Page 177 of Playing the Pucking Game
The sugar hits the spot, and I swallow it all down, chewing the gooey marshmallows.
With it warming me from the inside out, I sink down, pulling the sheets up to my neck.
The apartment is silent, and I hate it. I want to hear him moving around so that I know I’m not alone. Even if I could just hear his TV, I’d know someone was there.
He is, I know he is. I believe his note. But…
A tear slips free, soaking into my pillowcase.
It’s ridiculous to feel lonely. All I have to do is pick up my cell, and I could talk to someone in seconds. Mom and Dad, I’m not exactly sure where they are right now, but they’d drop anything to talk to me. Casey would, too. And Rett. Hell, I could probably call some of the guys and they would answer.
But I don’t want to interrupt any of their lives with my bullshit.
Sure, I lost my apartment and my things. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. Everyone I love is happy and healthy, and they’re all living their best lives. I’ve got my dream job, and I’m traveling around the country, discovering new things every week. I shouldn’t be wallowing, but I can’t pull myself out of the slump I’ve fallen into.
The tears fall harder, the sobs that accompany them gradually growing louder, but I lose the ability to care. I figure that if I get it all out, I’ll feel better afterward, so I fully allow myself to drown.
I have no awareness of the time, only that my eyes are sore, my throat burns, and my pillow is soaked.
I pray for sleep to claim me and take me off to somewhere else, but it doesn’t come.
A miracle doesn’t happen until…
The mattress dips beside me and I gasp, opening my bleary eyes to find Linc crawling into my bed, wearing only a pair of boxers.
“Come here,” he says softly, settling on his back and slipping his arm under my shoulders to pull me to him.
Multiple questions dance on the tip of my tongue as I settle with my head on his bare chest, my arm around his waist, and my leg hooked over his.
It’s so easy. So natural. And he holds me with the kind of confidence of someone who’s been doing this for years.
His lips press against the top of my head, and he breathes me in as my own ragged breath evens out.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t press me to know why I’m crying. He just…holds me. Supports me. Gives me the relief and the comfort that I was craving but too stubborn to ask for.
Time ticks on. I have no idea if it’s still night or if we’re creeping into morning. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing does in that moment.
Only us and the connection I thought I’d managed to sever all those years ago.
“I think about it, you know,” he whispers, letting me know that he’s still with me, and apparently that his thoughts are in a very similar place.
“Think about what?” I ask, my voice hoarse from crying.
He chuckles.
“And I don’t just think about that night. I think about all of it.”
“All of what?” I ask, intrigued enough to be led down this road.
“You. Any part of my life that involves you.”
My brain misfires, and I drag my bottom lip into my mouth as I consider his words.
“B-but…you hate me.”
His body shakes with a laugh again. “I’ve never hated you, Parker. And I don’t think you ever hated me, either. You just convinced yourself you did to protect yourself.”
I push from his chest and stare down at him.
