Skidding to a halt at the door, I took a deep breath and opened it up.
And yes, he was just as breathtaking as ever. More so, if you took into account I hadn’t seen him in four days—unless you count hungrily watching him on TV. We had talked on the phone, not often because he’d said he was so busy between travel, games and practices, but enough to keep me primed and ready. If he seemed a little distracted or distant, I chalked that up to the incredible stress he was under. Between not playing up to par and his dad leaving rehab early, I knew he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his massive chest. “I missed you.”
He gave me a light squeeze and then released me, stepping past me into the house. In my line of work, perception is key, and I immediately sensed a tense energy surrounding Alex. I quietly closed the door and turned to face him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not even needing the nervous look on his face to confirm my suspicions just based on that one, perfunctory hug.
“Nothing,” he said hastily.
Way too hastily, and the fact he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze head-on caused warning bells to start a five-alarm chorus.
“Alex,” I said softly and took a step toward him with my arm reaching out. “What’s wrong?”
He took a short step back, and then turned away from me, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His shoulders were tense as he walked over and sat on the couch. “Actually, I guess we need to talk.”
Alex turned his body on the couch so when I took the seat next to him he was facing me. He laid an arm across the back of the sofa, putting his hand near my head. I was heartened briefly when he reached out and stroked his fingertips across my hair, and equally saddened when he moved them away.
“You’re kind of scaring me here,” I tried to tease but it came out all panicked and needy.
His eyes rose to meet mine and they were sad and just a tiny bit aloof.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he began and my stomach started to knot. “About us. About my career…my dad. Just a lot of shit has been processing in my head.”
“You’ve had a lot of stress on you,” I agreed, reaching out to rub my fingers on his knee.
His gaze dropped from my mine, and he watched my fingers play absently on his denim-covered leg. He had an almost pained look—which never left his face—when he decided to look at me again.
“I think I have too much on my plate. And it’s affecting how I play. I’ve lost my focus and it’s really starting to bother me that I’m letting my team down.”
My words were measured and careful. “I can see that.”
Alex gave me a small smile and then scooted forward on the couch so he was sitting on the edge of the cushion. This effectively dislodged my hand and the loss of contact with him left me cold. He braced his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down loose as he stared at the floor. Giving a helpless sort of laugh, he said, “The ironic thing is…you’re the one that got me loving the game again. It’s solely to your credit that I even give a shit that I’m letting my team down.”
He turned his face toward me, giving that sad smile again. “You…who knew nothing about the game of hockey, about what it takes to really make it in this league. The girl who had to Google what a hat trick was. You renewed my spirit when it came to playing hockey.”
With his words trailing off, Alex faced forward again to stare at the floor.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there,” I prompted. I needed him to say it because I could already tell by the dejected tone in his voice and the defeated body language what was coming next.
“But,” he picked up where I left off, “I think you may be the one who’s distracting me from my game.”
Okay, so that’s maybe not where I thought the conversation was going. I sensed that I was in the middle of what was going to be a very painful breakup, but I didn’t think Alex would blame his poor play on me. If anything, I thought he’d say this was moving too fast, or that he simply wasn’t ready for a committed relationship.
The fact that he seemed to be laying his woes on my doorstep sort of pissed me off, so I know my words came out harsher than I meant them to. “You seriously can’t be blaming me for your poor stats.”
“It’s not blame, Sutton,” he said apologetically while turning to face me again. “It’s about distraction.”
“Distraction?” I asked, a tad shrilly as I stood up from the couch. “You call what we have…what we’ve done…what we’ve meant to each other a distraction?”
Sitting back up, Alex rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. You’re twisting it.”
“Well, make it clearer to me.” I put my hands on my h*ps and glared down at him.
Standing up slowly from the couch, he took a step toward me but made no move to touch me.
Instead, he placed his hands in his pockets. “I have a lot of stuff going on in my life right now. A career that could be on the verge of collapsing, a sick, alcoholic father and—”
“Me,” I provided for him angrily. “You have me. To support you, to help you out, to love you. But you don’t see me like that, do you?”
“I just—” he started to say, but I had heard enough.
“Say it, Alex,” I taunted him. “Tell me you don’t love me, because you sure as hell never said the words to me, despite the fact I’ve given them to you along with my heart. Tell me that I’m just a distraction and that you think I’m hurting your precious career.”
And yes, he was just as breathtaking as ever. More so, if you took into account I hadn’t seen him in four days—unless you count hungrily watching him on TV. We had talked on the phone, not often because he’d said he was so busy between travel, games and practices, but enough to keep me primed and ready. If he seemed a little distracted or distant, I chalked that up to the incredible stress he was under. Between not playing up to par and his dad leaving rehab early, I knew he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his massive chest. “I missed you.”
He gave me a light squeeze and then released me, stepping past me into the house. In my line of work, perception is key, and I immediately sensed a tense energy surrounding Alex. I quietly closed the door and turned to face him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not even needing the nervous look on his face to confirm my suspicions just based on that one, perfunctory hug.
“Nothing,” he said hastily.
Way too hastily, and the fact he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze head-on caused warning bells to start a five-alarm chorus.
“Alex,” I said softly and took a step toward him with my arm reaching out. “What’s wrong?”
He took a short step back, and then turned away from me, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His shoulders were tense as he walked over and sat on the couch. “Actually, I guess we need to talk.”
Alex turned his body on the couch so when I took the seat next to him he was facing me. He laid an arm across the back of the sofa, putting his hand near my head. I was heartened briefly when he reached out and stroked his fingertips across my hair, and equally saddened when he moved them away.
“You’re kind of scaring me here,” I tried to tease but it came out all panicked and needy.
His eyes rose to meet mine and they were sad and just a tiny bit aloof.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he began and my stomach started to knot. “About us. About my career…my dad. Just a lot of shit has been processing in my head.”
“You’ve had a lot of stress on you,” I agreed, reaching out to rub my fingers on his knee.
His gaze dropped from my mine, and he watched my fingers play absently on his denim-covered leg. He had an almost pained look—which never left his face—when he decided to look at me again.
“I think I have too much on my plate. And it’s affecting how I play. I’ve lost my focus and it’s really starting to bother me that I’m letting my team down.”
My words were measured and careful. “I can see that.”
Alex gave me a small smile and then scooted forward on the couch so he was sitting on the edge of the cushion. This effectively dislodged my hand and the loss of contact with him left me cold. He braced his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down loose as he stared at the floor. Giving a helpless sort of laugh, he said, “The ironic thing is…you’re the one that got me loving the game again. It’s solely to your credit that I even give a shit that I’m letting my team down.”
He turned his face toward me, giving that sad smile again. “You…who knew nothing about the game of hockey, about what it takes to really make it in this league. The girl who had to Google what a hat trick was. You renewed my spirit when it came to playing hockey.”
With his words trailing off, Alex faced forward again to stare at the floor.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there,” I prompted. I needed him to say it because I could already tell by the dejected tone in his voice and the defeated body language what was coming next.
“But,” he picked up where I left off, “I think you may be the one who’s distracting me from my game.”
Okay, so that’s maybe not where I thought the conversation was going. I sensed that I was in the middle of what was going to be a very painful breakup, but I didn’t think Alex would blame his poor play on me. If anything, I thought he’d say this was moving too fast, or that he simply wasn’t ready for a committed relationship.
The fact that he seemed to be laying his woes on my doorstep sort of pissed me off, so I know my words came out harsher than I meant them to. “You seriously can’t be blaming me for your poor stats.”
“It’s not blame, Sutton,” he said apologetically while turning to face me again. “It’s about distraction.”
“Distraction?” I asked, a tad shrilly as I stood up from the couch. “You call what we have…what we’ve done…what we’ve meant to each other a distraction?”
Sitting back up, Alex rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. You’re twisting it.”
“Well, make it clearer to me.” I put my hands on my h*ps and glared down at him.
Standing up slowly from the couch, he took a step toward me but made no move to touch me.
Instead, he placed his hands in his pockets. “I have a lot of stuff going on in my life right now. A career that could be on the verge of collapsing, a sick, alcoholic father and—”
“Me,” I provided for him angrily. “You have me. To support you, to help you out, to love you. But you don’t see me like that, do you?”
“I just—” he started to say, but I had heard enough.
“Say it, Alex,” I taunted him. “Tell me you don’t love me, because you sure as hell never said the words to me, despite the fact I’ve given them to you along with my heart. Tell me that I’m just a distraction and that you think I’m hurting your precious career.”
