Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
maya
“Go away. I’m not home.”
My raw throat protests as I shout at the door, but that’s what happens after crying on and off for a day.
I’m not typically a crier, but once I got started, it was like Niagara Falls and a water park coalesced in my tear ducts.
Sophie gave me a couple of packages of under-eye patches that contain hyaluronic acid and caffeine to “depuff my marshmallow eyes,” but I’m still a splotchy, red-hot mess with a scratchy voice.
Despite my demand, the knocking persists. Knocking is a generous description, considering it’s Elliott. On a normal day, the way he pounds on the door sounds like someone’s launching cannonballs at my apartment.
“What part of go away was not clear to you, Elliott?” I call out. “I’m mad at you. That means I’m allowed to ignore you.”
I hate arguing with my siblings, but Elliott keeping Cole’s secret from me? What the hell happened to sisters—and brothers—over misters?
Elliott lets out a long breath and knocks again. “Maya, answer the door. If I don’t give Ava proof that you’re okay, she’s going to jump on a plane and fly here herself. And as much as we’d both love to see her, she’s got a midterm in a few days, so—”
I stomp to the door and throw it open. “What do you want—Oh.”
Kennedy flashes me one of her signature smiles. The kind that makes it difficult to be annoyed by the intrusion. And she’s holding a Tupperware filled with something chocolatey, which definitely tempers my ire.
I lean against the doorframe in a sad attempt to block them from coming in. “Is this an intervention?”
“No, but based on the state of your apartment, I’m wondering if it should be.” She peers around me, eyeing my space. The once neat piles of books divided by genre and trope are now scattered across the floor in a haphazard manner.
Did I kick a pile of books in frustration? Maybe. Did that pile then knock over another pile, which caused a domino effect? Most likely. Did it make me feel better? Absolutely.
As I tie my hair back into a ponytail, I glare at them. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you’re not so deeply enmeshed in a book that you’ve forgotten to shower or sleep.” Kennedy shrugs. “And your brother wasn’t sure you’d let him in, so I came as backup.”
She walks right past me and into my kitchen, with Elliott hot on her heels.
Sighing, I close the door behind me. Apparently being left alone to process my feelings is too much to ask for.
At least Cole’s graduated from calling and is now sticking to texts.
I finally gave in and responded, but only to say that we’d talk after his game this weekend.
He replied by sending me romantic quotes from my favorite books.
I shuffle into my kitchen wearing a frown despite being overwhelmed by the scent of fresh brownies. “Seriously. What are you doing here?”
Elliott answers by locking me in a bear hug that’s impossible to wiggle out of. Trust me, I try. After ten seconds of squirming, I begrudgingly relax into the embrace.
“I hate it when you’re mad at me, Yaya.”
“Then don’t do things that make me mad,” I grumble against his chest.
Snorting, he tugs at the end of my ponytail. “I didn’t touch alcohol or smoke weed until college because I was scared of making you mad.”
Kennedy huffs a laugh from where she’s sitting on my counter, her long legs dangling over the edge. “Being on the receiving end of your death glare sucks.”
It takes a lot to make me mad—truly, deeply mad—but when a person does, I don’t half-ass it. I go full passive-aggressive, with the accompanying side-eye and bitchy tone. I’m not proud of it, but we all have our flaws.
Elliott loosens his hold on me, and I take a step back, ensuring I’m out of random hug-attack range. Kennedy dips into the Tupperware and holds a brownie out to me, but I shake my head.
“Are you here to apologize?” I ask my brother, arching a brow at him.
He sighs heavily. “No, I’m here to explain myself.”
That takes the wind out of my sails. “So you’re not sorry?”
“Sounds like a line from a Taylor Swift song,” Kennedy giggles, licking chocolate from her fingers. “But I digress.”
“Am I sorry that keeping the information to myself inadvertently hurt you? Yes, of course. You’re my big sister and I hate seeing you upset. But not telling you was in your best interest.”
I throw my hands up. “How the hell can you say that not telling me my boyfriend’s being traded and moving across the country is what’s best for me?”
“If I’d told you without giving Cole a chance to talk to you himself, you would’ve cut your losses and run.
” His eyes soften in a way that has always made it hard to be upset with him.
“You’d swear it couldn’t work, citing every excuse in the book, when really, you’re scared.
You hate change, Ya. I’m not blaming you, because God knows you have every reason to, but sometimes change is good. ”
Too caught off guard by the depth of what he’s saying to come up with a snarky response, I merely say, “Well, Cole didn’t tell me himself, so…”
Real fucking mature, Maya.
Elliott shrugs. “He fucked up on that account, but I genuinely think it was because he didn’t know how to tell you. His reasons for hiding it from you weren’t malicious. It’s no different from when you failed to mention to anyone that you got a scholarship to Northwestern.”
Kennedy sputters, sending brownie debris flying.
I’m too shocked by my brother, once again, to protest at how gross that is. The only person who knew I got a full ride to Northwestern was Kennedy, and I made her swear on her love for the original cast of Wicked that she’d never tell anyone.
“What?” I stammer, my chest tightening, making it hard to breathe. “I don’t—I mean—that has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, yes, it does.” Elliott crosses his arms over his chest. “You kept that admissions letter tucked away in a drawer because you knew Ava and I would feel guilty that you turned it down so you could stay close to us. And you were right. It kills me that you gave up your dream because there was no one else to look after us. But you did what you thought was best, and I don’t blame you for that.
I hate you a little for it, sure, but your intentions were pure. ”
“So this was you doing what you thought was best for me?”
He shrugs, suddenly looking more like a sheepish kid than my adult brother. “I guess, yeah.”
I exhale through my nose and give a slow nod. It’d be hypocritical of me to stay upset with him, given all I’ve hidden over the years in an attempt to make his life easier. That doesn’t necessarily make it right, but I made a judgment call, the same as he did.
“When did you grow up and get so—”
“Intelligent? Thoughtful? Remarkable?”
It takes effort to keep my eyes narrowed when the urge to chuckle is so strong. “I was going to say frustratingly logical.”
With a grin, he swipes a brownie from Kennedy and pops the entire thing into his mouth. “You have to talk to him, Yaya. You can’t stay holed up in your book cave forever.”
My body sags. “I don’t even know what to say to him at this point,” I admit, rubbing my brow. “I didn’t even know a trade was on the table, let alone a very real possibility. He blindsided me.”
“I’d like to preface this by saying I’m not choosing sides,” Kennedy says.
“I’m just playing devil’s advocate… no pun intended.
” She eyes me, silently making sure I’m listening.
“Imagine you meet this amazing guy. The two of you fall in love, and then you find out that your favorite author wants to co-write a book with you. But in order to do so, you have to move to Los Angeles for an unknown amount of time. Maybe one year, maybe five. You have no idea.”
She pops another piece of brownie into her mouth and wipes the crumbs off the front of her shirt.
“How would you tell your boyfriend that? Especially when his whole life—his family, his friends, the job he loves—are all here? And on top of that, he’s skittish about relationships and change in general.”
God, empathy’s a fickle bitch.
Because when she puts it that way? Yeah. I understand where Cole’s coming from. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Kennedy studies my face for a thoughtful moment. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
There’s no hesitation in my answer. I wholeheartedly love Cole. Even though he didn’t tell me about his trade, and even though he’s moving to San Diego.
I love his dedication and his drive. The way he cares.
The crinkles next to his eyes when he laughs.
The soft smile he wears when I talk about a book.
I love how passionate he is about hockey and how earnestly he supports my quest to find my own passion.
There’s no world, fictional or real, in which I’m not enamored by Cole Berrett.
I think about him more times in a day than I’d ever care to admit.
He’s better than any book boyfriend I’ve ever had.
But unlike the fictional men who live between the pages of my favorite romances, Cole’s real. And he’s mine.
Kennedy tilts her head back and drops the last piece of her brownie into her mouth. “Okay, cool.”
I rear back. “That’s it? Okay, cool? You’re not going to ask any follow-up questions?”
She has the audacity to frown at me, as if she’s offended that I’d expect her to do that, even though we both know she totally would.
“I’ve been friends with you for over twenty years, Maya.
You take things at your own pace, but once you’re in, you’re all in.
Now you just have to figure out how to tell him that. ”
As I survey the pile of romance books that now decorate the floor behind my couch, a slow grin pulls at my lips. Because I have the perfect idea. “How would you feel about me getting back on the ice?”