I’ll have to do a dinner and get all the guys to come so we can fan out.”

Monroe snorts. “He’ll likely beat you to that,” she says. “You know how much he loves hockey. I think he cheers for you harder than I do.”

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