God, I was in deep.
“I know we said we’d go for round two,” she murmured, “but I’m pretty wiped out between the move and the late night.”
“I figured after you fell asleep on the way home.” I chuckled. “I’m bagged too, much as I hate to admit it.”
All of today’s heavy lifting had taken its toll. I could have rallied if she wanted—it wasn’t like I’d turn her down, ever—but I was tired.
Bailey pulled the soft white comforter higher around her body, shivering. The room felt fine to me, but as usual, she was cold. Her bare feet told me as much, because they were pressed up against my calf like blocks of ice.
“Thanks for helping me today.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re moved.”
She turned onto her stomach and propped herself up on one elbow to face me. Her blond hair fell in front of her face, and she brushed it away with her free hand.
Our eyes met, and her lips tugged at the corners, a small smile forming on her perfect mouth.
Everything shifted, like the earth moving on its axis.
It felt like the moment before our first kiss, before our first real sleepover, before we had sex for the first time. One of those slivers of time I’d remember forever, going into it as one person and leaving as someone else.
Her expression sobered as her green-gold eyes traced my face, lips slightly parted. She looked nervous for a split second, and her brow furrowed before she spoke.
“I love you,” she said softly.
She beat me to it.
A rush ran through my body. The only time I’d ever felt something even remotely comparable was when I was drafted, but even that didn’t compare—partly because, on some level, I always knew that would happen.
But in the scheme of my life, I never expected her.
“I love you, James. I’ve known that for a while.”
For once in my life, I’d managed to filter something. I was fairly certain I’d gotten there first, although it took me a while to figure out what the hell was going on.
Her face brightened, her smile returning. “Really?” She shifted, moving closer to me and placing a soft, warm hand on my bare chest.
“Yeah.” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I wanted to make sure you were there too before I said anything. But it’s not a big secret, anyway. Pretty sure half the state knows how I feel by this point.” I leaned in, my mouth hovering above hers. “Feels good to say it, though.”
She smiled against my lips. “Sure does.”
The week flew by in a blur of classes, practice, and dryland. In addition to her usual heavy workload, Bailey was consumed with completing some massive scholarship application that required an essay, references, and a million other time-intensive items. Between our conflicting schedules, we barely had time to see each other.
To make matters worse, Coach Miller was all over me again, which I couldn’t understand because my grades were fine and so was my performance. I could barely breathe without him looking in my direction.
But even with staying busy, my thoughts weighed me down. It was like carrying a gigantic bag of hockey equipment around all week, metaphorically speaking.
I debated for several days over whether to do it. Weighed the pros and cons. Considered talking to Bailey first. Ruled that out. Tried to listen to my conscience. Wrestled with what my conscience said versus what my brain knew. Went back and forth several times. Asked Ward and promptly disregarded his advice because it didn’t align with what I wanted to do.
Finally, I pulled the trigger.
After getting Palmer to pass along Derek’s contact info, I had to do a shit ton of arm twisting via text to get him to meet me for a simple beer.
Dick.
I slid into the dark green vinyl booth, facing the front so I could watch for Derek when he arrived. Maybe this was a little hypocritical after giving Bailey a hard time about hiding the Morrison thing, but it was for a good cause. She’d understand.
Hopefully.
Plus, I did warn her that I was nosy.
Ten minutes later than we’d agreed, Derek pushed open the wooden double doors of O’Connor’s and crossed the room to my table. He flopped down into the booth across from me, giving me a wary look. His head-to-toe uniform of blue and gray Bulldogs gear was probably intentional, meant to remind me that we were still firmly on opposite sides.
“What do you want, Carter? Is this about Bailey?”
Pretty cold reception from someone who—according to Bailey—was willing to give me a chance, but whatever. I guess he was singing a different tune when she was around.
“And here I thought Bailey said you were going to make nice.”
“I still don’t trust you,” he said.
That was mutual. But, moving on. I was willing to be civil. We didn’t have to be best friends.
Our server appeared, and we quickly ordered a pint of beer each. The same beer, actually—Half Moon Pale Ale from the local Rockwood Brewery.
Maybe he would chill out after he had a drink. Nah, probably not. Aside from Morrison and Paul, I didn’t really hold grudges, but Derek took things much more personally than I did. Our bad blood went back pretty far too; right to the beginning of my freshman year, when I discovered how easy he was to rile up on the ice. Plus, he was really pissed after I got him thrown out of that game last spring.
I didn’t want to jump right into it, so I made a half-assed attempt at conversation about hockey and the weather while we waited for our drinks to arrive. It was painful. I wasn’t a fan of small talk at the best of times, let alone when the person across from me openly hated my guts.
My limited supply of patience dwindled quickly.
“What’s going on with your parents?” I placed my forearms on the table and angled closer.
Derek frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The house and money situation,” I said. “Your sister was pretty vague with me. How bad is it?”
“Well…it’s not great.”
Our server returned, setting down two cardboard coasters and placing the beers on top before leaving again.
“Elaborate.”
Derek looked into his beer, hesitating. “I don’t want to tell you anything Bailey doesn’t want you to know.”
“Tell me anyway. Maybe I can help.”
He snorted. “What, do you have a money tree?”
I don’t know, asshole. Does a hefty trust fund count? Christ. Was he always this salty or was I special?
“Maybe I do,” I said. “How bad?”
Derek’s expression shifted from overt hostility to poorly concealed embarrassment. “I don’t know specifically. I just know they’ve fallen behind on everything.” He shrugged, picking up his glass. “Living on one income for six months will do that.”
So her dad hadn’t been laid off recently. I wondered, given that he was a teacher, and it was partway through the school year. Dammit, James. Why was she trying to save face with me?
“Plus, they used up all their savings back when Bailey—” He caught himself.
Um, what’s this now?
“When Bailey what?” I leaned over the table, elbows spread across the top, prompting him.
Derek looked at me, wide-eyed, like a goalie caught in the line of an oncoming puck without his pads. I guess an inability to lie well ran in the family. “Uh, nothing. Never mind.”
I took a sip of my beer, pretending to let that Bailey thing slide. Even though I sure as hell wasn’t.
“Are they in foreclosure?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“They’re behind on the loan payments?”
“The mortgage is in default. They have a few more weeks before it goes into foreclosure.”
In other words, right before Christmas. Fuck.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t even want to go home for Christmas to deal with my catastrophe of a family. And yet, it was all Bailey wanted—but might not get.
“So that’s why they’re selling the house.”