Chapter 19 #2
I knock softly as I open the door but don’t get a response.
I walk into the room, looking around at the mostly empty space.
It’s dark, the only illumination coming from the dusky light filtering through a window.
It smells like beer and cardboard, and I eye the stack of boxes to the right of the door labeled “kitchen shit” and “clothes and stuff” in black Sharpie.
I frown when I don’t see B right away, but then I notice his legs sticking out from the other side of the kitchen island.
“B?” I walk around the island. “You got a lot of packing done, and this place is so clean…”
He’s sitting with his back against the fridge, peeling a label off a bottle of Rainier. His hair is blond chaos, sticking out from his baseball hat, and he looks up at me with a weak smile and tired, red-rimmed eyes.
“Yeah…my dad hired someone to help clean.” He seems so lost as he gazes around the dorm room.
A cold sense of dread floods my stomach, and I drop to my knees in front of him and cup his cheeks with my hands. “B, what’s going on? What happened?”
He closes his eyes, his long lashes fanning over his cheeks, and inhales like he’s savoring my scent. When his eyes blink back open, he seems to steel himself, his emotions draining away. The sense of dread escalates into full-blown panic.
“This isn’t going to work, Fiona.” He hardly ever calls me by my full name, and his voice is robotic like someone else is speaking for him.
“W–what?” I hate how small I sound as my hands drop from his face.
“You heard me. I just don’t have time for you. I need to be focusing on my hockey career now.”
I sit back on my heels, studying his demeanor.
I’ve never seen him like this—so closed off.
His posture is stiff, and his hand grips the brown bottle so hard, I’m worried it might break.
“But you’ve already had some interest from the Canucks,” I say gently.
“We don’t have to go to Europe if you feel like you need more ice time. We can—”
“No!” he screams, and I flinch back, staring at him with wide eyes. “I don’t have time for you. Get it? You were just a good fuck. That’s. It.”
My stomach rolls. “I know you don’t mean that.
” I keep my voice steady and matter-of-fact despite the turbulent wave of disbelief threatening to drown me.
Dealing with a severe alcoholic for a mother, I’ve learned to take some pretty hard emotional hits, but this is next level.
I finally let myself be vulnerable with someone for the first time in a very long time.
“I do mean it.”
“We can talk about this—”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Fiona.” He leans forward when he says it, his expression furious.
It reminds me of my mother’s face when she’s on a binge, and the nauseous feeling in my gut multiplies.
Cold sweat erupts all over my too-hot skin.
I clench my fists like I used to when I was a girl, feeling my nails dig painfully into my palms.
“We had plans, B,” I say weakly. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Get out, Fi.”
My heart fractures with the words, and I fall back onto my ass, staring at him stupidly. This has to be a nightmare.
“Are you deaf? Get. The. Fuck. Out.” His face is contorted with pain and rage. “NOW!”
I scramble to my feet. This time, I can’t hold back the tears as B’s—no, Brantley’s—apartment blurs around me. My back hits the corner of the counter painfully, and I turn and run for the door, my boots echoing loudly against the floor.
I don’t bother to wait for the elevator. Instead, I stumble down the stairs, choking back sobs. I barely register entering the lobby. All I know is that I have to get somewhere safe.
“Fi? What’s wrong?” I barely recognize Mason’s voice, and I don’t acknowledge him or any of the other guys.
The cool early evening air explodes against my clammy skin as I burst through the doors, and I don’t stop. I just keep running.
I wipe my eyes with shaky hands. I hate reliving that night.
I hear Seb make a sound in the back of his throat, and I glance at him.
He’s livid, his muscles taut like a rubber band about to snap.
Before I can register the move, he surges over my body and grabs B by the collar of his flannel, hauling him over me until they’re nose-to-nose.
“Seb, no!” I yell and grab his arm as it winds back.
B looks startled and instinctively scrunches his eyes closed as he waits for the hit.
Seb freezes when I touch him. “He deserves to have his ass kicked, Fi,” he growls. “He doesn’t get to treat you that way and get away with it.”
“It’s fine, Fi,” Brantley croaks. “Not like I didn’t see it coming.” He turns his watery eyes on Seb. “And if I were in your shoes, I’d do the exact same thing.”
I pull at Seb’s hand, forcing him to lower it.
“How are you so freakishly strong?” he mutters.
I push against B’s chest, and he falls back, his blond hair falling over his eyes as he stares at me brokenly.
“Don’t you get it?” I whisper. “You changed everything for me too.” My voice cracks as tears fill my eyes.
“You were about to graduate. We had an entire summer planned. And then I just knew you’d be a Canuck because you were so fucking talented, this unstoppable force.
I was so proud of you.” My face feels like it’s on fire, but I push on.
“I spent a fortune on Canucks gear because I was about to be your biggest fan—a wear-your-jersey, paint-my-face type fan, Brantley. I was in love. With you.” I shake my head.
“I thought you felt the same, so I don’t understand. What happened that day?”
Brantley shoots to his feet, then drops onto the love seat and places his head in his hands. “Remember when I told you about my friend Aiden?” I nod. “Well, I really thought I was gay at first because I never seemed to like any girls. My dad…I mentioned he was a bigot when it came to being queer.”
His hands are shaking, and I want to go to him, but my heart is still raw after reliving our breakup.
“Well, in high school, after Aiden moved away, I slept around a lot. I couldn’t drink or do drugs because of hockey, but sex was a vice I could easily hide.
” He swallows and his cheeks flush. “But one night, I was careless, and my dad came home from work early and caught me fucking one of the senior football players. He went ballistic, called us both the f-word, and then threatened to out the guy to his parents and the coach if he said anything about us.”
“Shit,” Seb breathes. “That’s fucking terrible.”
“Honestly? I’m just glad he didn’t hurt him. He took it all out on me.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No, he’s never laid a hand on me. God forbid he jeopardize my physical health. He wanted to punish me in a way that couldn’t be seen.” B smiles humorlessly, and his eyes tighten at the corners. “So he threatened to send me to one of those conversion camps.”
My hand covers my mouth, stifling my gasp. “Are you serious?”
“I was terrified he would do it. Now, when I look back on it, I don’t understand why I didn’t just leave.
I was bigger than him at that point—a hockey player at the top of my game—I should have been able to fight back.
” He grits his teeth in frustration. “But I caved. I told him I’d prove I was straight, and he agreed to let me go to Whitmore if I stuck to hockey and academics. He said he’d be watching.”
B looks down at me, his lashes clumping with tears.
“That night, I wanted to introduce you to my dad. I thought I could show him that I was in a happy heteronormal relationship, but he flipped out when I told him. He said he knew all about your alcoholic mother and how you were, in his words, ‘a dyke.’” He grimaces like the words are bitter on his tongue, and I give him a sad smile.
“I had no idea he even knew about your mom, let alone your orientation. He said my grades were subpar, and he’d been talking to the coach about some missed practices.
He said that you were a passing distraction, and if I wanted a career in the NHL, I had to focus and get my head in the game. ”
“And you believed him?” Seb’s tone rises in disbelief.
“Yes, because he was right. About Fi being a distraction, anyway. I had let hockey and grades slide that year because, shit, I was so happy with you Fi.” His eyes collide with mine, and his hands run through his hair, yanking on the strands.
“You’re right. I was smitten with you from day one, but when we really started hanging out, I was a goner.
My feelings for you scared the shit out of me because I didn’t even notice I was slacking until my dad confronted me. ”
“Are you saying it was my fault?” I ask, lowering my eyebrows.
“No, of course not,” B says quickly. “But I’ve wanted to play hockey my whole life.
It wasn’t just my dad’s dream for me; it was mine since I was a kid.
For a long time, hockey was the only time I felt free from everything—my overbearing father, the grief from my mother’s death, this confusion that plagued me about my sexuality—so in the end, I chose hockey.
” B reaches out and gently tilts my chin so our gazes are level.
“And I’ve regretted that decision ever since.
Yeah, I made it for a time, but I was so fucking lonely.
” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “Imagine, a hockey star with thousands of admirers, and I still felt all alone. No one saw me for just me. Not like you, Fi. You always really saw me.” He swallows. “And then I got hurt…”
I rise up onto my knees so I can see the scar that runs across his neck. My fingertips brush it softly.
“I should have told you.” His throat vibrates beneath my fingers as he speaks, and his breath puffs across my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Fi. I never stopped caring about you. Please believe me. Even after you moved on, I never did.”