Page 8 of Let Me Love You

Not gonna happen.

935.555.4246

Fine. We’ll do it your way.

Another text follows right after, and I know—I fucking know—it’s gonna ruin everything.

935.555.4246

You have a son, Colt. Congratulations.

A stone drops in my gut, and I squeeze the phone, my fingers turning white from the pressure. A haze falls over the text as I reread it a dozen times.

No.

No. I don’t accept it. She’s lying. She has to be.

I jab out a response.

Me

Not possible.

935.555.4246

Trust me. It is.

Me

We haven’t seen each other in a year and a half.

935.555.4246

Yeah. I know.

Me

And you never thought to reach out before now? Before I signed with the Lions this year? Looks a little greedy, doesn’t it? Excellent timing, Eleanor.

935.555.4246

I was a little busy with my divorce, so you’ll have to cut me some slack for the crappy timing.

My chin falls to my chest, and I take a deep breath. I’d heard about the divorce. Heard about how I ruined her marriage with Professor Elshner after he found out about the affair. Heard about how he refused to pay child support for their kid and insisted on filing a paternity action. Yeah, I’ve heard way too much about the past affair and the fallout after I was kicked out of Dixie Tech and transferred to LAU. But I never looked into it. Never wanted to. It was in the past where it belonged. Where it needed tostay. Ash already knew I’d slept with a married woman. No need to reopen old wounds. Besides, the aftermath was a bunch of bullshit that didn’t involve me, so I kept my nose out of it, wishing everyone else would too.

It didn’t stop a few players from throwing accusations at me on the ice, though. I wish I could ignore Eleanor the same way I’ve ignored all the haters at the rink.

But I know Eleanor. And I know she isn’t a shitty person. A lonely person, sure. But she wasn’t some reckless housewife desperate for a good fucking. She was quiet. Lonely. We met at a coffee shop next to campus. And I never got greedy vibes from her, either. So why the hell is she reaching out now?

I scrub my hand over my face, guilt bubbling in my gut, nauseating me.

I hate my past. Everything about it. Who I was. How I acted. What I did.

I was so fucked before I found Ashlyn. So destructive. To everyone and everything around me.

Even Eleanor.

We were only hooking up. I might not’ve known she was married, but when I look back at our history, I can’t help but wonder if I subconsciously ignored the signs instead of acknowledging she was taken. If I made up bullshit excuses for the pretty fucking huge red flags, and if I’m doing it again under the guise of not wanting to rock the boat with Ashlyn.

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