Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
I’d checked on Ava, called in Uncle Mitch, let Chef Patel know that I wanted Chloe to take the day off, and then… I’d left.
It made perfect sense when I did it.
I justified my actions with excuses that felt sound. I just needed a little time to think, to work through what this meant, to know what to say when I saw her. I’d just get through practice and then I’d suddenly know what to do.
But the longer I was at the rink, the more I worked my body into the ground, the more I realized it wouldn’t stop my mind from racing. It wouldn’t change the fact that I didn’t know what all this meant or what came next.
I only knew that somewhere along the way, I’d fallen in love with Chloe Knott.
And that wasn’t a part of our agreement.
I should have stayed this morning. I should have worked through it with her. I should have confessed that I’m an idiot and that she makes me want to break every rule I’ve ever made.
But I was afraid.
I was afraid of not having control, of not being the one with everything handled.
I was afraid of repeating a past that still haunted me to this day, of hurting her, of putting her in danger somehow just by becoming involved with her.
There was so much riding on what happened next. If I confessed my feelings for her, would she even reciprocate them? Would she want what I do?
To be together?
The best-case scenario was that she would, and even that would leave a host of questions — her employment with me, her living situation, her job at the school once she was in the media limelight…
Ava.
My chest tightened at the thought of my daughter, of how this would impact her.
Because the worst-case scenario of me telling Chloe how I felt would be that she didn’t want what I want, that I crossed a line and now she’s uncomfortable.
That now she wanted to leave.
And even if the best-case scenario happened, there was the very real possibility that Chloe and I may not work out in the long run. And then where would that leave us?
Where would that leave my daughter?
The other option was to lie to her, to say last night meant nothing, that the last few months had meant nothing.
The best-case scenario there would be that she agreed, that we’d laugh it off and go back to whatever kind of normal we could find after. The worst case would be that I hurt her, that she admits there’s more to it for her and she can’t continue the way we have been.
And in both situations — it was still a lie.
A lie I couldn’t live with.
A lie I wasn’t even sure I could mutter at this point.
My mind was a hot, seeping mess of thoughts like these, one whipping in before the previous thought could even pack its bags. This was what I had been so afraid of from the beginning. It was why I told myself to stay far away from her, to not entertain my desire for her.
But I had.
And that desire wasn’t born from wanting her body alone.
It was from wanting all of her.
I loved her.
I knew it before I even admitted it silently to myself, and yet the thought hit me like a train. I stopped pedaling, hanging my arms on the bars and resting my head between them in defeat.
I fucking loved her.
I loved her positivity, her light, her humor. I loved how strong and independent she was, how she’d created a life on her own without needing attention or validation from anyone else. I loved that she knew herself so fully, that she was so unapologetic in her hobbies, her philosophies, her way of life.
I loved the way she loved my daughter.
I loved how she’d brought the sunshine into our lives, how she’d made that giant house a home.
I loved the way she laughed, the way she found a way to make me laugh again. I loved her crazy midnight existential crises and her asshole cats.
I loved how she knew what I needed before I ever had to say it, and how she let me in when everything inside her said she shouldn’t.
I’d taken that trust for granted this morning.
I should have said something, but I’d clammed all the way up.
And now, as the hours ticked by, it felt like it was too late to fix it.
Once again, I was frozen, a prisoner of my own stupidity.
The gym door opened without a sound, the only cue a brush of cold air drafting across my heated skin. I dragged myself to sit upright, mopping my face with a towel before I looked over my shoulder.
Aleks Suter looked grumpier than me when he sauntered in, his brows furrowed, teeth practically bared as he slung his bag into a corner. As the final push before playoffs did to all of us, he was thinner than when the season started, his muscles more pronounced from days and days of skating nonstop.