Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
And there it was. The answer I needed, but not the one I hoped to hear.
He was over it all. Bored. Unamused. Probably rolling his eyes internally that we even had to have a meeting about this when he had more important things to do.
Rage simmered under the sadness blanketing me, and I crossed my arms and my legs at the same time, leaning back on the couch. “Then I guess it’s settled.”
He blinked, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “I guess so.”
I laughed under my breath, turning to Isabella with new resolve. “Alright, coach,” I said, ignoring the loud crack of my heart. “What’s the plan?”
The Hardest Lie
Aleks
Anger.
Apathy.
Detachment.
Confusion.
Regret.
Repeat.
This was the cycle of my emotions for more than a week.
After the phone call with Mia, Giana, and Isabella, I checked firmly into survival mode — and I only did that for Mia. If she hadn’t made me promise, I would have added reckless to my cycle. I would have been drowning myself in whiskey, checking out of my life completely.
Because what the fuck did it matter now?
Not even work could serve as a refuge. I worked my games on autopilot, playing just well enough not to raise any flags to our staff but just terribly enough that Daddy P noticed. He’d tried to pull me aside to talk before our game against Jacksonville, but I’d shoved him off me and told him to eat a dick.
Not my finest moment.
I couldn’t help it. I was pissed. I was seething. And I took out that frustration on the ice, on any opponent who dared to go toe to toe with me, on any teammate who had the gall to question me, on the puck any time I got ahold of it.
It was easy to just be mad.
Never good enough.
Never good enough.
Even Otis knew I was off. I’d managed not to be a prick to the old man, but I’d been cold enough for him to get the picture that I didn’t want to talk. He’d stopped by my place unannounced as always, and when I’d declined to join him for a drink, he’d pushed his palm against my door in my attempt to close it.
“You have the power to change your circumstances,” he’d said, his eyes hard on mine. “Don’t you forget that, young man.”
It’d taken everything in me not to laugh in his face.
If he only knew how powerless I was right now.
I knew, underneath that rage and numbness, there was something more pressing vying for my attention. Something I was hellbent on ignoring.
Because at the base of it all — I was hurt.
I was fucking wrecked.
I supposed there was a part of me that always knew the truth. Mia’s father had told me from the start — I wasn’t good enough for her. And I’d agreed. I’d seen her for everything she was and me for everything I wasn’t and knew the two didn’t fit.
I’d held it together that night when we were teenagers, the night she’d asked me to kiss her and I’d found the willpower to say no.
I’d kept my distance over the years, watching her love other men from afar, other men who were my polar opposite in every way.
And even through this publicity stunt, I’d done my best to draw the line between real and fake, to realize what this was and what it would never be. I’d taken advantage of the excuse to hold her, to touch her, to kiss her — knowing it would all end one day, that it didn’t really mean anything.
But there’d always been part of me that wondered.
Never good enough.
Never good enough.
Even when I talked myself out of it, Hope was a loud little bastard in my ear. When I held her, I wondered if maybe she wanted me to. When I kissed her, I wondered if she liked it, wondered if the way her breath caught meant something.
And that night in my condo when she’d asked me to kiss her again, when she’d admitted she wanted me when there wasn’t a camera around to perform for, I hadn’t hesitated.
I’d jumped all the way in.
And like an idiot, I’d assumed it meant something.
It wasn’t fair of me to put that on her. She’d owned her truth that night.
Turn off my brain. Make me stop thinking.
She’d been anxious, scared. She was powerless in that moment and couldn’t sleep thinking about the possibility of her show being canceled.
And so she’d used me.
And fuck, I’d wanted to be used.
I’d let her do it again even now, even knowing this ice pick of pain in my chest was sure to follow, I’d still say yes. I’d still fall to my knees for her.
I’d told her she was in control that night, and I’d meant it.
But as soon as we woke the next morning and she was running around my condo like a hurricane herself, I realized relinquishing that control would be the death of me.