The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

The second we’re in my car, she slams the door, then looks at me with both concern and accusation in her eyes. “What is going on with you?”

Like she doesn’t know. I fling the question right back at her. “What’s going on with you?”

She yanks the seatbelt on, then crosses her arms. “Why would you ask me that question about Date Night? Is there anything that would hold me back ?” She mimics me, but her voice is laced with hurt.

So is my whole body.

“Because I needed to know.” I stab the on button and hit the gas. But as I cruise through traffic, I can’t escape the weight of her stare.

“What is going on, Max?” she asks again, pressing me, with genuine concern in her voice.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?

I grit my teeth and try to fight off the hurt. I truly do. But when we’re close to her house, I’m too caught up in this swirl of doubt. It’s like chains wrapped around me. “Are you moving on?”

She narrows her brow. Studies me like I make no sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Moving on. You said that at dinner,” I bite out.

“Garrett said that,” she corrects me, a little incredulous. Actually, a lot incredulous.

I take a deep breath. “He said, and I quote, And now you can finally move on to other things. ”

“Those were his words!”

“You didn’t deny them.”

“It’s not my job to deny something your agent says,” she says, her voice rising as I pull up to her home, parking at the curb with an unnecessary squeal of tires.

“He seemed awfully fixated on your promotion. The entire dinner seemed to be about the project,” I say, building up a new head of steam.

She holds her hands out wide. “News flash: It was about the project. That’s literally why Zaire asked us to dinner. We just worked on a project together.” She takes a beat and draws a deep breath, then pins me with a sharp stare. “So what are you getting at, Max?”

I shouldn’t say it. I really shouldn’t. But it’s weighing on me. It’s gnawing at me. It’s eating away at me. Because I know what it’s like to be burned and to be burned publicly. Before I can think the better of it, the words tumble out, “Did you just use me for the promotion?”

Her jaw falls open.

I always thought that was just a saying. But now I know it’s the truth. Everly Rosewood stares at me slack-jawed, like she can’t believe I’ve said that. Slowly, she lifts her hand, pointing to her chest. “Are you equating me to your ex?”

“No!” I say it so fast because she needs to know that’s not what I meant.

“Then what are you saying?” The question is a quiet hiss.

“I’m saying that the whole night was about the project, and it just made me wonder?—”

“Wonder what, Max? Make you wonder what? If I’m willing to put my head on the line for you? If I feel everything for you? If I’m willing to take all these chances for you?”

Her questions cut me to the core, and I deserve every single nick.

She pushes open her door and awareness crashes into me all at once. The spiral un-spirals and I snap back to reality. I fucked up big time.

I race out of the car to the other side as she’s trotting up the steps to her place. “Everly, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I spiraled, and it’s all my fault. It’s hard for me to trust.” I reach for her, but I don’t feel like I have the right to touch her, so I pull back my hand, trying to use my words and voice instead. “Forgive me. Please.”

She inhales—a long, thoughtful beat. “It’s hard for me to trust too, but I did it anyway.”

Her voice is breaking apart, and I am the worst boyfriend in the world for hurting her like this. I try to take a step closer. “I didn’t mean anything by it. My thoughts just spun out. All my fears climbed back up.”

“I can tell,” she says, but her voice is cool, and she’s wearing the armor of self-protection.

“I was making up conspiracy theories in my head at dinner. I was freaking out. Let me make it up to you. I’m crazy about you. I’m madly in?—”

But she holds up a hand again, stopping me from saying the words, maybe because it’s not fair to tell someone you love them for the first time in the middle of a fight. “You were making up conspiracy theories. Because I would never do those things. I would never use you. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“I was ready to put everything on the line for you, and you had the audacity to say that .”

Was. She was ready.

“Are you ending this with me?” I ask, the words like razors in my throat.

She gives me a look that says how can you think that but then turns her gaze to the doorway. “Max, I have an early Zoom meeting with an East Coast team. At eight. And I do not have the luxury of earning a hockey player’s salary. I am going inside so I can get some rest and not make any more mistakes at my job.”

“Can I go upstairs with?—”

“I need some space tonight. Please just let me have some space tonight.”

My heart caves in, but the woman asked loud and clear for one thing— some space tonight.

And I have to be the kind of man who listens. “Okay,” I say heavily.

Then she walks up the steps and opens the door, and I watch her go. My heart’s been punched.

By my own stupid fist.