Page 101 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
Mathieu takes a long breath, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling, as if checking whether what he’s about to say will get him struck by lightning. Then he says, “Clément has a flight booked to Paris tomorrow.”
I feel it like a slap. “What?”
Heartbreak is so cliché, but this doesn’t feel like heartbreak. This feels like a breach of contract.
Mathieu nods. “He didn’t know how to tell you, so he wrote this, and asked me to give it to you after he left.”
He extends his hand across the table, and in it is an envelope.
In all my three years of Marcy Fontaine Accounting, I have never ripped open an envelope and read so fast.
Chère Marcy,
When we began this little journey in the meeting room of town hall, I never would have guessed how much of my heart would belong to you before the Harvest Moon. All those dreams I had of making a life in America, of waking in the morning and sharing stories and coffee with the woman who made me feel whole—I never knew who she was. Until I met you. By the time you read this, I’ll have landed in France, full of regret for what could have been, knowing I didn’t have another choice. For I can’t be the man you need me to be in Maple Falls, and you deserve nothing less than a man who will be at every Maple Fest, every petting zoo, every throw you make of that glorious softball. I wish it could have been me. Instead, I’ll spend my life jealous of the man who earns his chance at love with the ice queen of Maple Falls.
Wish I had been yours,
Clément
I stand too quickly, the blood rushing to my head. “He was going to leave. Just—poof. Go back to his croissants, and his museums, and his metro. But the man loves me.” I look at Mathieu for confirmation and find his head nodding in agreement. “He loves me a lot.”
“Oui,” Mathieu says. “And I don’t know if he realizes how big a mistake he is making.” Mathieu’s eyes tell me the story of a man who knows what it means to love and have lost. It hurts to see him like this, but I know he is behind the idea of Clément and me, one hundred percent.
“I have to do something.” I look around for inspiration.The letter with his declaration of love… the sparkling water in a fancy glass… the sky…
The idea comes like a crashing wave.
Clément thinks he’s doing what’s best for me, but he didn’t understand that what’s best forusis what’s best for me.
I look Mathieu straight in the eye and speak the most heartfelt “Thank you,” I ever have. Cold air slices across my cheeks as I speed walk to Happy Horizons with one single thought dominating my brain.
It’s my turn to show Clément what he means to me. He wrote the letter. I’ll take action.
Sure, he’s got a seat booked for Paris tomorrow…
But there’s always another seat on the plane.
The instant I’m in my cabin, I fire up my laptop, muttering a prayer for good Wi-Fi. My browser opens, cursor blinking like it knows it’s about to become the star of a last-ditch romantic gesture.
Only one flight from Seattle to Paris tomorrow. There’s one economy seat left.
I click it. Enter my information. Reach for my wallet.
“There are three ways to balance a budget, and at least twice that many to save love from passing me by.”
I don’t know what’s going to happen in Paris.
But I’m going to be on that plane.
CHAPTER 38
CLÉMENT
Everything hurts.
A dull, persistent throb that hums behind my left eye like a reminder. Of the pain of loss. Of the game. Of the girl I love and may never see again.
I’m on Weston’s couch again. My bags sit beside the coffee table, neatly packed—my entire life reduced to a carry-on and a duffel for today’s flight. I keep checking my phone even though I know she hasn’t messaged. No new notifications. No pings. No calls.
