Honestly. It broke my heart.
Staring out the passenger window, I replay the night all over again, chewing on the pad of my thumb and glancing at Theo, his wrist resting against the steering wheel.
“You think she’ll be okay?” I whisper.
He squeezes my knee and pulls into his garage. “Yeah, Blake. I think she’ll be okay. Mack’s staying with her despite her wanting to be left alone. He said he’d text us if there are any more updates, but remember. Seizures are kind of par for the course with epilepsy.”
“I know.” I let out a breath. “But knowing it and seeing it firsthand are two different things.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for letting me stay over tonight.”
“You think you even have to ask?” he volleys back, lifting our entwined fingers and bringing them to his lips. His kiss is soft. Gentle.
I smile. “I believe you were the one who pointed out you don’t sleep with women,” I remind him.
He chuckles and kisses my fingers again. “You’re always the exception, Blake. Always.”
We head into his house, but the place is surprisingly quiet on a Saturday night. I look around the empty kitchen and ask, “Where is everyone?”
Theo hasn’t really thrown a Taylor House party since I was fired from the team. However, the lack of roommates or normal hustle and bustle usually present in the house is missing.
Right now, it’s only us.
“Logan’s throwing a party at his place,” Theo explains as he shrugs off his jacket.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“How are things on that front, anyway?” I ask.
“Unless we’re on the ice, Colt and I stay out of his way, and he stays out of ours.”
“Do you think you guys will ever be able to smooth things over?”
Theo scratches his chin but stays quiet for a minute before muttering, “Doubt it. Come on. Let’s go upstairs. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are too.”
He’s right. I am exhausted. My limbs feel like they weigh a hundred pounds as I walk up the stairs to his room. Theo gives me one of his shirts to sleep in and disappears into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As I run my fingers over the black cotton material, a memory resurfaces from dinner.
“Question,” I say when Theo enters the room.
He smiles back at me. “Answer.”
“When Colt brought up his signing with the Lions, you made a face at dinner.”
He squeezes the back of his neck. “What?”
“At dinner. You made a face. What was that about?”
“What face?” he counters, though he looks nervous. On edge.
“When I said you’re still waiting for offers, Colt looked at you and made a face. Like I was the crazy one or something.”
“Blake…”
“I didn’t want to make a big deal about it at the restaurant, especially after everything happened with Kate, but…” My voice trails off, leaving him plenty of time to fill in the blank, though he doesn’t say a word.
The silence only fans my curiosity. My hesitation grows with every passing second.
“Did you lie to me?” I ask. “Have you received any offers?”
He sticks his tongue against his cheek then runs it along his teeth. Looking antsy. Nervous.
“Theo, answer me,” I demand.
“It’s complicated.”
“How, exactly?”
Jaw tight, he motions to his desk in the corner of the room as if it holds all of the answers.
My brows furrow as I walk closer to the dark lacquered desk, warning bells ringing loud in my ears.
There’s a manilla folder lying on the back corner of the desk. Everything else is neatly tucked away in the drawers.
“This?” I ask, my attention darting to it, then returning to Theo.
He hesitates for a brief second, then dips his chin. Like he can’t even look at me. Can’t talk to me. Like the words are lost, and he doesn’t know what to say.
My hands tremble as I open the folder and read the top page, flipping faster through the stack of papers. The words jumble together, but it doesn’t take a genius to piece together what it is or who it’s for.
Contract. Rockies. Bonus. Sign Here. His name is scrawled along the dotted black line.
“What is this?” I whisper, scanning the paperwork for the hundredth time.
“Blake––”
“I just…” I set the papers down. Slowly. Carefully. Like they’re laced with poison, and even the tiniest paper cut could leave me destitute. “I need to know what these are. Actually, scratch that. What I need to know is when you signed with them. Because I’ve asked multiple times if you’ve received any offers, and you said you hadn’t.”
“I never said I hadn’t––”
“Don’t hide behind a technicality,” I warn.
His expression falls. “Blake…” Theo reaches for me, desperate to hold me against him, but I step back.
Shaking my head, I pull away from his touch no matter how much it kills me. “Are you going to leave, Teddy? Have you already decided? Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you, I just…didn’t know what to say.” He scrubs his hand over his face, defeated.
“What you’re supposed to say is, Hey. I’ve gotten an offer from the Rockies, my dream team as a kid. How cool is that? Yeah, they’re a couple thousand miles away, but this is something I really want. What do you think, Blake? That’s what you’re supposed to say.”
He stays quiet, his gaze dropping to the ground as he shifts from one foot to the other. Sheepishly. Shamefully. His silence only kills me more.
“Do you want to know what I would’ve said back to you, Theo? I would’ve said, Hell, yes! This is amazing, Teddy. I’m so excited for you. But instead you kept me in the dark,” I tell him. “Which leaves me…where, exactly?”
“Blake,” he rasps. His voice is thick with pain and regret.
I lift my hand and cut him off. “I know I should tell you to chase your dreams. I know I should tell you I’m willing to do the long-distance thing––and I am––but not like this. Not when I’m expected to just…tag along. Unless you were planning on ending things with me before you left?”
“That’s not what I want!”
“Then, why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “If you want there to be a you and me, I need there to be an actual you and me,” I explain, fighting between numbness, hurt, and absolute fury. “I need us to be equals. I need us to communicate. I need us to talk about things like adults instead of finding out about a pretty fucking huge decision like this”––I wave my hand toward the stack of papers––“like it’s a dirty secret. Like it’s something that deserves to be kept from me when we both know I have a right to know about it. Or at least, if you looked at me like a partner, I would.”
“I do look at you like you’re a partner.” His face twists in pain and fear. Fear that I’ll leave him. Fear that I’ll walk away. That I’ll push him away, the same way he’s clearly pushing me.