Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I can feel Zach watching me. “Everything all right?”
“Not sure.”
“He’s upset?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that was all.” I fill Zach in on what happened, and his eyes squint up like they always do when he’s thinking hard.
“It sounds like a typical alpha reaction to disappointment.”
Of course he would think that. I want to push and tell Zach that there was definitely something off, something upspoken but so heavy I could have choked on it, but he wouldn’t understand. Zach struggles with subtext, whereas I live in it.
Unanswered text? They’re clearly annoyed with me.
No eye contact? Hiding something.
Feeling distant? We’re about to break up.
I blow out a huge burst of air and sit up, reaching for my phone. I’m driving myself stupid with all this guessing. Richie said he’d never mess me around and always tell it to me straight, so I have to believe this is another instance of me being needy.
I can’t make this about me.
I shouldn’t need his reassurance.
But I really do.
After a few minutes of debating with myself, I finally send him a text to check in. All I ask is whether he’s okay and what his plans are for tomorrow and the drive back to Vermont. I don’t make it obvious that I’m worried, but as soon as the message is delivered, I sit gripping my phone for what feels like a lifetime.
Every minute that it goes unanswered makes that panicky feeling start bubbling back up.
His reply comes in an hour later.
I’m fine. Going to bed. I’ll meet you at your place tomorrow.
That’s it.
That’s really it.
I crawl into bed without even bothering to change. It’s ages before I drift off, and the only thing that helps is telling myself over and over that his mood will pass in the morning.
It doesn’t.
Richie leaves on the trip home with the team even though the original plan was for him to come with me and Zach. My car feels too empty. He feeds me a line about needing to be with the team, but after dating him, and with being Foster’s brother, I know that when they lose, they want as much distance from the others as possible.
So if he’d rather be around them instead of me … I couldn’t ask for clearer confirmation that his mood isn’t only over losing.
Shit.
What if he breaks up with me?
What the fuck have I done?
I almost pull over to try and get myself together, but somehow I keep from completely freaking out. Zach has his earbuds in as he listens to a podcast or audiobook or something, so he has no goddamn clue I’m borderline panicking.
But it’s fine. It’ll be okay once we get home and talk about it.
Still, I can’t shake that vibe he was giving off. The way he couldn’t even look at me.
I drop Zach off and drive slowly back to my place. I have no idea if Richie will be there already or not, but if he’s going to end it … then fuck it. There’s only so many times I can put up with my feelings being taken for granted.
My anger dies in its tracks.
I can’t lose him.
I force a few deep breaths before I get out of my car, grab my bag, and head back inside. I’m about point two seconds away from crying, which is ridiculous on so many levels. For all I know, this could all be in my head.
But the twist in my gut makes me doubt it.
Richie’s waiting outside my door. I pause before he sees me and look over the way he’s sitting. Slumped over on the floor, one hand buried in his hair while the other scrolls through his phone.
I make myself continue walking, and he finally looks up before darting his gaze away.
Not good.
He stands as I unlock the door, and when he doesn’t attempt to touch me, it hits hard. We’ve barely made it down the hall before I spin to face him. “Jesus! Would you say something?”
“Say something …” He passes me and walks into the kitchen to help himself to a beer. “Should I start with how fucked that game was? How I’ll get to look back, for the rest of my damn life, and remember that my last ever game of hockey was a complete fucking mess?”
I go to comfort him, but he cuts me off.
“Or should I talk about how Jacobs blames it all on himself? How he kept talking about the fact Grant wouldn’t have let that happen. Grant didn’t need a co-captain to win the Frozen Four. But Grant also didn’t have injuries and food poisoning to deal with.” Richie’s voice is growing louder. “And Grant didn’t have one of his forwards distracted the whole game because his boyfriend went behind his fucking back.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit on a fucking stick.
Think, Seth!
My mind is completely blank.