Page 130 of Beyond the Lines
My temples throb. I should probably let him burn himself out. But something hot and defiant rises in my chest. I’ve let him have one solid shot and to push me around a bit, but my patience isn’t limitless. So when he tries to push me against the truck again, I shove back. He doesn’t expect it, and lands on his ass.
“Lea is an adult,” I say, the words measured and deliberate. “She makes her own choices about who she dates. And if she wants to date me, she can.”
“Bullshit.” Mike advances again. “She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s still recovering from that asshole Chris?—”
“Which I know all about.” I stand my ground this time. “We talk, Mike. We don’t just fuck, OK?”
His eyes widen slightly. “She?—”
“You don’t get to protect her from living her life,” I interrupt. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell her who to love.”
“Love?” His face contorts as he starts back to his feet, furyblazing in his eyes again. “Don’t you dare throw that word around?—”
“I love her, Mike,” I say. “I love her.”
The words hang in the night air. I didn’t plan to say it—not like this, not to Mike before Lea herself. But it’s out there now, and it’s true. The realization washes over me. I love her, and I’ve probably loved her since that first night at Marie’s Diner.
“You love her?” He shakes his head, still on his ass. “That’s bullshit. You barely know each other.”
“We know each other plenty,” I counter, standing my ground. “We spent a whole night talking after that frat party, and we’ve been working on a project together in our art class for weeks. I know she adores you, struggles with your parents, and lives in the shadow of your grandmother…” I know her, Mike.”
“No.” He starts climbing back to his feet, then jabs a finger at my chest. “You don’t get to claim that. Not after a few weeks of sneaking around.”
A car drives by, its headlights briefly illuminating us—two idiots arguing on a sidewalk, one with blood on his face, and the other with steam coming out of his ears. The driver slows down, probably hoping for more drama, but speeds up when Mike glares at them.
“You’re not good enough for her,” Mike says, his voice low now. The quiet is somehow worse than the shouting. “You never will be.”
That stings more than I want to admit. “Why? Because I play hockey? Because I’m your teammate? What, exactly, disqualifies me?”
“She deserves someone stable.” Hisjaw tightens. “Not someone who’s going to desert her for the NHL the second they get a contract.”
I nearly laugh at the irony. “You won’t have to worry about that,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “Because I’m not going to the NHL. This is my last season.”
Mike’s anger falters in a single moment, confusion taking its place. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m done after graduation.” The words feel both terrifying and liberating to say out loud. “I’m focusing on my art.”
“You’re…” He blinks, like he’s trying to process words in another language. “That’s stupid. You’re one of the best players in college hockey. That scout?—”
“I don’t care about the scout.” I shrug, wincing slightly when the movement pulls at my split lip. “I care about my art. And I care about Lea.”
“So you’re throwing everything away? Just like that?” His face has drained of color. “Years of work? Everything we’ve built on this team?”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m choosing something else.” I hesitate, then add, “Something that matters more to me.”
Something flashes across Mike’s face—hurt, betrayal, and disbelief. For a moment, I think he might actually hit me again. Instead, his expression hardens into something cold and distant.
“Fuck you, Dec.” He backs away, shaking his head. “Just… fuck you.”
He turns and storms off down the sidewalk. I should go after him, try to explain more, but I know Mike well enough to recognize when he needs space. Besides, my lip is starting to throb like a bastard, and I should probably get some ice on it.
As I watch him go, I let out a long sigh. My jaw aches, myhead is pounding, and I’ve probably just destroyed one of my closest friendships—but oddly enough, I feel lighter than I have in months. No more sneaking around. No more hiding what I really want.
My next thought is Lea. I know that’s where Mike is headed, and I need to warn her. Briefly, I consider going over there myself, but in Mike’s current mood I think that’ll just inflame the situation. No, better to warn her instead, so she can handle it how she chooses.
So after firing off a quick warning text to Lea, I start the long and lonely walk back to my apartment. But, with each passing step, it feels like I’m on the right path for the first time in months, because I’ve made my choices and the truth is finally out there.
And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a relief.
