Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“I hate letting people down,” he confesses.
“Because you’ve been let down a lot?” I ask softly.
He shrugs, then nods. “By the people closest to me. My parents, and this girl I dated once.”
“That makes sense. But I want to be one of the people in your life that you can be honest with, and you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings, or me being upset with you when you are, okay?”
He takes my hand. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at that right away.”
“That’s okay, we’re all works in progress, Mac.”
“You’re so fucking cool, Ophelia.”
“I don’t know about cool, but I try to be a good friend, even though sometimes I can get real serious, like now.” I poke at my cake, feeling silly and embarrassed for getting so intense.
“Don’t do that. Don’t hide your pretty eyes.” He tips my chin up. “I like your serious, Fee. I’ve never had someone who wants to get deep with me. The guys are great, and awesome friends, but mostly our focus is hockey.”
“Makes sense. It takes up a lot of space in your life,” I reply.
He nods. “It’s always been an escape for me. Like when I was young and my parents split, I really dove into the sport and made it my thing.”
“I did the same thing with art. Is that how you coped with the stress?” I only knew the in-love version of my mom. Lexi didn’t have that when she was growing up, and I see now that part of it was my mom trying to make her relationship with my dad be all the things her relationship with Lexi’s dad wasn’t.
“Yeah. They fought all the time when they were together. Like they just couldn’t…get along? And I was always trying to make them happy so they wouldn’t get into it with each other. The people pleaser in me, I guess?” He smiles ruefully.
“Makes sense, though. No one wants to see the people they love fight all the time.” My parents never fought. Although I’m not sure that’s better. Lexi and Roman disagree, but they always have a conversation without raised voices.
“I really hated it,” Mac confides. “But it was better after the divorce. My dad’s been married and divorced again, but my mom remarried and it’s a much healthier relationship. They complement each other. They argue sometimes, but it doesn’t turn into yelling matches, or slamming doors, or any of the stuff that used to happen when I was little. I guess it’s made me conflict averse? I don’t like upsetting people, so I try not to.”
“I totally get that.” And it explains why he always gave girls false hope when they approached him. “That must have been really stressful as a kid.”
“Yeah.” He nods and fiddles with my fingers. “I didn’t know it wasn’t normal until my parents divorced and the fighting stopped. And then my mom met my stepdad and it didn’t start again. Like I finally saw what a relationship with communication looked like. But it’s nothing like what you’ve gone through.”
“It’s just different. Trauma is trauma. However that experience shaped you and made you feel isn’t any less valid because it’s perceived as less extreme,” I reply.
“You’ve lost a lot, though.”
“So did you. All that stability, or the idea of stability, just poof, right? I gained things, too. I have an amazing older sister, and Roman is a kick-ass guy. His gift-giving skills are legendary. And he comes with this whole Terror family. It wasn’t until we moved to Toronto that I truly understood what it meant to have the support of a family that rallies around you. The way the team shows up for us…it’s special. I’m lucky. I’ll miss my parents every day for the rest of my life, but I like to believe that they sent Roman and everyone who comes with him to help heal my heart.”
Mac curves my palm against his cheek. “You have the most incredible heart, Ophelia.”
“Thanks.” I don’t brush the compliment off, because I know when Mac gives them, they have meaning. “I feel the same way about you.”
“What do you say we pack up the rest of our cake and go back to my place?” His voice drops. “So I can have you all to myself.”
I nod, my mouth going dry as my stomach fills with butterflies. “I’d like that.”
Fifteen minutes later we pull into Mac’s driveway. Thankfully, the guys are at a party down the street, so no one stops us as Mac leads me upstairs.
My stomach is a mess of knots and nerves as he opens the door to his bedroom and flicks on the light.
I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of Mac’s cologne and fresh laundry. “The last time I was in here I was really confused,” I admit.