Page 83 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
“Understandable.”
I return to the important issue, since I want some clarity before I go. I need it. “Did you make a pros and cons list for us?” I ask, my stomach flipping a little with nerves. Because I want him to have found all the pros. I want him to tell me he’ll do a long-distance thing, even though I don’t want that at all with him.
That’s the irony of this unworkable sitch with Dean.
I want all of him, and I don’t know how to be content with whatever scraps I can scavenge.
I’m an all-in kind of guy. A go for it person.
Don’t do anything halfway when you can give 110 percent. That’s how I’ve been my whole life. It’s what I had to do for my mom when my dad died. Maybe not right away, maybe not even for a few years. But once I was a teenager, once I heard from enough coaches that I had a shot at the NHL, I knew I had to give every ounce of blood, sweat, tears, luck, and talent to hockey.
So I did.
That drive brought me where I am today—a place where I can finally make a difference for my mom.
Where I can be the man of the family.
I know how to do that. I’ve trained my entire life to give my all.
But to give only some? Sparing a bit of myself when we manage to make our schedules line up? I don’t know how to do that.
Except I’ve got to figure it out. Dean’s worth it.
Maybe pros and cons are the way to start. As I stand and clear the plates, I say, “Tell me about your list, babe.”
“Here’s a hint.” His English accent sounds a little melancholy as he joins me in the kitchen. “It’s all cons, except for one thing.”
My stomach dips in fear as I brace myself for the cons. “Give me the bad news first.” I set the dishes in the sink then turn to face him.
Dean moves next to me, jerking me close. “It’s a lot easier if I tell you the pro.”
The pro.
Only one damn thing.
I have a sinking feeling I know where this talk is going.
We are going nowhere, a plane sputtering out of the sky.
I steel myself for rejection. “What’s the pro?”
He slides his arms around my waist, probably to lessen the blow, as he says, “You’re the only pro.”
That should make me happy, but it doesn’t. “Dean,” I say, and I hate that I sound enamored of him. I sound like a guy with an unrequited crush.
“Fitz . . .”
“Are you . . .?” I don’t even know how to say it. Ending things? Because things were always ending, and I’ve got to remember that.
But yesterday, last night—it felt like a new start, like another chance to figure out how to do this.
He presses a tender kiss to my lips. “No. I’m not ending things,” he says, following my thoughts. Then he pulls back. “I’ve been thinking though.”
My stomach roils again, and I need to get myself under control because feeling this way is foolish. I knew a split was coming. Knew my time with him was ending. But the end, it fucking hurts.
I clench my teeth.
I will keep my shit together.
“I think you need to focus on training camp,” he says, calm but not clinical. He sounds like he’s been thinking on this for a while, turning this over in his head.
“I know. I will. But what are you getting at?”
Dean clears his throat. “On Sunday, you told me your job was the most important thing to you. The last thing I want is for you to go home and lose sight of that. You said you had this pact with your teammates because you came close last year but didn’t make it. You said your teammates are depending on you.”
“They are. That’s all true.”
Dean runs his hand along my face, and I move with his hand, like a cat seeking him out. A desperate fucking cat. That’s my fate. God help me.
“So let them depend on you.” His voice is kind, loving, even. “I think you need to focus on that when you return home, and not on me. You and me—we don’t know how to do halfway. If we start calling or texting or talking every day, that’ll knock you out of whack.”
I furrow my brow. “You’re saying this for my benefit?” Then I put my finger on what this sounds like. It sounds like a breakup line.
But he doesn’t look at me like he’s handing me a line.
“I care for you too much to be the reason you’re distracted. And I think that would happen right now.”
“You want to cool it?”
“I don’t want to,” he says, holding my face. “But I don’t want to stand in the way of your career. Your success.” He offers me a small smile. “Besides, I know you. You’ll call me in a few days. We’ll talk, we’ll dirty talk, we’ll video chat, and we’ll be getting each other off in no time.”
