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She nods, understanding clear on her face.
I begin to walk, and she trails close behind me. When we’re out of earshot of others, I start my questioning.
“How did you know where to find me that night?”
Had she been searching for me? Was this all planned?
“Isn’t it obvious?” she says, but I don’t look back at her. I keep walking, and she finally continues. “I saw you on TV. Heard you were in town.” She clears her throat. “My friend works at the hotel, and she let it slip you were staying there.” A strangled noise flies out of her mouth. “But please don’t get her in trouble. It’s my fault. Not hers.”
I don’t like that a member of the hotel staff told outsiders where to find me, but in this instance, I wouldn’t say anything to the hotel.
“If I’m being honest.” She pauses, and I don’t think she’s going to finish, but she presses on. “I’ve intentionally avoided anything that would remind me of you. For years.” She huffs a humorless laugh. “That night I’d been drinking and seeing your face on the screen…affected me. You actually haven’t changed at all. Not much. I’d know your face anywhere.”
There’s sadness in her voice, and it makes my stomach drop. She recognized me, but I didn’t recognize her. She doesn’t say the words, but they’re there, hanging over us.
I want to say she’s wrong, but she’s not. I haven’t changed much. Still too focused on hockey. Too focused on my own shit to realize who stood right in front of me.
These last few months with her, I feel I have grown. I’ve begun to care about things I never did before.
We walk in silence the rest of the way back to my place. Both of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts.
I wonder what’s going through her mind. Could she be stuck in the past? The days of Pippa and Slate? Or is she thinking about us, only hours ago, wrapped in each other’s arms?
Cassidy and Aiden.
It’s only a few blocks from the rink, but it feels like miles away as we trudge in silence. We’re each able to keep our space, but when we enter the elevator, the tight quarters swallow us up when the doors shut us in, and it feels like the walls close in on me. Suffocating.
The soft music filtering through the small, confined space feels taunting. Like it knows there are a million questions on my tongue. Questions I can’t ask until we’re alone.
When the elevator jerks to a stop, I allow her to go first. To lead us toward answers. I follow to the door of my penthouse apartment, dragging my feet when I should be sprinting to the truth.
I’m nervous.
Scared.
What if I don’t like what I hear?
What if I do?
Where will that leave us?
Is there an “us”?
“Fuck,” I say, pulling at my hair. The pressure presses down on me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and I grunt in response.
When we enter the foyer, it’s dark. The small city gleams in the distance, providing a scrap of sight.
I don’t bother turning on the lights as I pace the living room. I’m on what’s likely my tenth lap of the room when she walks up to stand in front of me, stopping me in place.
“I know I was wrong.” Her voice shakes, and the need to reach out and grab her is intense. But I don’t. I can’t.
“Why did you do it?”
Her lips tremble, and her shoulders shake with barely contained sobs.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” I ask, trying to control my voice.
