The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

I don’t leave right away. I stare at her window on the second floor, debating.

I should go back in, right? Knock on her door and grovel on my knees.

I should buy flowers and chocolate and cake and lattes and bring them all upstairs and say I fucked up big time .

But her last words are on replay. Please just let me have some space tonight .

I hate doing this. Truly, I do, but I’ve got to listen to the woman, and she needs to not see me.

I don’t get out of the car and barrel inside like I did when I crashed her dates. I drop my head on the steering wheel. How can I fix this? How can I convince her I’m worthy of all her chances? But a few minutes later, I’m no closer to an answer than I was before.

I turn on the car and go. No clue where I’m headed. No way can I sleep. I just drive through Russian Hill, passing…wait.

Is that her pole studio? I hang a U-turn so fast, jerking the car to the curb. It’s late and the studio is closed, but I bound up the steps to the door of Upside Down, like I can find a clue there to fix this mess I’ve made with my own stupid trust issues.

Maybe I could buy her a lifetime supply of pole classes? Would that help her see I’m all in? I google the name of the studio to find the contact info, then send a quick email to the owner as I head back down the steps.

But it’s not like I’m going to hear from the owner overnight, so once I’m back in my car, I do the next logical thing. I call my dad. “I need your help. I fucked up big time.”

“Come on over, kid,” he says.

I leave the city behind.

Dad grabs a bag from the pantry and tugs it open, offering me some of the Himalayan salt air-popped popcorn. “Your favorite.”

I shake my head as I slump down into a chair at the kitchen table. “I don’t deserve it.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I doubt that, but what’s going on?” He pops a handful of kernels into his mouth. He’s in plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt. His hair is sticking up. He was probably asleep, but he got out of bed for me.

I blow out a breath. “I kind of have trust issues,” I begin .

“You do.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “And I sort of freaked out tonight, and thought maybe Everly didn’t really mean the things she’d said about her feelings for me. What would come next in our relationship.”

He winces, like he can’t believe I did that. Yeah, I can’t either. I tell him the awful story of where my mind went at dinner, and then what I said to her after. “What do I do now? How do I convince her I’m not?—”

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“Yes, Jesus. I’ve just spent nearly two months convincing the public I’m not, and in one dinner, the woman I’m in love with thinks I am.”

He sighs but then shoots me a serious look. “Does she though? Does she believe that?”

“She probably should,” I say.

“But did she say that?” he presses.

“She just said to give her space tonight.”

“And are you doing that?”

I gesture to his kitchen. “Yes. I’m here. And I apologized already. As soon as she called me on it, I realized I was wrong, and I apologized right away.”

“That’s good,” he says, but he’s hedging.

“It’s not enough though?” I ask, my gut churning with worry. But before he can answer, I say, “I’ll get her a lifetime supply of London fog lattes every morning. A diamond necklace. Her dance studio membership for the rest of her life?”

Chuckling, he holds up a stop sign hand. “Slow down. You can’t buy your way out of this or gift your way out of it or play your way out of it, Max. You have to use words and your heart. ”

I stare at him. “But I tried.”

“Try again,” he says then adds thoughtfully, “When you’ve given her exactly what she asked for. She asked for space. The greatest thing you can do right now is listen to her. Give her that. Then try again. Own your shit.”

“Own your shit,” I say, repeating those words of wisdom from my dad. “That’s what I have to do?”

“Yes. Own your shit because relationships aren’t easy. And they can’t always be fixed with gifts. You win her heart with the way you care for it, and the way you listen. Have you won her heart?”

I flash back to all our nights together. To our days. To our secret dates. To the way we connect, to how we treat each other, and then to what she did for me a couple days ago. She told me about the picture Elias took at the senior center, and how she made him delete it. She protected me. And I missed the full meaning of that moment. I missed how deeply she cares for me because of my own fears.

My fears that have nothing to do with her.

The wounds she didn’t cause.

The past she had nothing to do with.

I need to leave my trust issues behind once and for all. To trust that this love between us is real, and do my part to help my girlfriend do the hard thing. She’s the only one who can, but I can do a much, much better job supporting her. “I hope I’ve won her heart, Dad.”

He pats my arm. “Give her the time she needs and then be there when the night is over.”

He’s right. That’s what I have to do. Show up, let her know I might make mistakes, but I’ll do everything I can to un-make them.

“Love you, Dad,” I say, then give him a hug and take off .

I return to the city close to midnight, pull up outside her place, and cut the engine. Then I lower the driver’s seat, grab a ball cap from the back, and cover my eyes. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when she wakes up. Just like I’ll be here for her, whatever she needs.