“Does this have something to do with him?” Andrew’s disgust is evident as he looks between Easton and me, and I want to scream. I’m so over this stupid day.
Luckily for Easton, he doesn’t say anything.
Nope. My husband simply wraps his hand around my hip, much like he did earlier, and squeezes, letting me know he’s here. As if I could forget. As if the heat from his body isn’t singeing my skin.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. If you’d like me to come to your tryout tomorrow night, let me know. I’m going home.”
I move around Easton and ignore both men.
Andrew stands his ground where he is, but I feel Easton immediately move with me. He follows me through the doors into the parking lot before he grabs my hand. “Slow your roll, princess.”
“Slow my what?” I spin around and shove him away. “Listen, hockey boy. Fighting is your thing, not mine. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like arguments. And I really, really don’t like violence. I’ve dealt with all three today. Now, I’m not saying they’re all your fault, but they’ve all centered around you and our marriage, and if that doesn’t scream something is seriously wrong, I don’t know what will.” I close my eyes, refusing to cry. Not now. Not in front of him.
Have I mentioned confrontation makes me cry? Because it does. And it’s not pretty.
Easton’s big, fat feet take two steps my way, but I throw my hands up. “Don’t. Do not touch me.”
“Lindy . . .” he whispers, and I feel horrible for the way those words just came out. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Tell me why I married you? Tell me why you married me. Please,” I plead. “Tell me why I’ve been fighting with almost everyone I know for a week, E. Tell me something. Make me understand what you’re doing here in Kroydon Hills? Why take the trade to the Revolution? They’ve been trying to get you for years. Why take it now?”
Easton’s steps are slow. Cautious. Like he’s scared I’ll bolt at any second. With one hand, he reaches up and cups my cheek. “Do you really not know, princess?”
I swallow down what little pride I feel like I have left and lift my eyes to his, blinking back the tears, and shake my head.
“It’s always been you. The answer to all those questions is you, Madeline Kingston. It was you when we were too young for me to admit it was you. It was still you when I wasn’t a good enough man for it to be you. It’s been you every night in my dreams, when I’m not strong enough to save you. When you slip through my fingers and I lose you before I wake up in a cold sweat, unable to shake the image of you dying in front of me from my brain.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “And for one night, it wasn’t just you. It was us.”
“Easton. I . . .” It might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I force myself to take a step back. “I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to think when you’re everywhere.”
E shrugs. “Well I’ll be gone for an away-game stretch over the next week. I leave the day after tomorrow. So I guess you’ll have some time to figure it out.”
Yeah. I guess I will.
“So when does he leave?” Everly asks as she pours herself a glass of wine. She and Brynlee just got back from the sushi place. Luckily for me, they grabbed me a California roll because I’m starving.
“I don’t know,” I tell them over a mouthful of food. “In two days, I guess.”
Brynlee pulls her phone out and looks at something before looking back at me. “The team flies out at noon. We play in Atlanta that night, then have two more games before we fly home. Our next home game is in a week. I think it’s our only stretch this bad all season.”
“Oh.” I push my food around on my plate with my chopsticks, not liking the sinking feeling this gives me. “Guys, what the hell am I going to do?”
“Girl, you’ve got to figure out what you want before we can try to figure out what you need to do,” Everly tells me as she grabs Bryn’s phone out of her hand and studies the screen. “Your man’s games are on the other side of the country for a week. The man who just got himself traded. For. You. The one who just moved his whole life how many thousands of miles away. For. You. He knows what he wants. What do you want?”
I run my fingers through my hair and cringe. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, you do,” Bryn says sternly. “You’re not some wishy-washy little girl, Lindy. You’ve wanted Easton for years. We’re not blind. Everyone knows it, even if you’re not sure. And guess what? You’ve got him. Now what are you gonna do with him?”