Page 14 of Hot Shot
The smile he gives me is bittersweet and the longing in his eyes has my heart lurching. “Yeah, I’d like that. Want me to light a fire?”
I don’t know if we should sit together like we used to. Maybe we should try something different, something that won’t bring up the past or have us falling into the discussion I know is inevitable, so I lie. “I was going to take mine to bed. I’ve got some emails to return.”
“Oh. Okay.” He looks at his wrist, the one without a watch, and says, “You’re right. It is late. And now that I think about it, I’ll pass. Do you need anything before I crash?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Come get me if you’re not.”
“Will do.” I don’t wait for him to close the door in my face. I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen. I’m no longer in the mood for hot chocolate. I’m not in the mood for anything. Turning off the lights, I grab my bag from near the front door and make my way to the spare bedroom.
Closing the door behind me I take a deep breath and wonder about the unknown wounds Bran has suffered.
Wonder how I’m going to make it through a week of this.
If I’m strong enough to face my wounds where Bran is concerned.
If I’m strong enough to face his.
Branton
I watch the sun rise from the front porch. The way the sky changes color and the world around me lightens always brings me a sliver of hope, a few minutes of peace.
Hope for what, I’m not sure, but these quiet early morning minutes have saved me more than once.
The air is frigid, burning through my chest with each breath I take. My nose is numb, my fingers and toes too. I’ve endured the freezing pre-dawn for thirty minutes, probably should have gone out on to the back deck where I can switch the heaters on to banish the frosty temperature, but the sunrise isn’t as good out there.
The peace the breaking morning brings me not as lasting.
It’s the shadows of the tall trees surrounding the backyard I think. They keep the light away longer and with it the possibility of a new beginning.
I might be doing something I’ve done most mornings since I got here. It might seem like nothing has changed. Except everything has.
Blake is here.
And for the first time in months—years—I’m thinking about something other than the shit show my life is.
My mind keeps wandering to what it could have been—what itshouldhave been.
For as long as I can remember, my future had been clear. Make the professional hockey league and be with Blake.
We’d—I’d—stupidly thought we had time. I had it all planned out. I’d hit the league, Blake already deep in her own success with both hockey and her business by then, and we’d both move toward the thing we’d agreed should wait until after we hit our professional goals, until the time was right.
Stupid.
So fucking stupid.
There is no right time.
Life, other people, all move at their own pace and with their own intentions, and those movements trip you up, those intentions detour you, stop you altogether.
I never saw it coming.
The change to my plans—our plans.
Never saw the person who, once her claws were in deep, did everything she could to destroy me, coming.
Thinking back on what I’d done, where I was now, how long I’ve been in this self-imposed exile, I have to admit she’s still destroying me.
