Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
maya
The food in the glass case that stretches across one side of the space makes my mouth water the second I step into the deli.
It’s filled with everything from pastrami to roast beef.
There are several Jewish delis between my apartment and here, but Goldblatt’s makes the best-corned beef sandwich in existence, so it’s more than worth the drive.
As a bonus, I was certain the incessant ding of the cash register and the whirring blade of the meat slicer would help distract me from Cole’s demeanor these past few days.
It hasn’t. Instead, it’s background noise as I rehash every one of our interactions over the last week.
“Should I get a corned beef sandwich with Russian dressing on rye bread,” Kennedy asks with downturned lips, “or smoked turkey with Swiss cheese and spicy honey mustard on farmhouse bread?”
“They both sound good,” Sophie muses. “I think I’ll get a tuna sandwich on gluten-free bread.”
“You’re not gluten-free.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Sophie chuckles. “I’m not, but I’ve had the gluten-free bread here before because Cameron’s celiac, and honestly, I like it more than their regular brioche bun.”
“Cameron is celiac?” Kennedy’s eyes practically bug out of her head. “But then he couldn’t have eaten my cake,” she sputters, throwing her hands in the air.
“Eaten your cake? Is that a euphemism?” Sophie scrunches her nose. “Oh my God. Are you hooking up with my brother?”
“No, but I am concerned at how excited you seem by that idea,” Kennedy says, her cheeks turning a violent shade of pink. She turns to me, clearly desperate for a change in topic. “What are you getting, My?”
I tear my gaze away from the nearby jars of pickles. “Oh, I haven’t decided yet.”
“What’s going on with you?” she asks, elbowing me in the side. “You’ve been zoning out all morning.”
“Nothing, I’m—”
“So help me…” She levels me with a glare. “If you say you’re fine, I’m going to start singing ‘Tits and Ass’ from A Chorus Line at the top of my lungs.”
I shudder at the second-hand embarrassment that would cause.
She taps her foot against the worn vinyl floor, focus still fixed on me. “Well?”
“Cole told me he loved me,” I blurt out, voice shaky. “And I literally just stammered the word ‘I’ and looked at him with dumb fucking Bambi eyes.”
“Okay,” Kennedy says, drawing out each syllable. “At least you didn’t thank him. That would’ve been way worse.”
I huff out a laugh, though nerves still riot in my belly. “True. But now he’s acting sort of distant and preoccupied. He promises he’s fine and we’re good, but I can’t help but think that’s not the case.”
Sophie plucks a bag of potato chips from a nearby rack as we all shuffle a couple of feet forward in line. “It’s probably because of the trade, not you. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
My heart stops as her words register. “Trade?”
Sophie looks from Kennedy to me, her eyes widening. “Wait, did he not tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask as the cashier hollers, “Next!”
Eyes now shining with sympathy, she bites on her lower lip. “He’s being traded to the San Diego Devils.”
The cashier shouts again, this time louder, but I don’t move.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My mind spins like an out-of-control circus monkey and my face heats as I try to fend off tears.
Happiness—for Cole, because the Devils are his dream team, his hometown team—wars with the hurt that comes with realizing he didn’t deem me important enough to trust with this information.
Because this move will undoubtedly affect our relationship.
A hand taps against my cheek. It’s not a slap, but it’s definitely not a gentle pat either. But it does the trick, knocking me out of my catatonic stupor. Kennedy waves the group behind us to the cashier, claiming we need a minute.
“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” I whisper, rubbing the center of my chest as if that’ll help ease the sudden tightness there. “Isn’t that the sort of thing you tell the person you claim to love?”
The worry etched on Sophie’s face dissolves into empathy. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. The deal hasn’t been finalized, but with all the rumors floating around, I was sure he would’ve talked to you by now.”
The weight in my chest strengthens, making it hard to breathe.
I may like hockey, but I like it because of Cole.
I’m not a die-hard fan who tracks trades and strategies.
I don’t debate about how some left-short defenseman compares to a second-tier prospect or whatever.
I simply watch Cole’s games, cheer for him, and call it a night.
And he knows this. He knows I’m far enough removed from the sport that I wouldn’t have heard the rumors. God, I’m such a fucking idiot.
Sophie shuffles from one foot to the other. “I only know because I overheard Logan and your brother talking about it when I stopped by Cam’s to return the vacuum I borrowed. I’m really sorry.”
A humorless laugh bubbles out of me. “So my brother knew, too.”
And also didn’t think it was necessary to tell me. Great.
“If Cole hasn’t told you, it’s probably because he’s—”
“I don’t care why he didn’t tell me.” I cut her off, my voice shaky. “The point is that he didn’t.”
The sinking sensation in my stomach only grows the longer I process the information.
The indifference that usually settles over me like a long-lost friend who’s been waiting in the shadows, ready to take center stage once again, is nowhere to be found.
My mind and body seem determined to force me to feel every crack and fissure as my heart breaks. And it’s painful.
How did I end up here once again? Opening up and trusting someone when I clearly had no business doing so. An old Mark Twain quote comes to mind: History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.
Kennedy places a supportive arm around my shoulders. “Let’s order our sandwiches and brainstorm ways to make that grown man cry, okay? I have a rolling pin and lemon zester in my car, so we’re off to a good start.”
I push through the heavy doors of the Bobcats Community Ice Rink without a plan in mind.
All I know is that I need to talk to Cole.
Kennedy’s suggestions would’ve ended with one of us in jail, and Sophie blames herself for my upset, so she wasn’t much help.
Though I’m a don’t-kill-the-messenger kind of person, she faults herself for not telling me sooner.
Kenn promised to smack some sense into her while I deal with this.
Today’s practice is closed to the public, so the only noise besides my footsteps is the fast-moving blades of the players racing around the ink and a puck hitting the boards.
Thankfully the security guard remembers me—probably from when I got knocked flat on my ass—and lets me through without issue.
I climb up the steps of the bleacher-style seating that faces the ice and sit on the cool, metal bench three rows up. Instantly, my attention is drawn to Cole, who’s running practice shots with the team. Watching him is a punch to the gut, making my lungs constrict.
Does his team know? His coach? How many games does he have left with them before he leaves?
I close my eyes and focus on breathing, despite how painful it is. Breath in. Breath out. I’m not sure how many times I repeat this, but when my heart no longer feels like it’s beating out of my chest, I open my eyes.
In that instant, as if choreographed, Cole notices me and slides to a perfect stop, a smile lighting up his face.
He shouts to his coach, then hops out of the box and stalks toward me.
All I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry, but I straighten my shoulders and walk back down the steps to meet him beside the plexiglass.
He grins at me, the signature tilt of his lips causing my knees to buckle. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were coming to watch.”
His cheeks are pink from exertion and the cool temperature inside the arena, making it so damn hard not to cup his face with my hands to warm him. “I’m not. I need to talk to you.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Talk about ripping off the goddamn Band-Aid.
Frown lines bracket his mouth, concern flaring in his eyes as he takes in my defensive stance. He blinks, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
He peers back at the ice, then focuses on me again, apprehension and confusion etched on his features. “Um, no. Not right now, anyway. Why? What’s up?”
I nod, an ache settling deep in my bones. Why is it that no matter how hard I try, or how hard I love, I always end up getting hurt?
With a surprisingly steady voice, I say, “So you aren’t being traded to the Devils?”
Panic flickers across his features, and he reaches for me.
With a shake of my head, I take a step back. Unless he wants to lose a hand, touching me is not in his best interest right now. Kennedy’s waiting in the car with a pastry dough cutter, and she isn’t afraid to use it.
“I was planning to tell you,” he says, his face twisting into a grimace. He glances back at the ice, where a few of his teammates have stopped skating to watch us. “Can you stay until the end of practice? We need to talk about this, but I don’t think now’s the best time.”
A brittle laugh escapes me. “When exactly is the best time, Cole? Clearly, it wasn’t during the past few weeks, or even months.
The conversation about season tickets didn’t feel like the right time?
How about when you told me you loved me?
” My voice wobbles on those last words, but I keep my chin lifted.
“Do you just need more time now so you can come up with an excuse about why you didn’t tell me? ”
“It wasn’t like that, Maya. I tried to tell you—”
“I don’t care that you tried. In the end, you had ample opportunity, and you didn’t. Even my own goddamn brother knew you were being traded before me.”
He takes a step forward but doesn’t attempt to touch me this time. “Don’t be mad at Elliott. He overheard me on a call with my agent, and I asked him not to say anything to you until I figured out how to broach the subject.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head, backing up another step. “And here I thought Logan had told him.”
“Please trust me when I say I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I was being selfish.” He links his hands behind his head and paces two steps to my left, then turns and paces back. “I guess I just wanted things to stay how they were for as long as possible.”
“And then what, Cole? You’d tell me the day before you packed up and moved across the country? Sounds like a great plan to me.”
“No, I—fuck. I don’t know.”
I hug myself to ward off the chill of the rink. “Did you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?”
His shoulders deflate. “No, that’s not it at all, My.”
“Because despite how fucking hurt I am”—I brush at a tear that’s escaped down my cheek—“I’m still beyond happy for you. You’re turning your dream into a reality. How can I not be happy for you?”
His face softens and he stops mid-stride. “I wasn’t trying to keep this from you. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I promise.”
“It’s been a matter of days since you promised you’d never lie to me, yet you were actively keeping this from me.
So why should I believe you? I gave something to you that I haven’t given anyone in a really long time.
” My heart is already in pieces, but forcing this truth out shreds it even further.
“I gave you my trust. And you broke that. And what’s worse? You clearly didn’t trust me, either.”
“I didn’t lie,” he says, his eyes imploring. “I just hadn’t told you yet. There’s a difference.”
I break into a sardonic smile. “Do you know how often I heard that growing up? Do you know how many times my mom avoided telling me something so she could sidestep responsibility? It may not be the same as outright lying, but it sure as fuck feels the same in here.” I splay a hand over my heart.
“I’m sorry, Maya.” Cole moves toward me again, but this time I can’t back up, my limbs too heavy to move. He wraps me in an all-encompassing hug. “Don’t run away from this. From us. Please.”
“There’s no need for me to run.” I blink in an effort to hold back more tears. “You’re already gone.”
“Berrett!” one of the assistant coaches yells. “Save the lovey-dovey shit for later. We’re in the middle of practice.”
A few of his teammates whistle catcalls and make kissing noises, completely oblivious to the true nature of our conversation.
He heaves out a sigh. “I’ll come over later and we can finish talking, okay?”
I shake my head and back away from his embrace. “I need some time.”
And by time, I mean a bottle of wine, a shoulder to cry on, and a fuck ton of Kennedy’s homemade cinnamon rolls.
Cole opens his mouth to argue, but the shrill sound of his coach’s whistle stops him. “Fine. I’ll call you. I love you, Maya. Nothing will change that.”
I wait until my back’s turned before letting the tears clouding my vision fall down my cheeks.