Page 125 of The Puckable Playbook

Len

Curledup in my sheets with the TV on, I hear the suite door open and close. Before, I’d run out there and ask Zaiah how his day was. Even before we started dating, I’d make some excuse to go out there to be next to him.

Instead, I stuff my head into my pillow and wonder when he’s going to get sick of my bullshit and break it off with me. I said some horrible things. I basically said I didn’t like hockey. Of course he would want to celebrate that day. Why did I have to bring it up at all?

This stupid thought stays with me, biting like a piranha, taking little chunks out of me each time with every misstep.

Maybe we aren’t right for each other. Maybe the fact that I love him actually doesn’t matter. I tried too hard. I wanted too much. I tried to force a puzzle piece into a slot that didn’t fit.

In my gut, though, it doesn’t feel that way. If that were true, why would I be lying in my bed, miserable, watchingThe Mighty Ducksover and over, trying to connect to anyone who plays hockey when I really only want one person who plays hockey?

With bated breath, I wait in agonized hope to see if he comes to my door.

I’ve had my heart broken before, but never by someone I gave it to so willingly. So completely. I don’t even want to know what it will feel like. If he decides what I did was too much for him.

In the main suite, I hear him rummaging around. The worry—the guilt—sits heavy like a dark rain cloud on my shoulders.

A soft knock sounds on the door, and I gulp, sitting up in bed. The air charges around me, and I’m too paralyzed to move.

Whatever relationships are like, I know it’s not this.

Gathering all my courage, I slide my feet to the floor and get up. Slowly, I walk to the door and put my hand on the knob. Another breath later, I’m twisting it open to…nothing.

It’s dark. Zaiah isn’t waiting on the other side for me, and I’m stuck wondering if I imagined the whole thing. Maybe I wanted him to come to me so badly that I conjured it up at the same time the Ducks were doing the flying V for the first time.

I start to shut the door when a tiny flicker flares to life in the kitchen, a halo of light that has me swallowing. Zaiah moves the flame to a candle. It catches to life before shifting to another candle. Soon, the kitchen is alive in a soft glow.

Stepping forward, I hit something with my socked feet. Rounded dark spots litter the floor in a trail through the living room to the kitchen. I take one step, then another. It isn’t until I’m closer to the kitchen that the red petals pop out in a subdued haze. I lightly walk over them, a few of them fluttering away from me, until it brings me right to him.

I stop short of his shoes, my stomach tightening. Then he reaches for me, putting his hand under my chin and lifting so that I meet his gaze.

“W-what’s this?”

“You just walked a pathway to the new and improved Isaiah James.” He swallows like he’s nervous. His gaze is earnest as hestares right into my eyes until my insides flip. I peer away from the intensity of it all, and he nudges me back. “The trail led you here, and it always will. Every rose petal is a promise I’m making to you, Lenore Robertson. What I did wasn’t right. I took you for granted without giving you any of the credit. I saw the world through the eyes of someone so driven I didn’t take the time to look around and see what the determining factor was.You.”

“I think maybe I—”

He shakes his head, cutting me off. “There’s nothing you said that wasn’t true. I’m ashamed of myself for doing that to you. You did so many things for me, and I want to be that person for you. I think I got caught looking through a pinpoint, and all I saw was what I was going through.

“I need to make this up to you because you being indifferent to me is slowly killing me inside, sweetheart. I want your laughs and your smiles. Hell, I’ll even take your anger and putting me in my place as long as you’re not indifferent.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

He takes my shoulders. “None of this is your fault. What you said to me was spot on. You deserve nothing less than the best, and what I gave you wasn’t even worthy of a third stringer.”

I nearly smile at that, glad that I understand what he’s saying, hockey references and all.

“So,” he says, stepping back, “I’m doing something I should’ve done a while ago.” He waves his hand to the kitchen table where a spread is laid out. My favorite pizza from the place in town, including the rolls dripping with garlic sauce. “This is your celebration dinner for hearing back from that magazine editor.”

Walking over, he pulls out a chair for me, and I sit. When he moves to the other side, the candlelight flickers, reaching toward him, and I understand how that flame feels. Zaiah’s a magnet, and whatever it is he attracts, I think I’m made up of mostly that.

Monday

I walk out of my bedroom, my feet nudging against something on the floor, pushing it away. Peering down in the early morning light, I find the rose petals from last night gone, and in the very spot where Zaiah kissed me good night sits a small white box with a clear top.

In the box, a word is written in thick, creamy hard chocolate.Dreams.

I open the attached notecard.

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