Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
My shoulders slump at the mention of the Jumbotron incident. “Does it still bother you?”
She screws up the corner of her lips, like she’s giving it some thought. “No. Not really.”
“Which one?”
“Well, both.” She blows out a breath. “I see a therapist pretty regularly. I saw her a few days ago when you were on the road trip. We talked about a bunch of things, but also that.”
I had no idea she was in therapy. “Did it help?”
“She talks about moving on, helping me practice self-compassion.”
“How do you do that?”
“I try to be nice to myself. Sometimes that means getting a face mask—standard self-care. Sometimes it’s time with friends. Other times it’s reminding myself that I’m not just the woman who got dumped. That I can learn from what happened.”
“What do you think you learned?”
She sighs, thoughtfully. “To be less controlling. To let things happen at their own pace.”
She’s suddenly an open book, and I can’t stop asking questions. “How were you controlling?”
She shrugs, maybe a little sheepishly. “I like things to go a certain way, to be right. For dates to go well—those that I plan of course. But also my own. For nights out to go well. Things with my family. I need to try to be okay with things not being perfect.”
There’s so much in there about Remy. That she wants to relax, but that it’s hard for her. Maybe even that she needs time to deal with her breakup.
“She sounds really smart,” I say.
“She is. I’m glad I see her.” She lifts her chin, all proud and tough. “So you didn’t have to protect me from that question.”
“I would have though. If you’d wanted me to.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then nods. “I know you would.”
“Glad you know that.” But I’m not ready to move on to another question yet. The door’s been pushed ajar by her truth card, so I kick it open farther. “Do I need to protect you from seeing him outside of the wedding events? Does it hurt when you do?”
“No,” she says, and the speed of her answer makes me want to kiss the sky. “I’m all good there. Sure, I’ve kind of questioned all my life choices because how was I ever with him? But seriously, it’s kind of amazing how something like that makes you realize you are better off without someone.”
Fuck yes. I fight off a shit-eating grin but can’t quite smother a small smile. “Good. You’re so much better off without him.”
“It only took a Jumbotron incident for me to learn that.” She digs for a card, shooting me a playful glance. “Now it’s my turn to ask you something.”
I brace myself as she reviews the card.
“Would you date your college crush today?”
Oh, shit. Is this game holding up a mirror to my black soul? I swallow uncomfortably, thinking of Heather, the bold, confident athlete I met my freshman year at the college rink. We hit it off, connecting instantly with our passion for the game.
But something changed after we got married right after graduation. We were both so focused on our worlds as pro athletes that we stopped focusing on each other. We were all hockey all the time, and it felt like there was no space to grow, or change.
I think I changed.
I meet Remy’s gaze, earnest and open, making it hard to lie as I pull myself back into the here and now. “I don’t think I would.”
Her lips part, soft, full of concern. “You wouldn’t?” It comes out staccato, concerned. But also clear. She knows what she’s asking. She’s asking if I’d marry my late wife all over again.
I’m keenly aware this answer doesn’t make me look good. But she told the truth and I ought to do the same. This isn’t quite admitting Heather and I weren’t in love—I’ll keep that terrible truth locked up, but I nod and say, “I think I want different things now.”
“What do you want?” she asks tentatively.
To take care of the people I love. But I say something else true. “I don’t want to fail the people I care about.”
She gives a soft, small smile. “I doubt you are.”
I think of my dad staying inside all the time. I wonder. I wish. And I hope.
I move on, too, by grabbing another card. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“Easy. Snakes,” she says, but there’s something in her eyes—a shift—that tells me she’s afraid of something else more than slithery creatures. Maybe something deeper, more emotional. Especially since she turns the question around with a quick, “You?”
“Is that your card?” I tease.
“No, I just want to know.”
“Hurting someone I care about,” I say, a variation on my theme today evidently.
She nods, like she’s taking in that info, then she tilts her head. “For what it’s worth, you’re not hurting me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Did I think I was? No. But do I want to? Hell no. “I’m glad.”