Page 37 of Blocked Shot
Natalie stiffens. Of course Mila knows. She always sees through her. Natalie exhales and sets the whisk down. “We... we kissed again last night.”
“I knew it!” Mila shrieks with a delighted shimmy. A beat. She studies Natalie. “Wait, and you’re saying that’s… bad?”
Natalie opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t know how she feels. Or maybe she does, and that’s the problem.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I think—yes. It complicates things.”
Mila considers for a moment before saying gently, “Or maybe it clarifies things. Let me ask you this: Would he make you happy?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” The words are out of Natalie’s mouth before she can stop them.
“Nat, look at me.” Mila turns her best friend gently, taking her by the shoulders, slouching down so she can peer directly into her eyes. “Of course it matters. You matter. This isn’t junior hockey anymore and Jesse’s not a kid. He’ll understand.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Natalie whispers.
They’re interrupted by Jesse, returning to the kitchen, arms laden with a soup pot and a warming dish covered in foil.
“What’s all this?” Natalie asks.
“Mac dropped it off,” Jesse says, depositing everything on the counter and lifting the foil lid on the pierogis. “Is this what you guys made yesterday? They smell weird,” he said, sniffing cautiously at the tray.
“He’s not staying?” Natalie asks, her voice trembling.
“Guess not,” Jesse shrugs.
But Natalie barely hears. She is wiping her hands on her apron and dashing to the door, heart climbing into her throat. She yanks it open, flying down the apartment hallway in her sock feet.
Ahead, she spots him, walking fast, his shoulders tense and unyielding,
“Jake!” she calls out as he reaches the elevators, her voice laced with something raw and tangled—panic, regret, maybe even hope.
He stops at the elevator, but doesn’t turn. His back stays rigid, fistsclenched tight at his sides, like he’s bracing for something he doesn’t want to hear.
“You’re not staying?” Natalie asks breathlessly.
“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he says gruffly, still not turning to face her.
“Jake, I’m sorry,” Natalie says breathlessly. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have kissed you. And I shouldn’t have left. It’s not fair.”
“It’s fine,” he says, reaching for the elevator’s call button. “I shouldn’t have called you. I know you don’t want this.”
Natalie closes her eyes. His words sting, causing a hollow ache to spread across her chest. How could he think she does not want this? It’s one of the first things she wanted for herself in a long time.
“Jake, I—” Natalie begins, but the words tangle in her throat, useless against the storm churning in her chest. Nothing she says could quiet the ache clawing at her ribs, or peel the regret wrapped tight around her. Finally, she breathes, “I’m glad you called me.”
Natalie reaches her hand and gently touches his outstretched forearm, lowering it. “Please stay. Jesse and the boys want you here. I want you here.”
Jake finally turns to look at her. His gaze is steady, but his jaw is clenched.
“Please Jake,” Natalie whispers. “I don’t want to be the reason you spend Christmas alone. Pretend I’m not here. Ignore me.”
“I could never ignore you, Natalie,” Jake says, breaking his stare and glancing away, as if afraid to look at her. His expression is pained, and his words come out ragged, as though each one cuts deeper than the last. “You’re all I think about.”
Natalie stares at him, her heart heavy. His confession brings a tidal wave of emotions crashing over her. The silence in the apartment hallway only amplifies the roar in her mind—an overwhelming swirl of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys.’
The elevator chimes, its doors sliding open to reveal Tristan and Pavel, shaking the snow from their coats.
Tristan wolf whistles as he takes in Natalie’s messy bun, splattered apron, and Christmas tree socks. “Sexy apron, Natalie. My gran has one similar.”
