“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, I spent this week completely preoccupied about something, and I think I just came to a decision.”
Considering where this conversation had started—with two women who lived out in California trying to give me their number—I didn’t have a good feeling. “A decision on what?”
She looked up. “I think we need to say our goodbye now, Max.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “What? Why? Because of those women?”
Georgia shook her head. “No, I’ve been thinking about it all week. It’s just… It’s hard for me, sort of like pulling the Band-Aid off a wound a little at a time. I need to rip it at this point and start to heal.”
Fuck. I forced myself to look into her eyes, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Her beautiful green eyes swam with heartache, and I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it until this moment, but they also had dark circles beneath them, coming through a layer of makeup. She didn’t normally even wear stuff on her face. I felt like throwing up.
All I wanted was to convince her to stick it out until the end. It was only a few weeks anyway. Maybe it was the giant ego everyone always said I had, but I felt like I could talk her out of it, if I tried hard enough. But…that would be selfish.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I had no choice but to agree. The very least I could do was make it easier on her. So I gulped down the lump in my throat and nodded. “Okay. I understand.” I waited a minute. When she was still quiet, I said, “Do you want to go? We don’t have to have dinner.”
“No, it’s fine. We’re here. And I do enjoy your company.”
Thank fuck. “Okay.”
“Do you think we can just not talk about it and have a nice dinner?”
“Sure.”
Over the next hour, we talked about my trip to California, a new line of outdoor products she wanted to look into developing, and how the ladies who watched my dogs were going to use my apartment to bake their dog treats after I left since I still had six months on my lease.
The entire time, I felt like I was standing on a gangplank, waiting to walk off and drown. When the waitress came by and asked if we wanted to look at the dessert menu, we shared a secret smile and both said yes. Neither of us was ready for the evening to end.
But eventually, the restaurant patrons thinned out, and when the waitress came over for the third time to check on us after we’d finished dessert, we finally gave in.
We were only a few blocks from Georgia’s apartment, and I was glad she let me walk her home. But in the lobby of her building, she pushed the button for the elevator and turned to face me.
“I think we should say goodbye here.”
My stomach dropped to the floor, but I nodded and did my best to smile. “Okay.”
Georgia took my hands, her eyes brimming with tears. “I just wanted to say that while right now I’m hurting, I don’t regret our time together.”
I swallowed the giant lump in my throat as I cupped her cheek. “The only thing I could ever regret about us is the ending, sweetheart.”
Tears streamed down Georgia’s face as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. She put her hand over my hand on her face and turned to kiss my palm. “Goodbye, Max.”
I bent and brushed my lips with hers. “Goodbye, Georgia.”
She stepped into the waiting elevator, but I couldn’t turn and walk away. Instead, I shut my eyes and let her go.
CHAPTER 26
* * *
Max
A lot happened over the next few weeks. I signed a monster of a contract to play for a team with real playoff potential, flew out to California for a live press announcement followed by a two-day media junket, and I packed up my apartment in New York. I still had plenty of time until practices would start, but since there was nothing keeping me here anymore, I said screw it and booked a moving company to come get my stuff. Then I went online and bought a one-way ticket back to California five days from now.
I should’ve been out-of-my-mind happy with all of my good fortune. Most people worked their entire life to earn what I was going to earn in one year, and everything I’d dreamed about since I’d laced on my first pair of skates was within reach. Yet I was miserable. So fucking miserable.
My mother was currently up in Boston to visit my brother and the kids, and I was supposed to go see her. But considering I could barely stand myself, I couldn’t expect anyone else to put up with my miserable ass, so I called and told her I had a lot of things to wrap up here, and instead I would come up to Washington once I was settled in on the West Coast next week.
Then I decided to go for a run.
I had no idea how far I’d gone, but I was a mile or two from home when it started to rain. Not just drizzle either, it goddamn poured. But it felt kinda right. On my way back, I passed the Garden. Glenn, one of the security guards I’d been friendly with, happened to be outside under the overhang, smoking a cigarette. He’d been on duty the night I met Georgia. He waved, so I stopped.
“Yearwood, you traitor.” He smiled. “Figured you’d be out on the West Coast, hamming it up at parties with movie stars and starlets by now.”
“Soon.” I put my hands on my knees and bent to catch my breath. “What are you doing here? I thought you only worked nights.”
“A day-shift spot finally opened up. You remember Bernie, the guy with the weird, red goatee but has white hair?”
“Yeah, I know Bernie.”
“He got a job in operations. Took over Otto’s gig.” He shook his head. “Such a shame about that guy, huh?”
“Shame about who?”
“Otto. I figured you knew. They sent out an email to the team.”
“I’m not on the team anymore. What happened to Otto?”
“Had a cough that started last week. A few days later, he was in the hospital with pneumonia. Yesterday they had to put him on a ventilator. Antibiotics aren’t working, and his immune system is shot from the cancer treatments.”
Shit. “You know what hospital he’s in?”
“St. Luke’s.”
“Thanks. I gotta go. It was good seeing you, Glenn. Take care.”
• • •
“Hi. I’m looking for Otto Wolfman.”
The nurse pointed to one of the glass rooms on her left. “He’s in bed four.”
The intensive care unit was one big space with a nurses’ station in the middle and small, individual, fishbowl glass rooms located around the perimeter. The sliding door to Otto’s was open, and a woman sat at his bedside. When she saw me, she stood and walked out.
“Hi. Are you Mrs. Wolfman?” I asked.
“I am.”
“I’m Max Yearwood, a friend of your husband’s from the Garden.”
She smiled. “I know who you are. Otto talks about you all the time, and he never misses watching your games. He adores you.”
I smiled back. “You sure you got the right guy? He calls me jackass.”
Mrs. Wolfman chuckled. “That’s how you know he likes you—if he calls you names.”
I looked over her shoulder at Otto. He was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and drip bags. “I just heard what happened. How’s he doing?”