Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
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It’s late by the time I get back to the apartment. A light breeze rustles through the nearby palms, carrying an earthy scent from a brief rain shower.
I pause in front of the door with Sophie’s words repeating in my head, wreaking havoc with my frontal cortex. That’s all I could think about on the ride home. I haven’t known Sophie long, but I feel like I can trust her.
So, what if she’s right? What if Wade does have feelings for me?
I don’t even know how to process that, but I can’t deny the tingles running through my entire body at the thought.
Sure, Wade’s attractive—very attractive.
Maybe I’ve noticed more so since I arrived, but I just assumed that was because he’s bulked up over the last year, and I’m simply appreciating his male form.
But what if it’s more than that? Am I developing feelings for Wade?
I jiggle my keys in my hand, noticing the feel of them against my skin, and take a deep breath. This is crazy. I’m behaving like a silly teenage girl who just found out a boy has a crush on her, and suddenly she has stars in her eyes for him.
Well, maybe not stars. More like curiosity or intrigue.
Wade and I are best friends. That’s it. Whatever Sophie thinks she saw, she must be mistaken. Wade’s always been fierce about the people he loves. There isn’t a more loyal and caring person on this planet. I’m almost positive that’s what Sophie witnessed on his face.
Well, mostly. That’s the story I’m running with before my heart and my brain go to war with each other.
The last thing I need right now is more romantic drama.
I’ve had more than my fair share over the last year.
Enough to consider staying single for the rest of my life.
At this point, I’m content to become one of those cat women, except with Chihuahuas. I don’t do cats.
I move to insert the key into the door when it flies open.
Wade stands there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders sheathed in a very soft-looking heather gray T-shirt, black joggers that tug over his muscular thighs, and a concerned expression that makes him appear more broody than grumpy.
“I was starting to worry about you.” He steps to the side so I can walk in.
As I brush by him, his musky, spicy scent wafts up my nose. I have this urge to wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his chest to see if his shirt’s as soft as it looks and if his pecs feel as muscular and firm as I imagine.
It’s like every cell in my body suddenly stood up and took notice of this man standing in front of me…worrying about me. I don’t recall my heart beating this fast in reaction to Wade, except for the times we raced on our horses to see who got back to the barn first.
Now I’m starting to worry about me, too.
As he shuts and locks the door, I hold my arms out to my sides. “I’m fine. See?”
I’m not sure why I said that. Do I want him to look at me so I can search his face for something that may or may not be there?
I’ve memorized the planes of his features, noticed how the color of his eyes shifts between hazel and green when he’s happy, and catalogued every version of his smile, but I’ve never noticed him look at me in any other way than friendship.
But have I truly seen him?
Our gazes connect and lock. His eyes look greener than hazel at the moment, and the start of a smirk sits on his lips. “Looks like you had a good time.”
I drape my purse over the dining room chair in front of my laptop and sit down. “I did. The girls are great. They’ve really made me feel welcome.”
The smirk turns into a genuine smile, as if he likes whatever he’s seeing. Or is that relief because he won’t have to be my one and only friend during one of the most challenging times of my life?
“That’s great. I had a feeling you would hit it off with them. You need friends here.”
Guess that’s enough confirmation right there. Feeling mischievous, I fold my leg under me and tilt my face toward him. “Why? I already have you.”
His smile falters as he slips his hands into the pockets of his joggers. Are his ears turning red? His hair is on the longish side, so I can only see part of them, but they definitely appear darker right now.
I’ve never noticed that happening before. Ever.
“I know, but you should have some friends who are girls.” His words tumble out in a rush.
“Are you afraid I’m going to talk about girly things again?” I use air quotes, curious if he’ll remember his words.
He may think I didn’t notice his discomfort in middle school when I told him about my first period, but I did. What can I say? I was cramping and moody, and wanted someone else to be uncomfortable, too. Not my finest moment.
But I will say he made a stellar attempt to hide his unease. Kind of like he’s doing right now…
He rubs a hand over his mouth, making a scratching sound that makes me curious what his short beard would feel like against my face…or my neck.
“No, not at all. You know you can talk to me about anything.” The subtle raise of his brows implies the question he’s trying not to ask.
Am I ready to discuss Chase? Ready to lay out the whole twisted story and risk Wade’s reaction to it? To me?
Telling Sophie, Lily, and Mia about it helped more than I realized it would. Kind of ripped the Band-Aid off a healing wound in need of air. But this is Wade we’re talking about, and I’m almost certain his dislike for Chase will turn into pure hatred when he hears the full story.
I do want to tell him, but there’s still this small part of me that’s afraid of what he’ll think of me. The girls’ reactions were so affirming and a relief to hear it wasn’t all in my head, that I hadn’t made the situation into more than it was.
My doubts about misreading Chase are gone. I know he manipulated and gaslighted me every step of the way.
But I still fell for it. Believed him. Doubted myself.
Since I arrived in Sarabella, I’ve felt a glimmer of my old self return. It’s like I’m rediscovering who I am—as if I can breathe again and not live with giant question marks from my past hovering over my every move in the present.
Now, when I think about how I lost sight of myself, I get angry at myself and at Chase. Mad at myself for allowing him to manipulate me and at him for using me in that way. Again, which I allowed.
Talk about a vicious circle, and this one’s eating me up like piranhas. But avoiding the topic will only prolong my misery. Might as well get this over with.
Despite the trembling in my body, I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
Wade tilts his head, still waiting for me to say something.
So…here goes nothing. Or everything.
I point to the couch. “You should sit down for this.”
I’ve lost count of how many times Wade either rubbed the back of his neck or scrubbed his hand over his mouth, most likely to prevent himself from swearing up a storm to match the one raging outside.
Right after I began filling him in on the Chase Files, a flash of lightning lit up the living room, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the walls. It wasn’t long before the sound of torrential rain beating on the roof complemented my dialogue.
Or diatribe. Once I started, my anger spilled out. More like spewed, to be honest, so I can only imagine what Wade’s thinking as I finish my woeful tale. At this point, I’m not concerned about his opinion of Chase. I want to know how he feels about me.
Wade rises without saying a word, then paces behind the couch like a panther on the prowl. My insides quiver at the thought, marginally terrified that I could wind up his prey. Or worse. What if he goes to Texas and confronts Chase?
“Wade, please say something.”
He stops, threads his fingers through his hair, then leans his hands on the back of the sofa. “I want to kill him.” His dark expression matches his words.
Should I question my ethical moorings over the fact that I’m more relieved for myself than concerned over what he intends to do to Chase?
Actually, I’m terrified he’ll do something foolish, jeopardizing his career. “Good thing he’s not here, then.”
He shoots me a scathing look.
Guess I’m not totally in the clear. To my surprise, I relayed a rough draft of the last year of my life without crying once, but now, I’m feeling the burn behind my eyes. Plus, I think my stomach just made a pit stop somewhere between my knees and the floor.
“I’m sorry, Wade.” I swipe away a rogue tear.
His expression softens somewhat. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you’re clearly angry with me.”
He rounds the couch, sits back down, and faces me. “I’m not mad at you, Bree.”
“I knew you two were rivals, but in my defense, I honestly thought your beef with him was only on the ice.”
Wade turns his head, revealing the pulse of his jaw muscle. “Chase is the one at fault here. I told him to stay away from you.”
I pull my head back. “You what? When?”
“The last time you came to a game, right before I got drafted. He asked if you and I were an item. I told him you were my best friend and that if he ever went near you, I’d rearrange his face.”
I guess some part of me wanted to believe Chase’s pursuit of me was genuine on some level, even if only at the beginning. But now I see I was never more than a tool to him—a double whammy of a lifetime to advance his career and get a dig into Wade.
My turn to stand up. “Great. So I was just some pawn you two could flex your Neanderthal muscles over?”
He jumps to his feet, but winces as he grabs his upper thigh. “What? No! I saw how he treated women as if they were disposable. I didn’t want him near you.”
His voice grates with his agitation, or because of his pulled groin. Maybe both. But he’s right. That’s exactly how Chase treated me, but I can’t bring myself to admit that to Wade, even though it’s obvious.
I grab an ice pack from the freezer, wrap it in a towel, and hold it out to him. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Wade. I think I can handle myself.”
After accepting the cold pack, he drops onto the couch. “Like you handled Chase?”
Stunned that he actually threw it in my face, I’m left speechless aside from the squeak that comes out when I search for a comeback.
He diverts his eyes, placing the pack over his inner thigh. “Sorry. That was unnecessary.”
This is one of those moments of complete clarity, when the answer you didn’t even realize you needed materializes. If Wade felt anything other than friendship for me, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed. And he may not want to be my friend anymore.
I should find somewhere else to live, even if it’s just temporarily. Staying here will only cause more tension between us, which neither of us wants right now. He needs to heal and refocus on getting back on the ice, and I need to focus on my new job and getting my head—and my heart—straight.
In the morning, I’ll pack my bag and call the Sandpiper Inn to see if they have any availability. Worst-case scenario, I’ll stay at a cheap hotel off the interstate and deal with the longer commute to work until I find something closer and more permanent.
“I’m going to bed. Do you need anything in the bedroom?”
He shakes his head.
“Good night, Wade.” I’m halfway through the doorway when I finally hear him speak again.
“‘Night.”
Once I finish my nightly routine and crawl into bed, I let the emotions I held back earlier spill out in a flood of tears onto my pillow—Wade’s pillow.
I thought discovering my boyfriend used and cheated on me was the worst thing that could have happened to me.
But losing Wade, my best friend, hurts even more.