Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“She didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Yes, she did. And she made it. She chose you, Dallas.”
“She didn’t want to ruin my career. She never wanted me.”
“Did those words come out of her mouth?”
“No. But she doesn’t date players. She dates smart, educated guys who don’t do stupid shit, like propose in front of an entire arena.”
“Your excuses are bullshit, big brother. The proposal could have backfired spectacularly.”
“It did backfire!”
“So you say. But I’m pretty sure the reason she hasn’t dated a hockey player before is because of the bureaucratic headaches and office politics. And smart isn’t limited to people with PhDs, Dallas. She would not have agreed to be with you if she didn’t find this package attractive on more than just a physical level.” She motions to me. “She doesn’t strike me as the shallow type.”
“She’s not.”
“So let me ask you again, why are you sitting here, regretting your choices, when you should be figuring out a way to fix this?”
“What if there’s nothing to fix? All she said when I broke it off was okay.”
“Fucking hell, Dallas.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Think about it from her perspective. For nearly a decade, she believed you sabotaged her life because you flexed your popularity. And when she joined the team you signed up for every promo known to man to spend time with her. But you never told her the truth. Instead, you pushed every last button she had, like you were back in high school all over again. Man. Child. Finally, you tell her you love her, and then you break up with her before she even has a chance to catch up, like it was all just another game to you.”
“Fuck. It’s not a game.”
“You wanted her attention. And then when it got real, and hard, instead of saying, ‘Hey, I messed this up. I want to be engaged to you, but now that we’re in a real relationship, I realize maybe you would prefer that I propose when you’re actually ready, whenever that is. So how do you want to move forward?’, you just gave up on the love of your life. Like a saggy scrotum. You made the decision without consulting her, a-fucking-gain.”
“Why are you being so mean?”
“I’m not being mean; I’m being real. Don’t be a baby. Hemi would have this exact conversation with you if she were in my position and not on the receiving end of this breakup. Your biggest flaw is that you don’t think you’re good enough, which is mind-blowing, considering how you don’t have to be anyone other than yourself for people to want to be in your orbit. What if you are exactly the right person for Hemi? What if you’re everything she actually she needed?”
“This pain is astounding.”
“Welcome to falling in love and then fucking it up. It hurts. Love is the most powerful emotion. It makes us incredibly vulnerable, but when it works, when it’s right and real, it’s the most beautiful, wonderful thing.” She sighs, and her expression turns sad. She’s only twenty-three, and it makes me wonder what’s happened to her heart while I’ve been off living my life. “You have the potential to be the best boyfriend, husband, dad, and friend Hemi could ever hope to have. But you didn’t give her a chance. So this is where you are.” She motions to the setting sun. “Now you have to decide if it’s where you’re going to stay.”
I drive home the next morning after breakfast with the family. My place smells like lemon and cleaning supplies when I arrive, which is to be expected. I drop my bag in the laundry room and stop in my bedroom, frowning at the lack of nightshirt on Wills’s side of the bed. I folded it and left it there out of habit.
My heart aches when I open the top drawer of my dresser, where Wills leaves her sleepwear, and find it empty. I move to the closet, already knowing what waits for me. But I’m unable to believe it unless I see it with my own eyes. Empty hangers greet me on the right side, where Wills’s clothes used to be. The outfits I bought for her are all still there, though. Did she think I’d want her to give them back?
My bedroom is too depressing, so I move to the living room. The blanket she brought over for cuddle-on-the-couch nights is gone. She took everything that was hers.
The awful ache in my chest expands when I reach the kitchen. On the counter is an envelope, my apartment key, and her engagement ring. I pick it up by the band and curl my fist around it, the diamonds biting into my palm. I slide it onto my pinkie and pick up the envelope. My hands are unsteady as I break the seal. I don’t know what I expect to find. A scathing letter? An admission that I was right all along, she would never love me the way I loved—love—her?