“Do you?” I ask. “Do you look at me like a partner, or do you look at me like I’m some…some little girl you need to protect? Because I’m stronger than you think, Theo.”
“Baby…” He reaches for me but stops himself and scrubs his palm from his forehead to his chin, his fingers digging into his skin. Like this is killing him.
Fun fact, Theo: it’s killing me too.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I push. “I’ve been asking for weeks about offers, and you’ve always deflected. But this?” I pick up the papers and shove them against his chest. “This isn’t some verbal agreement. This is binding.”
“I haven’t sent it yet,” he rushes out, fumbling with the papers. “Where do you want me to go? I’ll do whatever you want, go where––”
“Don’t you get it?” My voice cracks. “Where you go isn’t the issue.”
His shoulders deflate. It makes him look more lost than ever.
I let out a shaky breath and step closer to him, touching his forearm and dragging my fingers down his bare skin to his fisted hands. “This is why I was upset about the whole Coach firing me situation. Because you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t communicate with me. You didn’t respect my opinion.”
“Blake, I––”
“Let me finish,” I beg.
He stays quiet, his gaze glued to the ground.
“You made a decision without even bothering to talk to me about it, even though you knew it could potentially affect me. That’s why I was mad before, and it’s why I’m mad now. I need us to be a team. And in order to do that, you need to stop jumping into things without discussing them with me. I’m not trying to be controlling. I’m trying to be seen as an equal in this relationship instead of some girl who’s just…tagging along while you follow your dreams. Does that make sense?”
His frown almost kills me as he tears his attention from the carpet and looks me in the eye, his gaze swirling with regret. “Yeah, Blake. It makes sense.”
“Okay.” I sniff, my emotions clogging my stupid throat as I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Colt. “I’m going to have Colt drive me home tonight.”
“Babe––”
“It’s okay. And we’re okay, all right? I just…I need a minute to wrap my head around…” I wave my hand toward the stupid stack of papers. “Your future.”
“You mean our future.”
“If you want it to be our future, you need to work on letting me build it with you instead of expecting me to be cool with whatever you decide. That’s not how a relationship works, Teddy.” I bite my lip to keep from rambling more.
I need to back off for now. I need to rein in my temper. I’ve already proven my point, and no one likes listening to a broken record. But holy hell, it’s hard right now.
“Don’t go.” He grapples with my hand, refusing to let me go while also refusing to acknowledge why I’m frustrated in the first place.
A breath of air whooshes from my lungs as I fight the urge to run like last time. To hide from our problems instead of fighting through them. But even though I’m determined to make our relationship work, this still hurts.
It hurts a lot.
Breathe, Blake, I remind myself.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask. “Because I need to know. I need to know if I’m getting through to you. If you can see why I’m upset right now and how it has nothing to do with where you sign and everything to do with your lack of communication.”
His head hangs. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”
He’s right. He should’ve. But rubbing it in his face won’t get us anywhere.
The scruff of his jaw tickles my palm as I cup his cheek. “I know.”
Leaning into my touch, he offers, “Let me drive you home. You don’t need to call Colt.”
“I already texted him. He’s on his way.”
“Blake––”
“It’s okay. I think this whole contract thing combined with the Kate scenario from earlier drained me more than I realized. I just want to go home and go to sleep.” I nod to myself. The idea sounds better and better the longer I let it settle. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
I turn toward the hall, but he grabs my wrist and spins me around until I’m facing him again. “When? When will we talk?”
I lick my lips, unsure what to say. “I-I don’t know. Later.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Are you coming to the next game?” he pushes.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Blake––”
“The kids have an activity that day,” I explain. And it kills me. The pain in his eyes. The hurt. The distance I can feel growing between us with every passing second.
“Promise me we’re okay,” he growls.
My eyes flick to his. “We’re okay.”
“Okay.” With a sigh, he lets me go.
I head out of his room and down the hall, taking the stairs one at a time, and feeling…sluggish. Like I’m not even in full control over my own body right now, let alone my emotions or relationship. Once I reach the front door, I pull my jacket close around me, but it does shit to keep the evening chill from seeping into my bones like a sponge in ice water.
Colt’s truck is already parked in the driveway with Ash in the passenger seat. They must’ve been close by when I texted. Without another word, I climb inside and rest my head against the window.
Well, it’s official.
Today was shitty.
I hope tomorrow will be better.
48
BLAKELY
“So…you still pissed at Theo?” Colt asks. Ash invited him to watch The Bachelorette with us before their fancy date night, and the bastard brought ice cream, so I couldn’t exactly kick him out. Not that I wanted to. But seeing him being all sweet and adorable with Ash only made me miss Theo more, which I didn’t even think was possible.
“I’m not pissed at Theo,” I lie.
Actually, it isn’t a lie. I’m not pissed. I’m hurt that he kept something so important from me. There’s a difference. Don’t get me wrong. I’m trying to get over it. But it still takes time. I’m almost glad he’s helping Macklin with a few things at his cabin and can’t hang out tonight. And the fact I’m helping with the charity and missing Theo’s game tomorrow? Talk about a happy coincidence.
“So, you’re not pissed he kept the negotiations with the Rockies from you?” Colt pushes.
My lips flatten.
“Look, it was a dick move, but––”
“We’ve both been busy,” I interrupt. “But we’re fine. I’ll see him…later.”
The word haunts me like an order of bad sushi. Because I might have been the one to throw out the term when I left a few nights ago, but he’s the one who’s embraced it wholeheartedly. The bastard hasn’t even reached out to me. Not really. Other than a quick text here and there…nothing. He hasn’t asked to hang out. He hasn’t asked if he can come over. Just good morning and good night texts. That’s it. And I want to hate him for it.