Him (Him #1)(71)

“There’s a defensive coordinator job for a major junior team…” He swallows. “In Toronto.”

In Toronto. The words ricochet through my mind. For the briefest of seconds, my heart takes off like a rocket. I might have gotten around to giving a whoop of inappropriate glee, except I’m still staring into Jamie’s wary eyes. He’s always been the smarter of the two of us.

But I’m a quick study. So it’s only a half-second later when my chest tightens, and my hands slip from his face. He actually flinches when they fall away.

I can’t be with Jamie in Toronto. Because if we’re found out, there won’t be any reason for me to be in that city at all. I’m a f*cking rookie, hoping to be lucky enough to make myself valuable to the team.

Another few seconds go by before I can bring myself to point this out to him. Because it’s Jamie Canning we’re talking about here. The odds of me ever loving anyone else like I love him are about as good as being attacked by a shark.

In Toronto.

But Jamie’s odds of moving on are exponentially better. We’ve had a lot of fun this summer, but it can’t possibly mean to him what it means to me. This beautiful man is probably more straight than not. And even if I’m wrong about that, there are now twice as many available partners for him on the planet than there were six weeks ago.

He can have anyone. And I won’t ask him to wait around for me.

“Say something,” he mutters.

I don’t want to. There’s heat behind my eyes, and my throat might crack. But I won’t * out. He deserves my honesty for once.

“We can’t be together in Toronto,” I say.

Just six little words. But they make his eyes turn red.

“I’m sorry,” I add. Sorry doesn’t even begin to describe it.

He sidesteps me, moving away from the door. I take a moment to tuck myself back into my jeans. By the time I’ve done up my zipper, Jamie has made a frantic change into a pair of running shorts. He stuffs his feet into his shoes, not even taking the time to lace them.

“Going for a run,” he grunts.

When he moves for the door, I move out of the way. It’s precisely the opposite maneuver than I want to perform, and my heart is screaming at me to call him back.

But the door opens and shuts again with a snap, and he’s gone.

Panicking now, I hurry over to our window. A minute later he bursts off the front porch and goes running down the street, shoelaces still trailing behind him.

Even after he’s out of view, I need a minute of calm breathing to compose myself. I can’t believe I just did that. It’s not what I want. My thoughts zip around like a pinball while I search my brain for a solution to the problem.

But there isn’t one. I’ve just spent a decade of my life trying to get this job in Toronto. I have a college degree in communications, like every other f*cking jock on the planet. And a father who will have me tarred and feathered if I f*ck up in Toronto.

Jamie Canning was my first crush and my first love. But he was never mine to have.

There’s one silver lining here. Just one. I know Jamie’s pissed right now because he’s feeling rejected. That’s never fun. But I know in my gut he’ll move on. The Hollys of the world are waiting to take him back. Some cute girl will catch his eye before the week is through, and a few months from now, today’s disaster will be just a bad memory.

As will I.

I swallow that thought down, then look on the closet floor for my suitcase.





34





Jamie





It’s Sunday dinner at my parents’ house in San Rafael, California. This time I’m not seeing it on Skype—I’m prepping the pasta course myself. I’ve minced a mountain of garlic, diced several onions and chopped a mountain of olives. We’ll be ten for dinner tonight—the eight of us plus Tammy’s husband and Jess’s new boyfriend. Mom has had me in the kitchen for an hour and a half, and we’re nowhere near ready.

As it happens, cooking is very therapeutic. I’ve got something to do with my hands, and I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.

I’ve been home for forty-eight hours, and Mom is circling like a shark. She knows something is seriously wrong with me. All I’ve told her is that I’m having a career crisis. She knows about the interview scheduled three days from now, which conflicts with the fact that I’m supposed to be in Detroit six days from now.

Everything I’ve told her is true. But it’s not all the truth. Choosing between two career paths is big stuff, but it’s not nearly as painful as what Wes has done to me.

After that awful scene in our room, I went out to run. Three miles later, Wes was gone. I don’t mean gone out for a drink—he was gone from camp. All his clothing had disappeared from our closet. His toiletries were gone.

His skates were gone.

I knew without asking that he wasn’t coming back. When I went down to breakfast the next morning, Pat’s face was full of sympathy. And when I asked Pat if he was sure he had enough coaches on hand the following week for me to take off for Cali, he said yes without even an argument.

I’ve spent the last two days trying not to mope around my room. Coincidentally, my parents’ garden is well weeded. I’ve lost to my father at chess four times. And I finally finished that book I’d brought to camp.