Page 121 of What Are The Odds?
“Grace.”
She whipped around before rushing out the words, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I watched her for a moment. Her chest heaved up and down, and her face was etched with sadness. It tugged at my heart.
I sighed. “We have to eventually.”
“Eventually,” she agreed. “But I don’t want to think about it right now.”
I paced towards her, my breath forming in front of me. I knew her ammo was to get drunk so we didn’t have to talk about it. But maybe mine was to get drunk so I had the courage to say what I wanted. Was I super buzzed? Not really. Did I have enough alcohol in my system for some liquid courage though? Sure did. And this was long overdue.
“I love you,” I said.
There it was. In the open. And my chest felt fucking lighter now it was out there. Grace’s eyes widened and her lips parted. She stumbled back slightly.
“I love you,” I repeated. “And I want you to stay.”
She gulped. “Stay where?”
She knew, but if she needed me to say it, I would.
“Preferably Colorado after we graduate. But I’d settle for the country.”
Grace wrapped her arms around her body, trying to ward off the cold. She didn’t have anything on over my jersey and that wasn’t exactly weather appropriate.
"I need to know what happens next, Grace. Because I swear to God if I fall any more in love with you, I am going to break when you leave.”
Grace stared at me with unblinking, nervous eyes. “Are you saying you want to break up if I decide to go home?”
“Of course not,” I quickly answered. “But come on, Grace. It was hard enough when we were in separate states before Thanksgiving. Different countries. . .”
I let the words hover.
“I know,” she said softly.
She lowered her gaze to the ground, scuffing her sneaker against the concrete.
“Can you at least tell me where your head’s at?” I asked. “You know what I want now. But I have no idea what you’re thinking. I mean, have you even thought about it?”
She was silent for a moment. Her mind was working a million miles a second. I wanted to understand every single one of her thoughts, and talk about them, then work through them. And most importantly, come up with a solution where I didn’t end up broken hearted.
"Forty-one,” she said.
I frowned, confused. I wasn’t following.
“Forty-one games of your season will be away. I’ve looked it up.”
“Okay.”
My response came out as more of a question. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“That’s forty-one times I'd be left alone in a city where the only person I know is you,” she went on. “And I’m not saying that like some co-dependent girlfriend. I’m saying it as someone who would be really bloody lonely.”
It wasn’t ideal, I knew that. But some of those stints would just be a night here and there. Granted, some were longer. But we’d still be together more often than we weren’t.
“You’ll make friends, Hughesy,” I countered. “And Lana will be back after she graduates.”
“That’s not the point. The point is I wouldn't be with the person I’d be staying for.”
