“A tight-lipped, immature asshole at times?”
“Exactly.” She chuckles.
Why are boys so dumb? This isn’t high school. We’re too old for this kind of petty drama—and that’s coming from a drama major.
“I’ve tried to get Jase to give me the details, but he straight-up refuses to talk about it. Do you think you could get it out of Nate?”
I shake my head. “Doubtful. Right now he’s not even taking my calls. He’ll only text, and that’s rare too.” I blink back the tears building behind my eyes. This is not the time for a pity party. As soon as Jake shows up, I have to get back to rehearsal. I can wallow in all my bad choices later.
The door to the hospital room is pushed open and I’m ready to fall to my knees in gratitude, but when he steps into the room, I almost go down for an entirely different reason.
The rails on either side of the hospital bed are meant to keep the patient safe, but as my hands wrap around the hard plastic, I pray they can do the same for me.
“I swear, if you weren’t about to give birth to my nephew, I’d kick your ass. You don’t text that sort of infor—”
Jase’s words cut off and his eyes flare—flashing gold with anger and not green with love—when he spots me standing next to his sister’s beside.
A kaleidoscope of emotions flashes across his features before he pulls on the same mask I’ve seen him use on the ice. Gone is the man I fell in love with; in his place is the hardened enforcer feared throughout the NHL.
The lyrics to “Ten Duel Commandments” play through my mind as we stand off against each other, only his laboring sister between us.
I wish things could be like the musicals I’ve made my life’s work, because I really wish I could break out in song right now. Everything is better when said in song. And with jazz hands. Can’t forget the jazz hands.
“Broadway!” Cali cries, rushing around his friend, who is frozen in place, and rounding the end of the hospital bed to hug me. My eyes flutter shut as I fall into his embrace to attempt to rid myself of the chill Jase’s dead stare gave.
“Hey, Cali.” I hold on just a little longer.
“Well shit, Jordan.” Cali’s hands curve around my shoulders, holding me out for his inspection as he speaks to her. “You should have told us there was a dress code for this thing.” Again he scans the white dress I have on. “I feel supremely underdressed.”
Trust Cali to break the tension. It really is no surprise he and Jase are such good friends. They are both ridiculous, yet so damn genuine.
And you threw it all away with a lie.
Clearly, I’m my own worst enemy.
I don’t have to look to know Jase is still glaring at me; I can practically feel the tips of the daggers he shoots my way slicing into my skin.
“Why are you here?” Jase’s hard voice cuts deep.
“Um…” I drop my gaze to Jordan, who shoots me a sympathetic look.
“You shouldn’t be here, Bishop.”
Ouch.
Not Sweet Potato.
Not baby.
Not Mels.
Not even Brightly.
I’m Bishop now.
“Jase,” Jordan scolds since I’ve forgotten how to speak.
My eyes blink back tears.
His continue to shoot daggers.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” The words come out more sob than speech.
“You’re sorry?” Jase retorts incredulously.
Faltering under his harsh glare, I can only manage a nod.
“Liars aren’t welcome here.”
“Jase!” Jordan shouts, but he ignores her. He’s radiating animosity.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
Every time I heard him mention the feud with Nate, each insult I had to hear and sit through…it was like a knife in the back not to come to my brother’s defense. The guilt that ate away daily over lying to the two men I loved the most in this world…
None of it could have prepared me for what I feel under his hateful gaze.
“Even your brother”—he spits the word—“who hates my guts, has always had the balls to at least tell me the truth.”
“Bro.” This time it’s Cali who jumps in.
“No wonder your parents don’t come around.” If he physically flayed me open it, wouldn’t be as painful as this. “But I get it.” He shrugs like his vile words are nothing more than a passing thought. “If you’re anything like your brother, I wouldn’t want to be around you either.”
“Jason!” Jordan bellows.
“Whoa, not cool, bro,” Cali adds.
All the air is sucked from the room and I can’t breathe, crushed under the weight of my broken heart.
I—
I need to get out of here before I completely lose my shit.
Shrugging out of Cali’s hold, I turn on my heel and flee.
I barely register Jordan’s protest or Cali’s shout of surprise as I run down the hallway of the hospital, the stomp-stomp-stomp of my heels marking my progress to the elevator.
My hands slap the wall as I crash a palm against the button to call the elevator, hitting it repeatedly in my haste. Intellectually, I know pressing it doesn’t make it arrive faster, but intellect has left the building, replaced by pure emotion.
Come on, come on, come on, I beg.
Press-press-press.
Ding!
A sob breaks free and I rush into the thankfully empty car, collapsing against the wall.
The doors close, the car begins its descent, and finally I lose the battle, the tears falling freely.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?!”
I drop my gaze to where JD is glowering at me from the adjustable bed. Blue and white hospital gown on, IV inserted in her left arm, actively in labor—none of it takes away from the you are a fucking idiot glare she hurls at me.
I see it, but at the same time I don’t. Nothing’s really registering since coming face to face with Melody for the first time in weeks.
And, holy fuck, what a sight she was. Marilyn Monroe may have been the sex symbol of an era, but the bombshell has nothing on my girl in that white dress.
Shit! She’s not your girl anymore, asshole. You walked away from her—literally.
It’s true. I can’t deny it or, hell, even justify the way I left her standing in the tunnels under the Garden without a word. Can I even consider us broken up since I technically never said the words?
Seriously, who does that?
I’m an idiot.
No—you, sir, are an asshole. Wombmate’s got it right. What the fuck did you just do? What you just said might be the most vile stuff to come out of your mouth—ever.
“Jason.” What the fuck?! screams JD’s look as she thrusts an arm toward the door behind me. “Why are you just standing there?”
I blink, slowly swiveling my head around to see the once-again-shut door.
“Go. After. Her.”
I want to. I really do.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
Just like I haven’t been able to send any of the hundreds of text messages I’ve composed, only to delete them.
I’ve been a mess, a complete shut-in outside of hockey.