Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“I feel the same,” I tell her. “The world can have any damn opinion they want. We know we are made for each other.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER
Emma
I sit on Chrissy’s beanbag, my chest aching like crazy, which is pretty much the norm these days. My head hurts, too, aching from lack of sleep. It feels like pressure constantly expands inside of me. I groan and rub my face.
Chrissy wags her finger at me, causing her bracelets to clink together. “Why are you groaning, huh?” She just asked me, So, when are you telling your dad? “It’s been two weeks of secret texting. Phone calls. Two weeks of you telling me you’ll rip the Band-Aid off. Then nothing.”
I sit up, glaring at her. “I’ve already told you. We’re not talking about this crap. You just said it—two weeks. It’s only been two weeks since you—”
“Nope, nah-uh. Jeez, E. Okay, I was drugged, but those men are in jail. In fact, I’m pretty sure the cops have stopped looking for Mr. Vigilante, so that story has a happy ending, at least. Apparently, the weirdos even gave up their friends who ran.”
“That’s great news!”
“But,” Chrissy goes on, fidgeting in her computer chair, twisting it from side to side, “none of that means you have to treat me differently. It’s in the past. There are only so many times I can talk about the one freaking bike trail I’ve been to this past month, okay? So let’s cut. The. Crap.” She claps her hands with each word. “This is making you miserable. You haven’t slept. It’s not good for anybody. You need to tell them.”
I stand up, wanting to yell, but I can’t, not at Chrissy. I want to yell at myself for being such a coward. My life has taken on a routine these past two weeks: video chatting with Logan mid-day when Dad’s out with the volume turned low. The camera sex. The phone sex. Logan’s team is winning again.
“I’m sorry,” Chrissy says. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, but it’s painful, E. Watching you eat yourself up. Look at me. Look at what happened, but it’s over. Not knowing, imagining all the worst-case scenarios. That’s the really bad part.”
I rub my eyes. She’s completely right, which makes arguing with her impossible. Whenever I think about telling Dad, his reaction surges into my head, his face malformed from the hate. “I should’ve told him the day Logan left. Every day, we’ve made it worse with more sneaking around. Dad doesn’t even know why Logan ghosted him. It was because of me, of how he felt. Logan wants to be Dad’s friend, but he can’t reach out until Dad knows.”
“Why not?” Chrissy asks.
“Logan doesn’t want to lie to him. He wants to tell him, and it’s not like we’ve got forever.” I let my hand move over my belly. Chrissy’s retro-style digital clock reads December above the time. “I have to do it. Soon. Tonight.”
“Is Logan getting impatient?” Chrissy asks.
“He doesn’t talk about it unless I bring it up. Honestly, I don’t think he has the time. Logan’s very good at cordoning off parts of his mind. Do you know what I mean?”
“Compartmentalizing?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say, nodding. “It’s like he’s a computer. He’s passionate. Don’t get me wrong, but in terms of his focus, it’s impressive. It’s like he only has enough bandwidth for me and hockey. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s nice. He’s respecting my decision to wait until I’m ready.”
“But you’re never going to be ready,” Chrissy fills in for me. “You’re never going to feel ready. You’re always going to have doubts.”
“I know.” I grip my hands together, squeezing, thinking of the baby. That reminds me. Taking my backpack from Chrissy’s bed, I get my folic acid capsules. I take it with some bottled water, wiping my mouth. “I have to tonight. I-I promise you, okay, Chrissy? I’ve never broken a promise to you, have I?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Then I promise you. I’m telling Dad tonight.”
“How was training?” I ask, the phone on speaker as I drive home, the pit in my belly opening wider and deeper the closer I get.
Logan’s voice comes husky through the speaker system. “I can’t wait for the season to be over. That’s how it’s going.”
“You’re playing well, though. You almost got a top-ten record last game, didn’t you? For goals scored by a defenseman? You know, to go with the two spots you already hold.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Somebody’s been doing her homework. I’m only doing well because I think of you before each game—you and our child. I think about telling them about my last season. That almost gets me to where I need to be. That almost makes me the Ice Demon.”
“What gets you the rest of the way?” I ask.