Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Len
My honey-infused lemon coated skin buzzes as I step out of the hot tub, Zaiah’s hand in mine. We’ve been at the spa all morning, and despite never being in one prior, I’m convinced. Pure relaxation from head to toe.
“You surprised me with this, you know that?” I say to Zaiah.
He squeezes my hand. “That was the plan.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I grin. “I’m surprised by what you chose, and I really, really love it. Promise me we’ll come back sometime.”
He pulls me in to kiss my temple. “It’s a deal.”
He holds my hand for as long as he can until we have to separate to go into the individual locker rooms. My body feels like mush, and my brain is in a sort of zen state. The massage, rainfall shower, and hot tub dip were probably the longest I’ve gone without worrying about something. Especially recently.
I tug my clothes on, sniffing my forearm to see if I still have the aroma on me. It fills my nostrils with ease. Delectable .
Today, we still have the hot springs and a trail ride to try before we head back to campus, though the trail ride might have to wait for a different visit if we can’t fit it in.
Being here has been so romantic, conjuring up all the swoon I have for this man. The way my stomach drops when he still looks at me. The way I want to be close to him because of how safe I feel. Comforted. Alive. It’s as if there’s a drawstring between our hearts, and the tether keeps tightening and tightening.
When I’m finished changing out of the plush robe and into my normal clothes, I walk out into the foyer. It’s a far cry from the rustic modern look of the spa, mostly log cabin chic with everything in sight made from raw wood.
I sit in one of the log-hewn chairs facing out onto the lake and stare out. A few minutes pass, and Zaiah hasn’t come out yet, so I grab my phone to let him know where I am in case he missed me and walked back to the RV.
The text goes into an unsent status, and when I look up at the top of my screen, I find the culprit. No signal. I go into my Wi-Fi settings and connect to their internet so I can send him a message. My phone dings repeatedly with notifications, which I ignore…until one catches my eye.
RE: QUERY/THE SPORT OF DREAMING
My heart pounds. I pull down my notifications and press on it. A response from Athletics, Inc Magazine. Excitement burrows into me. It could be nothing. In fact, it probably is, but getting my first rejection is also a rite of passage. I’m well aware it’ll be tough to sell my first article, and possibly even my tenth or more. The market is competitive and—
Thank you for sending this to me. I really enjoyed it. It was thought-provoking and intriguing with a depth of story I don’t often read from the slush pile. I’d love to talk more about this, but most importantly, I’m dying to know what happened to your friend. Did he make it?
Phone in hand, I stand, shaking. The editor. The actual editor. He liked it.
My arm drops, and I peer toward the ceiling. I could burst right out of my skin. I can’t believe it. Everything I’ve worked so hard for coming together like this. Hope springs in my chest.
“Hey, sweetie.”
I nearly jump out of my shoes, but I turn to Zaiah with what I’m sure is a half-crazed look on my face.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
Tears slip down my cheek, and he brushes them away, his brow furrowing. “They’re happy tears,” I promise.
“What’s going on?” The way his smooth voice wraps around me lulls me.
I grab his hand and pull him to a loveseat nearby. “Zaiah, I didn’t tell you because I was sure it wasn’t going to come to anything, but I wrote this piece on professional sports and up-and-coming athletes. You inspired me to do it with all the research about getting you a chance, and it’s the first piece that I sent off to major magazines.”
He blinks. “Oh.”
“I’ve heard back from the editor of Athletics, Inc… He likes it! He wants to talk.”
“That’s great,” Zaiah says, but his voice still sounds confused. “I thought you weren’t interested in writing about hockey?”
“It’s not about hockey, it’s about individual athletes.”
“Oh, so sports? I thought that was the sort of topic you would shy away from?”
The electricity zinging through me starts to fade. “It’s more of a human-interest piece. Sports is the background, the goal—the need, in some people’s case. Like yours.” I clear my throat. “You’re actually in the article. Your perseverance moved me, and I wanted to write about it.”
“Wow.” He sits back, staying silent. The longer it stretches, the worse I feel.
I should’ve let him read it, but I honestly thought nothing was going to come of this. It was a longshot. The kind of Hail Mary you take when the clock is winding down.
I sit back too, staring out over the lake. This is not how I expected to celebrate my first win. It’s not an offer of publication per se, but it could be. Editors don’t carve time out of their day for writers they’re not interested in.
“I’ll let you read the article,” I state.
“I wish you’d told me. How did you find out about it?”
“What do you mean? I researched editors and sent off a query along with the article.”
“No, here. How did you find out about it?”
“I got on the Wi-Fi to tell you where I was sitting and it popped up.”
He nods his head slowly, still not looking at me.
I stand, agitation building. Doesn’t he see how happy I am… was ? I’m not going to sit here and let him dictate my mood. “You know, if you’d come running out of that locker room to tell me you had even one view on your YouTube video, I would’ve been jumping up and down with you.”
Fierce eyes finally meet mine. “Thanks for reminding me there aren’t any.”
My mouth drops. He can’t be serious. “You missed my point. The point is, it’s not the Zaiah show twenty-four fucking seven.”
I turn on my heels and make for the exit. I have absolutely no place to go besides the RV, but I’m not going to let him ruin my moment. This is bullshit.
“Hey,” he says, running up behind me. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Stop saying sorry and fix it,” I fume without looking back.
“Woah,” he grinds out, his sneakers crunching the gravel right behind me.
I stop with him, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s possible that was a little harsh—maybe—but he needs a reality check. Turning, I stare him down. “Zaiah, I just had great news, and you made it about you. I have dreams too, you know. What’s happening to me is the equivalent of you getting a call from a farm team. It’s a shot.”
His jaw clenches. Gaze stormy. “I don’t know what you wrote about me, and I’m embarrassed.”
“You think I would embarrass you? Really? Me?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “No, I guess not.”
“I’ve been nothing but supportive. I’ve been doing so much research for you. I took the initiative with your coach and got the laptop for the video. I’ve done nothing but try to help you, and you think I would write something that painted you in a bad light? Maybe my next article should be about unsupportive boyfriends.”
I turn, about to walk away again when he grabs my hand. “Lenore…” His voice cracks. “I had no idea I was coming across like that. Please. You have to believe me. You’re so smart. So talented. I feel like second string next to you, and I allowed it to get to my head.”
My shoulders deflate. Slowly facing him again, I see the regret in his eyes.
“I keep fucking this up, and I don’t want to do that. Hockey is my first love, you know. It’s all I’ve thought about for a long time, but none of that even matters right now because I’m supposed to be celebrating you. I’m only trying to tell you where my reaction came from.”
“You’re jealous.”
He starts to shake his head but stops. “Maybe. Maybe it’s that, and it’s because I’m afraid you’re finally going to figure out that you’re better than me and helping me is a waste of time.”
“Where did all those mindset prompts go? Just because I win doesn’t mean you lose. It definitely doesn’t mean I think you lose. When you read the article, you’ll know exactly how I feel about what you’re doing.”
He wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you. So, so happy. You’re going to be a writer extraordinaire. I knew you would.”
His attempts bring a smile to my face because they’re genuine, but I can’t shake the feeling that I had to yell at him to get them. I had to point out that he was doing wrong.
“Hey, please don’t give up on me,” he states, voice quivering. “Hockey makes me crazy, and I’m stressed and feeling the weight of graduation coming soon, but that’s no excuse. I was out of line, Len. Please, I’m ridiculously happy for you.” He squeezes my hands and gives me a desperate smile.
I let out a breath. It bothers me that he’s reacted this way because I know he’s better than that. He’s sweet and kind. Yes, hockey does make him crazy, but I understand the pressure. My dad’s been on me since I was a sophomore. These are growing pains, right? Totally normal.
“We’re going to celebrate, okay? I was actually late coming out because I bought us tickets to the hot springs. Let’s order some wine and you can tell me all about the article.”
I lean into him, grasping onto his promise that he’ll make this right. “That sounds perfect.”
His chest rises and falls with a breath of relief. “I love you.”
Now that has me smiling. The butterflies come back with a frenzy that warms me from the inside out. “I love you.”
He whispers in my ear. “I’ll do better.”
And he will because Zaiah can do anything he puts his mind to.