Page 59 of Anatomy of a Player

“Whitney?”

“I hear you,” I said.

“Just wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

I didn’t have the slightest clue. But if it was between keeping things casual and getting more of Hudson, or being too needy and scaring him away, I chose more Hudson. “I’m not sure I know what I’m doing, but I want to at least keep the no-strings-attached thing as an option.”

Lyla gave one sharp nod. “Okay. If you ever need me, you know I’m never more than a phone call away.”

As if both of us knew the other needed it, we leaned in for the hug at the same time. “Love you.”

She squeezed me extra tight. “Love you, too.”

Maybe I was being overly optimistic about things on the Hudson front, but it didn’t keep me from thinking that I’d probably need to make that phone call someday.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hudson

I’d been avoiding my mom’s calls for days, and she’d left me alone after I’d snapped, but today I felt like I could take on anything. The swelling in my ankle was gone, I could walk without limping, and then there was the real reason I almost fucking skipped to campus.

My night with Whitney had been seared into my mind and I brought it up whenever I felt frustration rising—I used it pretty much every time I studied. Sure that I’d need it extra now, I conjured up her smile, the taste of her lips, and held on to that happiness for a moment before hitting the call back button on my phone.

“Hudson?” The surprise in Mom’s voice carried over the line—she hadn’t thought I would call her back, even though she’d left a message asking me to.

“Yeah,” I said.

“How was your hockey game last weekend? Did you win?”

She obviously didn’t follow the games, or she’d know I didn’t play. “We won,” I said, because it was true, and easier than mentioning my injury. She hadn’t cared when Raymond had broken my ribs, which made it hard to think she’d care about a sprained ankle.

“Look, I know you don’t agree with all of my decisions, but can’t you see how badly I want you to be part of my life? I don’t want to drift apart again, right when we finally fixed things between us.”

“Every single time, you choose him,” I said. “Things were good because I thought you were done with him. I’ve had years of proof that you’ll never stop running back to the prick, yet somehow I’m still disappointed.”

“Someday you’ll fall in love and see that it’s not that easy.”

“If that’s love, I’ll pass.” Even though I went out of my way to avoid relationships, I thought maybe one day, way,waydown the road, I’d settle down because that’s what you did, and I liked the idea of having a son and teaching him hockey. I didn’t delude myself that I’d fall in the kind of love that people glamorized and sang songs about. But for some reason, at the mention of love, a certain journalist came to mind. This time, instead of bringing happiness, worry rose up and took out a bite.

I trusted so few people, and the thought of fully trusting anyone, even Whitney… A clashing mixture of longing and fear churned in my gut.

As nice as it was to imagine being able to divulge everything to Whitney and have her magically make it all okay, it was far from realistic. I couldn’t even handle my crazy life myself, and I’d had twenty-one years of trying to figure out how to deal.

Besides, those things you shared while you were vulnerable were the weapons the other person used against you later, when things turned sour.

Another mark against ever going down that path.

“…rehab, and he’s changed,” Mom was saying.

“I don’t know why you keep calling to tell me that. Raymond could go to rehab a hundred times, and it wouldn’t change that he’s a piece of shit. He’ll hit you again, and then you’ll turn back to old habits, and I’m glad I’ll be far away this time, because I can’t watch it anymore.”

I heard her take a stuttered breath, and thenIfelt like the piece of shit. “Don’t cry, Mom. Please. This is why I keep avoiding your calls. I need to be focused on school—I need to move on, even if you won’t.”

“But what about holidays? Even if you don’t come home for the wedding, you’ll at least come and stay for holidays, right?”

“Sure. Every holiday he’s not at home, I’ll be there.”

“It’ll be his home, too, once we’re married.”

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