Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Van,” she says slowly…cautiously. “I get you’re angry, and maybe the natural thing is to drive away those that care about you—”
“You’re wrong,” I tell her. “I don’t intend to drive Etta away at all.”
I let the implication hang heavy between us. I expect her to get the hint that this little adventure I took into being a normal person in a normal world just got derailed. It’s fight or flight, and I’m flying.
“Spell it out for me, Van,” Simone finally says, and I note her voice sounds as empty as her eyes look. For the first time since I met her, it appears Simone isn’t going to pursue me with the relentless determination I’ve come to know her for.
This relieves me.
Right?
I soften my voice but forge ahead with what needs to be said. “I made a mistake. I should have never gotten in this deep with you. Should have never opened myself up like I did.”
“Sounds like you’re blaming me for some reporter who wrote an article about you,” she says softly, but the anger is unmistakable.
“No, not blaming you. Just angry for taking myself off the radar to begin with.”
Technically, it’s true that the only reason I went to that prison to see Arco was because that first time I fucked Simone drove me to it. All of the feelings she’d dredged up inside of me, and the excitement I felt for finally having her, and the way she seemed determined to insinuate herself in my life.
Well, it was imperative I have my confrontation with Arco. I realize now that just that tiny bit of Simone I had was enough to give me some type of hope. It prompted me to deal with my past.
It put me right in the sights of a reporter who recognized me at the prison. Talk about dumb fucking luck.
Talk about the fact that may have never happened had I not met Simone.
I don’t say that with blame. Only with the acknowledgment that Simone changed my life in so many fucking ways, and not all of them were good.
“Would you like me to leave?” Simone asks stiffly.
I shake my head. “No. Keep the room. You have a ticket for tomorrow’s game. Return flight. Enjoy yourself. Root your brothers on.”
“But you’re going to…what?” she asks as a method to pump me for my plans.
“I have no clue what I’m going to do, but I know right now, I’m getting out of here for a bit.”
“So, what…you’re going to go back to hiding in plain sight? Doesn’t work that way. You’re a professional athlete. You are now in the media spotlight.”
“Not for much longer,” I tell her resolutely. “Not after this season is over. I’m done.”
“What?” she gasps.
“Done. I’ve got more than enough to retire on after almost ten years in the league. We’re going to win the Cup. It’s the only other goal I’ve ever wanted and I can hang on for another week to get that goal. Then I’m gone.”
“I’ll go where you go,” Simone blurts out. “Doesn’t matter where.”
I refuse to let images of Simone and me having a happy home together infiltrate my brain. I shake my head at her, trying for a gentle letdown. “No. Not now. I need time. Maybe later.”
Simone’s eyes go dark and her voice icy. “No, Van. That’s not how this works. There is no later. It’s either now—when you need me the most in your life—or not fucking ever.”
I stare at her a long moment, knowing this is the point of no return with Simone. Every instinct screams against what I’m about to say, but I say it anyway. “Then it’s not fucking ever.”
I expect her to fight, call me names, or at the very least try to seduce me into submission. But Simone merely gives a tiny nod and turns her back on me. A bolt of pure panic seizes me for a moment, something that feels entirely wretched and unbearable. It’s the realization that for the first time, Simone is letting me walk away without a fight.
The buzzing of my phone catches my attention, giving me respite from the helplessness I’m feeling, and I look down to see it’s Etta calling me. I ignore the call, but I know I’ll talk to her later.
But for now…I need to escape.
Striding across the room, I refuse to give Simone a backward glance. Maybe I’m just being overly dramatic and she’ll be here when I come back for my bags, all shored up and ready to take me on again. In fact, I bet that’s exactly what she’ll do.
Maybe that gives me some confidence to walk out the door, or maybe it’s my stupid side choosing to believe that shit.
Whatever internal lies I let myself believe, I have sufficient strength to take me from the room.
From Simone.