Chapter 38
38
RUBY
I sit on the bed surrounded by half-packed suitcases, shopping bags of souvenirs, and the remnants of what I can only describe as the strangest week of my life. In a few hours, Chuck and I will be on our way back to San Francisco. Back to reality. And this... whatever this is with him... it'll be nothing more than a memory. A vacation fling.
The thought sends an sharp pang through my chest, which I of course ignore. Or rather, try to. I reach for my worn copy of Pride and Prejudice , my North Star of romance stories, determined to lose myself in a world where love conquers all and happily-ever-afters are as guaranteed as the morning sun.
As I read about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's tumultuous journey to love for the umpteenth time, I can't help but draw parallels to my own situation. The misunderstandings, the smugness, the preconceptions... it's all there. But I’m not a character in a Jane Austen novel. This is real life, and in real life, the librarian doesn't end up with the hockey star.
I'm so lost in my book and swirling thoughts about the handsome Mr. Darcy that I don't hear the bungalow door open. It's only when the bed dips beside me that I realize Chuck has returned from his morning walk.
"Hey. What are you reading?"
I show him the cover, not trusting my voice.
"Ah, the old enemies-to-lovers trope. Classic," he says.
I blink, surprised. "You know about literary tropes?"
He shrugs, slightly embarrassed. "I may have done some research after our first book discussion. Wanted to be able to keep up. Show that I’m more than a dumb jock."
The admission sends a warmth through me, but I quickly squash it dead. This is exactly the kind of thing I can't let myself fall for. It's nice, sure, but it doesn't change anything.
"Ruby," Chuck says, his tone serious. "I think we need to talk. About us. About what happens when we leave here."
"There is no 'us,' Chuck," I say, hating how my cold my voice sounds. "This was... this was a fling. A vacation romance. A nice one, but it's not real."
He recoils like I've slapped him. "Not real? How can you say that? After everything we've shared..."
"What have we shared, really?" I snap, getting angry. Angry at him, at myself, at this whole ridiculous situation. "A few days of playing pretend in paradise? That's not a relationship, Chuck. That's fantasy."
"It doesn't have to be," he argues. "We could give this a shot, Ruby. See if we can make it work."
I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. "How? We're from different worlds, Chuck. You're a professional athlete. You live in a world of glamour and excitement. And I'm... I'm a librarian. How long before you get bored of me and my books?"
He reaches for me, but I pull away. "Ruby, that's not?—”
"And let's not forget about your anger issues," I continue, unable to stop now that I’m on a roll. "You said yourself you've been in trouble with the team. How do I know you won't lose your temper with me? How do I know I can trust you?"
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. The hurt that flashes across Chuck's face is a knife to my heart.
Oh, why did I say that?
"Is that really what you think of me?" he asks slowly. "After everything I've shared with you, after I opened up to you... you still see me as some kind of ticking time bomb?"
I shake my head, tears filling my eyes. "I don't know what to think, Chuck. This is all so confusing. A week ago, you were just my brother's teammate. Someone I barely knew. And now... now I'm supposed to believe we have some grand romance?"
He stands up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not about believing in some 'grand romance,' Ruby. It's about believing in us. In you and me."
"And what could we be?" I challenge. "The hockey star and the bookworm? It's a cliché, Chuck. It's not real life."
"Stop saying that!" he snaps, his voice rising. "Stop trying to reduce what we have to some... some stereotype. You're more than just a 'bookworm,' Ruby. You're passionate, and funny, and brilliant. And yeah, maybe I am just a hockey player. But when I'm with you, I feel like, I don’t know, I feel like more.
His words hit me like a physical blow. I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him. But the voice in my head, the one that's always kept me safe, keeps whispering its doubts.
"What happens when the season starts?" I ask, my voice small. "When you're on the road for weeks at a time? When you're surrounded by groupies and fame and everything that comes with your world? Where do I fit into that?"
He sits back down, his head in his hands. "You fit wherever you want to, Ruby. We’ll figure it out. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but... don't we want to try?"
For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Dates at hole-in-the-wall bookstores. Chuck surprising me at the library with lunch. Cheering him on at games. Lazy Sundays spent reading together. Discovering San Francisco’s nooks and crannies. It's a beautiful picture.
But reality smacks me back down like a relentless bully. The media scrutiny. The long separations. The fundamental differences in our lifestyles and interests.
"I… don’t know, Chuck," I admit. "I just don’t know.”
"I'm I get it. It’s all... it's overwhelming. But that doesn’t send me running."
I look into his eyes, seeing his sincerity. And I realize, with a clarity that takes my breath away, I have a choice to make. I can take a leap of faith, risk my heart for a chance at something extraordinary. Or I can play it safe, stick to what I know, and always wonder what might have been.
In the end, fear wins.
"I'm sorry, Chuck," I say quietly, like the chicken shit that I am. "I just... I don't think I can do this. We're too different. It's... it's better if we end this now, before we get in too deep."
The light in his eyes dims, like something died, and I have to look away, unable to witness the pain I’m causing.
He stands up, grabbing his suitcase. "If that's what you want," he says, his voice flat. "I can’t force you into something you're not ready for. I'll be waiting in the lobby. Give you some space."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As he moves toward the door, he pauses, turning back to me.
"For what it's worth, Ruby," he says, "you're selling yourself short. And us. But I respect your decision.”
And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a quiet click that screams finality.
I curl up on the bed, clutching my book to my chest as the tears finally come. This is what I want, isn't it? To end things before they got complicated? To protect myself?
So why does it feel like my heart is cracking wide open?
As I lie there, surrounded by the wreckage of what could have been, I can't help but think of Elizabeth Bennet, turning down Mr. Darcy's first proposal. She thought she was protecting herself too. She thought she knew better.
But unlike Elizabeth, I don't get a second chance. This isn't a novel. There's no guarantee of a happy ending.
This is real life. Sometimes, you have to let go of the fantasy and face reality.
Even if it breaks your heart in the process.