Page 50 of Slapshot
The sense of peace that crept over me as I entertained the fantasy again was a siren song that would lead to misery in the long run because I couldn’t figure out how to keep Seelie, and I had the feeling Blair was somehow slipping through my fingers too.
The obvious answer was to ask her about it, but each time I tried, despite our promises to be honest with each other, she somehow redirected the conversation to other things.
Maybe I was being paranoid.
She hated her family, and the dinner was approaching like a freight train.
I’d wait until the dust settled on that disaster waiting to happen and then find out where things lay.
* * *
Blair wasdeep in thought as she let herself into my house that afternoon, her face fierce as she seemed to be in a mental battle of some sort.
“How was therapy?” I asked from the sofa where I’d been trying to concentrate on Wayne Gretsky’s autobiography for the previous hour. I wished I could be an audiobook guy, but I couldn’t concentrate well enough when I just listened.
There was a rustle and thump as her bag and keys hit the dining table, and then she was crawling into my lap. She tucked herself under my chin and heaved a sigh as I wound my arms around her.
“You scare the fuck out of me.”
I waited for her to say more, but she still seemed to be processing her thoughts. If she weren’t in my arms, I would have worried this was a breakup chat. The fact we weren’t officially together didn’t seem to matter in my panicky brain.
“Is this why you’ve been pulling away?” I asked.
Her head moved against my chest.
“Can I do anything to help you trust me?”
This time, it moved back and forward.
I tightened my grip and let the silence fill the room. She would talk when she was ready. Outside, the neighbor’s dog barked, causing a chorus of responses from the houses nearby. A motorbike started down the road, the rumbling growing louder, then tapering off as they rode past our front door.
“I want to trust you. And I do. It’s life that I don’t trust. Because if you want me and I lose you, then what’s left?”
“So would you give up before we even start?”
Her shoulders slumped further. “I don’t want to.”
“Good.”
Silence returned, but it felt safer.
“I want to take you out tonight,” I said after a while. She stirred beneath me, lifting her head so I could see her eyes.
“Where?”
“Somewhere nice. Will you go out with me?”
“People will see.”
“Let them. You aren’t a dirty secret. Who gives a fuck what they think?”
She pressed her lips to mine firmly, then climbed out of my lap.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
As much as I hated seeing her doubt herself—and me—over and over, the way she pulled herself together and kept moving was fucking incredible. She wanted to try. For us.
Which was exactly what you needed in a partner when you were used to being an afterthought, like I was.
