23. Sophie
CHAPTER 23
SOPHIE
I think I’ve read Luke’s text at least a dozen times. First, to make sure I didn’t misread it, then out of confusion. I told him the article’s reach was limited to Southwest Florida, so I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
Did he change his mind, deciding he’s mad at me after all? Or did this just become a convenient excuse for him to end whatever this is between us before it turns into something serious?
The worst part? I’m right back in that place again, wondering what it is about me that makes every romantic relationship in my life fail. And each time I try to compose a reply to his message, my fingers freeze and my heart aches.
I’m glad the team isn’t practicing today, so I can finish loading the few items from my temporary office into my car without questions about the tears running down my cheeks. Now that I’ve finished the interviews and have plenty of shots from practices, I don’t need an office space anymore. I only have to come for games and special events.
I should be happy about that, but instead, I’m crumbling inside. Marty tried to warn me, but I convinced myself things would be different this time. But I should have known this thing with Luke wouldn’t last. Like I said, romance and I don’t mix. Here’s yet another failed relationship to prove it. If it ever was a relationship…
When will I learn my lesson and stop trying or believing I can have something wonderful, like what Mia and Ethan share? We didn’t have an official first date. More like a couple of happenstance meals together.
But those times with Luke were unlike any of my other first dates. We connected on a deep level faster than I thought possible for two people who started off at odds with each other. I went from dreading interacting with him to wanting to be with him all the time.
And I’d hoped he felt the same.
I need to make sense of this because something doesn’t fit. Once I finish loading my car, I drive to the office. Maybe Marty can help me figure out what Luke’s talking about. When I walk through past the sea of cubicles, Charlene waves me over. I hold up my a finger to let her know I’d be there in a minute and walk into Marty’s office.
His grin widens as he stands. “There she is! I have a surprise for you, kiddo. I was waiting for you to get here so I could show you.”
As I reach his desk, he spins a copy of USA Hockey Magazine to face me, then flips it open. Luke’s handsome face stares at me from an image that fills most of the left page. At the top of the right, under the title, my name sits in the byline.
The memory of the team’s owner introducing me to Peter Orion from the magazine flashes front and center. “Oh, no…no, no, no…this can’t be happening.”
Marty’s grin crashes into a frown. “I thought you’d be ecstatic.” He taps the article with his finger. “Soph, this is even better than your own column. This could lead to something much bigger.”
A full understanding of Luke’s words hits me in the face, and I can tell you, I have no helmet strong enough to shield me from the impact. He most likely assumes I saw an opportunity to vault my journalism to a national level. He must think I’m no better than that reporter who shredded his family after his mother’s death.
And I don’t have a clue of how I can fix this. If I put myself in Luke’s shoes—or rather, skates—I’m not sure I’d believe me either.
I lift tear-filled eyes to the man who’s been like a substitute father to me for five years, who stood by me as I grieved my father’s death while he mourned the loss of his best friend, and who I know only wants to see me succeed. And now I’m going to disappoint him too.
“I made a promise to keep Luke’s full face out of the article, and I blew it, Marty. That photo of Luke wasn’t supposed to be in there. I uploaded it by mistake. He forgave me when I explained the limited reach of our paper, but I never imagined the piece would get picked up.”
Marty lowers himself back into his seat at a snail’s pace. “I’m sorry, Soph. I thought you’d want this. When their editor called about it, I gave them the go ahead.”
I wipe my cheeks dry. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t think telling you mattered since the article was already out there. I just never imagined?—”
“You should, kiddo. You’re that good.” His tone is emphatic and warms me to the core.
As much as I’d love to tell him thank you, I can’t. I’m still too caught up in what this means for Luke and me. If there’s even any hope of an ‘and.’
Marty leans forward and clasps his hands on his blotter. “Why did Luke ask you to keep his face out of it? That’s kind of hard to do for a profile.”
“It has to do with his father. I had a picture picked out with his helmet on with his head turned more to the side, but I forgot to remove the other one from the upload folder. ”
“You didn’t do it on purpose, kiddo. Tell him I’m the one to blame.”
I shake my head. “It was my mistake. I’m just not sure there’s a way to fix this. I broke his trust.”
He studies me and hums. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
A knot forms so fast in my throat that I can’t speak, so I nod.
“Then don’t give up fighting for him. And if he doesn’t forgive you, then maybe he’s not the right guy for you after all.”
Marty may be right. And that would add a fourth strike on my romance record. I truly thought Luke was different than the first three boneheads I dated.
Perhaps I was wrong about him after all.
As soon as I filled Charlene in, she grabbed her purse, then dragged me across the street to get our favorite coffees at the Last Bean coffee shop. She even treated me to a double-sized portion of the local bakery’s stellar banana bread, which has become a known entity throughout Sarabella.
Char pushes her empty cup to the side. “Listen, I get how this looks, but I still think you should text him back and explain what happened.”
I shake my head. “What’s the point?”
“Um, hello! True love, maybe…possibly. Come on, Sophie. You have to at least try.”
“You know my track record. I suck at relationships. But I’ll think about it, okay?”
She lifts her eyes in a half roll. “Fine. I guess that’s better than a flat-out ‘no.’”
My phone buzzes on the table and my heart jumps when I see ‘Jameson’ crawl across the top of the screen. But it’s the first name that gives me pause—Kinsley.
I’m sure Luke has filled her in with his version of what happened, so there’s a good chance she’s mad at me too. However, I told her to call me if she ever needed help, so it could be that—only one way to find out.
I swipe to answer the call. “Hi, Kinsley. Everything okay?”
“That depends. Define okay.”
Definitely an edge to her voice, but that’s almost Kinsley’s norm, from what I seen so far. I cringe, mentally preparing myself for the onslaught about to be unleashed. “I’m guessing Luke told you about the article.”
“Actually, we found out at the same time. My neighbor across the hall recognized Luke from the picture. Really nice photo, by the way.”
“Um, thank you?” I do a mental double-take. Maybe she’s not as angry as I thought. “Kinsley, I had no idea my article would get picked up like that. My editor gave approval without asking me.” Realizing how that sounds, I rush in with an explanation. “But only because he believed that’s what I would want. Really and truly, it wasn’t intentional.”
Her breathy sigh filters over the connection. “I figured.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, just didn’t seem like something you would do.”
I hold a hand to my chest. “Thank you.”
“So, are you going to tell my boneheaded brother?”
“I don’t think he’ll believe me.”
“Then convince him.”
Fresh tears burn my eyes. “Kinsley, I appreciate what you’re doing, but maybe this is working out for the best.” I want to believe that, but even I heard the way my voice broke when I said it.
“Wow, you two are so much alike.” She snickers.
“What do you mean?”
“Luke likes you a lot, Sophie, but he’s scared. ”
“Scared of being in a relationship with me?”
“No, scared of losing you.”
A teeny tiny spark of hope flickers to life in my chest. “Did he tell you that?”
Char raises her brows in question at me. I shrug and hold up my hand so I don’t miss what Kinsley’s saying.
“You know that our mother was killed in a car accident, right?”
I get a mild case of whiplash with her subject change, but I’ll roll with it. Maybe all this has stirred up some old emotions for her, which makes me feel even worse to think about. “Yes, I do. I hate that you two went through that.”
“It happened on her way to Luke’s game.”
“I remember reading that.” I massage the spot between my brows. The article Marty found mentioned it briefly, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.
“Luke blames himself.”
I jerk my head up. “For what?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Wow, for being older, you two sure act a lot dumber. For her death. That’s why he left hockey.”
“I thought he left to take care of you.”
“That’s what he wants to believe. Did he tell you the significance behind his jersey number?”
My mind is jumbled by trying to follow Kinsley down this rabbit hole, so I close my eyes as I recall what I wrote about that. “He said it was his mother’s favorite number.”
“No, he wore that number because she predicted Luke would make the NHL by the time he was twenty-four.”
I mentally flip through my notes—Luke turned twenty-four early the same year of his mother’s death. “But he left before that could happen.”
“Exactly. I think my brother thought if he failed, it would make her death seem even more pointless. ”
A blinding light switches on in my head. “Because she died on the way to his game.”
The pain I felt earlier over Luke’s rejection pales in the presence of the ache I feel for him now. And he’s carried this burden alone, among all the other responsibilities he had to take on.
“Yes.” Her voice takes on a soft yet sad quality. “And he’s pushing you away out of fear too.”
A surreal calmness settles over me as a determination replaces my self pity. If Kinsley is correct, then I need to have a conversation with Luke. I have to at least try, right?
The only thing that eclipses my gratitude for Kinsley’s call is how blown away I am by her ability to not only tell a story but to lead me full circle back to the truth.
“Thank you, Kinsley. Has anyone ever tell you that you’re going to make a fantastic journalist?”
Her snort pierces my ear. “No comment.”