The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,61
real. The second I started having real feelings,” he says easily.
“Bullshit. You would have chickened out,” I call him out.
“No way, man. I’ve spent too much time making excuses and pushing people away. Look where it got me? If I found a woman who would really stand by me while I do all of this shit? I’d jump in with both feet.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack. The only difference is, I’ll never find a woman who wants to put up with all my bullshit and baggage. So it’s kind of a moot point.”
I sigh, “East—”
“We’re talking about you,” my brother deflects.
I swallow, thinking over his words. “I fucked up.”
“You did.”
“But I did what’s best for her.”
“If you think so.”
“We never had a future.”
“If that’s what you want to believe.”
“What the fuck, man? Are you just going to agree with me?” I nearly shout.
East snorts. “If I disagree, will it make a difference? You’ve been kidding yourself since day one, Noah. This has always been a helluva lot more serious than you keep pretending.”
“She doesn’t want this life.”
“Then let her go, Noah. Walk away. Let her go on her date to The Ivy with another guy and be happy for her.”
My stomach twists in knots just thinking of Indy and Aiden going out to dinner together. Anger beads in my bloodstream, hot and jealous. What the fuck was I thinking?
“You can’t, can you?” Easton goads.
“I gotta go. We got a game tonight,” I bite out, desperate to end this conversation.
“If she’s the one, Noah—”
“I’ll see you in three weeks, East,” I cut him off.
Easton sighs, “Good luck tonight, brother.”
I disconnect the call and jump up from my seat, pacing back and forth in front of the hotel bed. The whole point behind a friends-with-benefits arrangement is to avoid feeling like this. Fucked up, angry, scared, jealous.
I thought that by hooking up with Indy, I’d be able to avoid distractions.
What a laughable concept.
As if I could just stop thinking about Indy. As if I could just let her go.
“Good game, Scotch!” Torsten slaps a palm against my helmet, whooping loudly as we skate off the ice.
We won. Thank God, we won tonight’s game. The team celebrates in the locker room, all of us recounting parts of the game, telling jokes, and wishing East was here with us.
When the room starts to clear out, I pull out my phone to check it. Disappointment swirls in my stomach that there’s no message from Indy. I don’t know why the hell I keep hoping there will be. I really messed things up with her and even though I did what needed to be done, I don’t feel relieved at all.
I feel like shit.
My stomach sinks. I plop down on the bench and tap out a message. Delete. I try again. Delete.
Damn. It’s been three days since I’ve talked to her and it feels like the longest three days of my life.
But I didn’t end things with Indy for me. I did it for her. For her future and the lifestyle she wants.
I close my eyes and drop my forehead into my hand. All I’ll accomplish by messaging her is making things between us even more convoluted. What the hell am I doing besides playing juvenile head games? She needs to move on and I need to let her.
Forcing myself to stand up, I clutch my cell phone in my fist.
It beeps with an incoming message and my heart leaps into my throat. A wave of hopefulness washes through me as I bring my phone up.
The second I spot Austin’s name, disappointment plows through me.
Austin: Team’s grabbing beers at the hotel. Even James. You coming?
Shit. Team drinks is the last thing I feel like doing. I’m exhausted, pissed off, and in the kind of mood that will quickly put a damper on team morale.
I sigh, dropping my forehead against the locker door. The cool metal cuts into my skin as I mentally pep talk myself.
It’s time for me to move on. Indy made it clear that there’s nothing left between us. All we have now are a handful of good memories. That needs to be enough. I need to get my head on straight and keep moving forward.
Me: Yeah. Meet you there.
25
Indy
That can’t be right.
I count back on my fingers, looking at them in utter confusion, as the math doesn’t add up. At least, not the way it’s supposed to.
“No. No way,” I murmur, drawing Claire’s stare.
“What’s wrong?” she asks when she sees my expression.