ANNA #2
“Anna.” He sits up. From my periphery I see him stretch his hand, and then I feel it rest on top of mine. For a moment I let it be, but when a whimper scrapes the side of my throat, I remove it. “I am sorry and I’ll never stop being sorry because I should’ve been there. I should have—”
“But you weren’t, and that’s not going to change anything.”
I drop on my butt and scoot over to sit next to him, leaving enough space that even if he were to stretch his arm, he wouldn’t be able to touch me. The warmth of his rough palm burned my skin—I can still feel the weight of it on my hand—and shockingly my body craves to reach out, to feel him again.
I bristle at the thought.
“I should’ve been there,” he mumbles, but I hear the conviction in his voice loud and clear.
I feel the intensity of his stare bore into the side of my face.
I chant not to cave, not to turn, not to do anything, but despite what my brain is screaming, my heart pathetically blocks all rational signals.
I turn and my heart, the stupid bitch that she is, pitifully begs to reach out to hold him.
But I don’t. I remind myself of all the horrible things I went through.
Remember how many times I cried, how many times I stressed over money, stressed over my lack of sleep, stressed over whether I was a good mom, stressed and stressed some more.
That’s enough to slap me back to reality, remind me that he wasn’t there, and even though he’s here now, we are over.
I don’t know what happened and how he didn’t know about Rosie, but he broke up with me.
He said the words. He willingly ended things.
“I called. I texted you. I made a stupid fake Instagram account. I did everything to reach out. I tried, Sylas. I tried.” My lungs expand against my rib cage but don’t deflate as easily. “I tried.”
The pressure in my sockets explodes. The tears I was trying hard to hold back break loose and roll down my cheeks.
He lifts a hand as if on instinct, but I back away, refusing to let him touch me again. Wiping them off, I rub the water on my dirty apron and look away.
His hand remains suspended in the air for a few seconds before I hear it slap down on his thigh. “Please don’t cry, Anna, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m fine.” I hiccup. “I just want you to know I tried. I wanted you to know. I really did…” My voice trails off as something hits me. “If you didn’t know before, how come you know now?”
“You said we so many times yesterday.” Sylas tells me how Marc went over, and they ended up looking up Clementine because I still had him blocked. “She’s beautiful.”
“Are you saying that because she looks like you?”
He chuckles and the deep, rumbling sound does things to me. I try to fight it off, and although my lips twitch a smidge, I don’t dare let myself smile.
“Partly.”
I side-eye him and regret doing so because he smiles. His dimples appear, and I curse myself for thinking how much I missed them. “You’ve never been known for being humble. Don’t start now.”
He chuckles again and my ears ache to hear it once more.
But then it fades and I feel him stiffen next to me.
“I swear I didn’t know. I wish I had.” Devastation punctures every word, wrapping around my throat like a noose, choking me.
“I wish I would’ve known—” His voice cracks and even though he clears his throat, it sounds deeper, agonized.
“I would’ve been there. I promise you I would have.
I’m sorry I wasn’t. I’m sorry I missed being there for her. For you. I’m sorry.”
Another tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away. “You blocked me.”
“You blocked me.”
I jerk back, my eyes narrowing into slits as I face him.
“Because you told me to leave you alone. You or whoever it was, told me so many…so many things. I wasn’t going to fight you.
Not when you or-or whoever”—I correct myself again—“told me I’d suffer the consequences if I didn’t and your parents—”
Sylas recoils, eyes wide and alert. “What about them?”
“They told me to stay away. Told me you didn’t want anything to do with me. Threatened to take her away.” There was so much more, but that’s the gist of it. “There was a lot of threatening on their end, on your behalf.”
A muscle in his stubbled jaw works, and I hear his teeth grate against each other.
I wince at the sound. He shakes his head, tongue dragging over his top teeth, nostrils flaring.
His expression is grim, and waves of rage roll over him.
I fist my hands at my sides, unnerved and overwhelmed.
He doesn’t scare me. I’ve seen him angry on the ice, but outside of it, never like this.
“They didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t tell you anything.” He exhales a harsh breath, tipping his head back as if he’s trying to rein in his self-control. “I would never do that to you. I would’ve been there to help you.”
“Those messages came from your number,” I add before lifting my knees to my chest and circling my arms around my shins.
“I didn’t have my phone. I—” He abruptly stops talking, gaze casting down to my black-and-white-tiled floor and staying there. “I checked out. I wasn’t—after the injury…the breakup…I wasn’t…” He swallows hard, the noise of it reverberating around the shop. “I wasn’t okay.”
“Oh.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “So then who had your phone?”
“My agent…”
I drop my forehead to my knees, feeling nauseous.
“Hey, talk to me.” I feel his palm suspend over my back, and the heat of it seeps into my body. I’d tell him to move it, but I don’t have the strength to speak or do anything but control my labored breathing. “Anna, hey, talk to me. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to stress or be upset. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. Please.” I sniffle, my breathing turning shaky. “I’m thinking. I need a moment. Just one. So shut up.”
And he does. He doesn’t speak. He lets the silence percolate around us.
All I hear is the sound of my beating heart that feels like it’s stuck in my throat, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the back, and the sound of cars driving in the distance.
The moonlight bleeds through the large window, illuminating the dimly lit space.
We’d turned off a few of the lights since we were closing up, and I’m grateful for it because my head won’t stop spinning.
All this time he didn’t know. All this time I thought he did. I spent years resenting him for it, and now realize all that time spent holding a grudge was pointless.
Puffing out a breath, I lift my head and meet his doleful stare.
“I really am sorry. I know apologizing isn’t going to change anything or make up the years I missed, but I am. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know you are. I know,” I whisper. “And I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
“Many, but I can wait. I’ll be ready whenever you are.”
I nod. “When do you leave?”
His brows scrunch in. “What do you mean?”
“When do you go back to Colorado?”
“You don’t know?” He cocks his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“Know what?”
“I live here now.”
My brows hike up, and my mouth parts in silent surprise. “You live here?”
“I got traded a few months ago.” He studies me, long and hard, eyes perusing me. I wish I could recover fast enough, but I can’t. I’m gaping at him like a fish out of water.
“Oh” is all I can manage to utter.
“Please tone the excitement down. Jesus, Anna,” he pleads dramatically, lifting a palm as though instructing me to calm down. “I know you can’t help yourself, and you’re over the moon that I’m here and want to jump for joy, but breathe and chill out. Your excitement is too much.”
My lips crack into a small smile of their own accord. His attention falls to my mouth, and his own lips stretch a little as his eyes light up.
“Shut up. I’m not excited. I mean, I don’t care, I just—I don’t—fuck—I’m just stunned, that’s all…”
He muffles his chuckle with a sip of his water. I don’t mean to, but I watch his Adam’s apple bob, and linger on the coarse hair under his jaw. “It’s okay. I get it.”
“I’m sorry about the trade.” I know how much he loved Colorado, how far it put him from New York.
“I’m not. Not anymore.” His gaze levels with mine, holding me steady and taking ahold of my heart.
No. Stop it! “I know there’s still a lot we need to talk about, figure out, but whenever you’re ready, I’d really love to meet her.
If you’re okay with it.” Despite how even his voice comes out, how he tries to make himself sound composed, I don’t miss the nerves, the fear and uncertainty.
My throat constricts, pressure growing everywhere, until my vision swims. I nod—that’s all I’m able to do—and look away to pull myself together.
I don’t know what happened, but I know with all credence that he’s not who I spoke to.
That he’s here because he wants to be in her life, and he’s not going to take her away.
We may not have worked out, but at the end of the day, this isn’t about us anymore, it’s about our daughter and what’s best for her.
I can’t believe I just said our. I can’t believe this is happening.
When I know I won’t break down, I look at him. “Yeah, I’m more than okay with it.”