Page 89 of Worth the Shot

The butterflies in my stomach return like they never left. How does he do that? How does he know me so effortlessly and deeply that he can reach me without even being here? No note. No name. No expectation of acknowledgment. Just a reminder, slipped into my hands when I needed it most. I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes. It’s like he felt me thinking about him, sensed the exact moment I was breaking, and reached out in the only way he knew how: subtly, selflessly, and without taking an ounce of credit. No doubt to serve as a reminder that he’s still here. That he’ll always be here.

So Brennan of him.

I pull out my phone and open my calendar. The team charity gala is tomorrow night. I’m sure he assumes my silence the past few days have meant distance and hesitation, but I don’t want him to question what we have right now. The thought of that hurts more than I expect it to. The idea of him standing there, confused, maybe bracing himself for disappointment, because of me. It makes my chest ache in a way I can’t ignore. So I need to be there.

I will be there.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Brennan

I’m officially dreading tonight.

I hate saying that. Really, I do, except it feels like so much has changed in the last week and this gala is just a front row seat reminder. The suits, the speeches, the champagne flutes and fake smiles. The music that’s supposed to feel celebratory, like we’re all lucky to be here. I’ll have to shake hands, make small talk, laugh at jokes I won’t hear and pretend I’m not counting the minutes until I can escape. I picture it too easily, standing there in a tailored suit that costs more than I’d ever admit, surrounded by people who think they know me. Who think they know what winning looks like. I’ll smile because I always do. I’ll say the right things, pose for the pictures and play the part of the guy who has it all figured out. The crazy part is, last week, I thought I did have it all figured out. Funny how life humbles you like that.

I don’t blame Delaney for not wanting to go. Hell, I haven’t even seen her since the morning after the trade, and even though she’s said it doesn’t change anything, the shift between us screams otherwise. Even after she told me she loved me, I still couldn’t shake this feeling. And it was never that I didn’t trust her, because I do. I know she meant everything she said. But I also know sometimes there are things only our hearts control, and that’s what scares me the most.

I wish I could reach for her, but making her the coffee I dropped off on my way back from Shayne’s was as far as I let myself go. It was simple, maybe ineffective, hell—maybe she didn’t even notice the cinnamon on top like she loves. Either way, I just wanted her to know that I’m still here. I needed her to know that I didn’t disappear and that my promise wasn’t conditional.

I settle into the couch, watching last night’s highlights. I’ve been playing really well, up until this week. Can’t say my game isn’t thrown off from everything else taking up space in my brain right now.

Morris on the other hand? Another shutout. Unbelievable. He’s making my job easier, no doubt. But my life is messy in ways I can’t even begin to describe without dropping his name all over it. I try to remind myself I can’t keep blaming him because it’s not fair to any of us, but damn it if I can’t help being a little bitter. Goalie hugs are getting weird, and I’m tired of congratulating him when all I want to do is drop the gloves.

Before I know it, it’s almost time to start getting ready. Not that I need much time, but the mental preparation alone is going to consume me. Wes isn't bringing a date, which came as quite the shock to everyone, so he offered to pick me up. It kind of felt like he was choosing me over Morris, since he easily could have shared a ride with him. Hey, at least I get Wes, right? I immediately shove that stupid thought away and flip on the bathroom light when I hear a knock.

I double-check my phone, it’s still three hours before the gala. No text from Wes saying he’s coming early. Confused, I throw a shirt on and open the door. The second I swing it open, everything stops.

My breath leaves my lungs like someone forechecked me into the boards from behind. My mouth forgets how to form words. My legs almost stop working, and my heart starts beating so fast I wonder if cardiac arrest is something I should be worried about.

Standing in the hallway of my apartment is the most devastatingly beautiful woman, holding a dress bag, wearing my sweatshirt. Her hair is damp and wavy, like she ran here straight from a shower. Her green eyes aren’t red-rimmed like the last time I saw her. They’re clear, almost sparkling, and they’ve never been more beautiful than in this very moment.

Neither of us say a word. We just stand there, taking each other in like she just got back from war and isn’t sure whether to fall into me or make sure I’m real first.

“Hey,” I say, finally, my voice low and a little hesitant.

“Hi,” she breathes, smiling like she’s excited. “Thank you so much for the coffee.” She says it like it warrants driving all the way here just to say thanks.

“Oh. That.” I swallow. “You’re, uh—you’re welcome.” I try not to make too much of this. Whatever this is. I can’t afford to get my hopes up right now.

“Can I come in?” she asks, studying me like she’s bracing for something. I step aside, shoving a hand through my hair. I’m a fucking wreck.

I shut the door behind her, and she’s standing there the same way she was before. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do with my hands that so badly want to be on her. I pull out a stool from the island and sit, grabbing another for her. She sets the dress bag down on the couch and I nod toward it.

“What’s that?”

“My dress for tonight,” she says, carefully like she’s reading me. “I thought maybe we could talk…and then you could decide if the offer to be your date still stands?”

Silly girl. As if that was ever in question.

I watch her as she fiddles with her necklace, the one with my number on it, hanging on her neck. A part of me relaxes with relief knowing she’s still got it on.

“I still want to go with you, tonight, Brennan.” She says it like she’s sure, and I believe her.

“Okay,” I nod, “as long as you’re comfortable with it. We can just go as friends,” I say, giving her an out. An easy excuse. Whatever she needs.

But she shakes her head almost immediately. “No, Bren,” her lips form a line and she continues, “we were never just friends. I don’t think that was ever a possibility for us.” She laughs, and the sound is light and comforting and everything I needed for my chest to loosen, even just a little.

“No. You were never just my friend, Delaney. But you will always be my friend. No matter what.”