CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE NICK
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NICK
I’m skipping today’s scheduled workout—all this walking should make up for it, right?
I hardly even know where I am. Ever since I left Dean’s place with my tail between my legs, I’ve been directionless.
The lake serves as a convenient landmark, and I’m walking…
north, I think. This area has a lot more people around, now I’ve left the tranquil neighborhood behind, and my best guess is that they’re tourists.
Holy fuck, there are a lot of tourists. I think I remember this being a tourist destination, so I might as well look on the bright side and get some sightseeing in.
It’s a good day for it, too—the sun’s out, it’s warmer than December should be, at least in my mind, but I’m not gonna complain about strolling around in jeans and a sweater.
If anything, it can distract me from how big of an idiot I am.
Still, not even the prettiest view can keep my mind occupied for long. After figuring out how to order a drink from an app, I pick it up and find an empty bench to sit and sulk. It’s warm and tastes like lemons, which manages to soothe my racing thoughts a little.
What the hell was I even thinking?
About…everything.
Not that I have a ton of history to go off of, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that I can’t get physical with someone unless I like them, and not just in a friendly way.
How I was able to delude myself for a month is beyond me—maybe it was all the hormones shutting my brain off or something, or maybe I was distracted from finally being able to have fulfilling sex again.
Looking back, it’s clear, and I’m an asshole for unloading my feelings onto him just like that. I’m an even bigger asshole for accusing him of just having his fun way with me when he’s also dying inside.
And even if we’re on the same page, there’s still the fact that we’re going our separate ways in April.
He’s coming back here, where I’ve seen him way happier than he ever was in the US, and I’m…
maybe going pro? My agent’s been almost silent about my prospects with taking Nowak’s spot on the Detroit Mallards’ roster, and he’s apparently working to get me on some A-league teams’ radars.
All in all, those aren’t great odds for my undrafted ass.
So maybe I don’t have to go pro?
I mean, I’ve always been dead set on playing ball for a career, and I’m also not the best at changing my stubbornly held plans.
Exhibit A: not calling things off with Dean when I got in too deep.
I exhale into my now-empty paper cup, glaring out at the lake over the rim. What would I even do?
Maybe travel—that’s something people do, right? Take a gap year and backpack through, like Asia or something?
Hold up.
Hold the fuck up.
I could—
No.
Dean wouldn’t want that, would he?
Me traveling around Asia for a year and going to see him often so we could be together?
Probably not. We’ve been friends with benefits for maybe a month. He’d definitely find it weird if I suggested changing my life plans to be with him, even if we both like each other.
This fucking sucks.
But I’m assuming things again, and look where I am now—sulking and alone after making a dramatic exit.
If Dean doesn’t want to try things with me, I should at least give him the chance to prove me wrong.
My hands are shaking, and I don’t know how much caffeine was in that lemon drink because I don’t even know what exactly it was, but either way, I’m freaking wired.
The last time I got this close with someone, it was with Josh. And he dumped me in favor of staying in fucking Paris. I don’t need a therapist to tell me how my past might have affected me a tiny bit.
Maybe I should push past it and take a chance; maybe, just maybe, someone can want me back enough to put up with me, even if my ex and my parents had no trouble washing their hands of me.
With a groan, I push myself up off of the bench and keep walking to burn off some energy, tossing my cup into a recycling receptacle and ignoring my racing heart as I press on.
Yeah, I definitely had some kind of energy drink. Holy shit.
With every step I take, I tick off mental boxes for what I’m gonna have to do and what I’ll say.
First off, I need to apologize to Dean for freaking out. Maybe grovel a little and get on my knees, and not in the way we’re used to.
Then I need to ask for forgiveness and see if he’s willing to take a chance on me. I might not have the best memory, but I distinctly remember him saying something about how he’s refusing to get serious with someone until he’s settled. I’ll have to ask him to give up that conviction.
My gut clenches with guilt as I try not to spiral.
The worst thing he could do is say no.
Our conversation needs to be private, so I can’t exactly find my way back to his place to talk about our big feelings in front of his dad. I’ll have to make Dean come to where I am.
I slow my steps and look for a landmark to help him find me.
Ooh, there’s a bridge here, and an information placard.
This is the Broken Bridge, but unless I've started hallucinating, none of the hordes of people crossing it are falling into the lake. I should look up why it’s called the Broken Bridge at some point—this place also seems to be some kind of tourist attraction, given how there are so many people that my phone data is barely working, but tourism wasn’t part of my Chinese course.
Besides, I didn’t think I’d even come here in the first place, let alone with Dean.
Right. Dean.
I pull my phone out to text him, hoping he hasn’t already written my sorry ass off.