by Elle Kennedy
“At least not right now.” I grip my foam coffee cup in both hands, desperately needing the warmth it’s radiating. “I’ve never been alone, Dean. Ever. It’s always been one relationship after the other with me. I’m not sure I even know how to be alone, and I think this might be a good time to figure it out. You said so yourself—you’re still dealing with your loss. You still have other people you need to make amends with. So while you’re dealing with your stuff, I can deal with mine.”
His jaw tightens. I expect him to argue. I wait for him to argue. Because this is Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, the man who always gets what he wants. The man who pushes and pushes until he does. But he surprises me. “How long?” he asks gruffly.
I bite my lip. “I don’t know. A few weeks? A month? I don’t have a timeline. I just know I need to be on my own right now. No boyfriend. Just me.”
He looks sad. “Okay.”
I can see the questions in his eyes. Is this just a break or are we really over? Did I ruin this for us? Do you still love me? But he doesn’t voice them. He nods and murmurs, “Take as much time as you need, baby.”
*
Dean
I expected Allie to say one of two things—I’m done with you, Dean or I forgive you, Dean. I expected a breakup or a tearful reunion, not this gut-wrenching state of limbo.
It’s fine, though. Just a minor setback, right? If she needs to be alone right now, then I’ll leave her alone. But I was encouraged by the fact that she let me kiss her before we parted ways at the Coffee Hut. And when I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned into my touch and rubbed her cheek against my fingers.
She still loves me. I hold that comforting certainty close to my heart over the next few days. I need the reminder that someone still loves me as I go on an apology spree that leaves me drained. I’m armed with a Kill Bill list of people—well, people to apologize to, not murder with samurai swords. I wrote the names down on an actual piece of paper, because I couldn’t keep track of all of them in my head.
The first few names are easy to check off the list.
Hannah is still pissed at me for hurting her best friend, but I win her forgiveness by spending an entire hour reciting everything I love about Allie and everything I’m going to do if—no, when, damn it—when she’s ready to see me again. Hannah is mollified.
WELLSY ✓
Next, I apologize to my teammates for letting them down. Technically, I didn’t get kicked off the team—I’m suspended until next season. But I’m graduating in the spring, so there is no next season.
The guys are surprisingly cool with the screw-up that took me out of hockey commission. Honestly, I think they’ve given up on the season. Garrett assures me the guys are still bringing it hard on the ice, but I think everyone is ready to wash their hands of this disastrous year and start fresh in the fall. Hunter, especially. He’s the one I apologize to the most, promising I’ll make it up to him for bailing on our private sessions.
THE TEAM ✓
But that’s not my only team, and my heart is heavy as I drive to the arena in Hastings. Again, I’m taken by surprise, because it takes very little effort to make amends with Coach Ellis. Before I can deliver the long speech I prepared, he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Save it for the boys. Good to have you back.”
COACH ELLIS ✓
The boys? Also easy to win over. This time I manage to get halfway through my prepared speech, which includes a promise to take them all out for pizza. When I try to keep going after that, Robbie interrupts me by shouting, “Dude, you had us at pizza!”
THE HURRICANES ✓
I stay to help out with practice. My heart is no longer heavy. It’s soaring, because Allie was right—I love this. Skating with the kids, giving them tips about how to position their bodies, when to take their shot. After the final whistle blows, I help Ellis put away the equipment and we spend ten minutes discussing options I never even realized were available to me.
My anxiety resurfaces when I climb the bleachers.
Dakota has her pink notebook in her lap, pencil poised on a blank page. She tenses when I sit beside her. She doesn’t say hello, and I clearly see the hurt flickering in her huge blue eyes.
“So what did the evil Mrs. Klein assign for us today?” I ask gruffly.
She ignores me.
“If you’re supposed to write a paragraph about your hero, I’m sure I don’t qualify. But if it’s a description of the person you hate the most? I bet you can write ten pages on me, easy.”
She giggles, then covers her mouth in horror, as if she’s trying to shove the high-pitched sound back inside.
“Dakota,” I sigh.
She finally looks at me. Fiercely. “I’m mad at you.”
“I know you are, kid.” I swallow a lump of shame. I’m such an asshole. I bailed on our skating lessons, didn’t come by to explain. I just disappeared from her life.
Dakota and Robbie are being raised by a single mother. Dakota talks about her often, and she admitted that her dad walked out the door one day and never came back. It makes me sick to my stomach that I might have brought back those painful memories for her.
“My friend died—” I stop abruptly, because I can’t think about Beau without feeling a shooting pain in my heart. Fuck, I miss that big oaf. I miss talking to him, just shooting the shit with him. Who else can I discuss Twilight with and not feel judged?
“I didn’t handle it very well,” I tell Dakota. “I’ve never lost anyone before. Well, Gramps Kendrick, but he died when I was five. Maybe I was more resilient as a kid?”
She’s watching me warily.
“I’m sorry, Koty. I’m really fu—fudging sorry for disappearing without a word. I give you permission to punch me in the face as hard as you can. But quick, do it now, when Coach Ellis isn’t looking.”
She giggles again. Then, proving that kids really are more resilient, she reaches over and pats my arm. “Stop being such a girl, Dean. I like you again.”
I choke down a laugh. “You do?”
“Uh-huh.” She blows a bubble with her gum, then points to her notebook. “I have to write one page about my favorite movie and why I like it.”
“Gotcha. What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Princess Diaries.”
Of course it is.
“Okay then.” I crack my knuckles as if I’m preparing to throw down. “Let’s do this thing.”
DAKOTA ✓
I call Joanna Maxwell when I get home, luckily catching her on her dinner break at the theater. I apologize for not coming to the memorial. She forgives me. We talk about Beau for almost an hour before she reluctantly says she has to rehearse. We promise to keep in touch, and there’s a dull ache in my heart as I hang up. I’m not breaking that promise, though. Beau was important to me. Joanna is his big sister. I’m keeping in fucking touch.
JOANNA ✓
I have one more phone call to make, and I’m not looking forward to it. A few days ago, I asked Fitzy to track down Miranda O’Shea for me. Fitz illegally gets his hands on video games all the time without buying them, so I figured he might have the skills to track down a phone number. Turns out I was right. I have no idea how he did it, and I don’t plan on asking because I’d rather not go to jail.
I dial the number, then wait. I haven’t seen or spoken to Miranda in years. I don’t have feelings for her anymore, but hoo boy, there’s definitely unresolved shit between us. And there was one thing I never got to say to her. I hope to change that today.
If she picks up the damn phone. It rings and rings, and I’m about to disconnect when a harried voice comes over the line.
“Hello?”
I take a breath. “Miranda?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s…ah, Dean.” I pause. “Dean Di Laurentis.”
Shocked silence fills the line.
“I know I’m calling you out-of-the-blue—”
“How did you get my number?” she
interrupts, but her voice is soft, not angry. “My dad?”
“No. A friend of mine tracked it down.”
There’s an awkward pause on both our ends.
“I won’t keep you long,” I tell her. “I just had something to say to you. Something I never got to say back then because your dad pulled you out of school.” I exhale in a rush. “I’m sorry.”
She exhales too, sharply.
“I’m sorry for everything that went down between us,” I continue. “For the part I played in your…uh…”
“Breakdown?” she finishes wryly. “It wasn’t your fault, Dean. I was dealing with depression long before we went out.”
“I know. But…we had sex…and afterward…” Jesus, this is uncomfortable. And this whole conversation feels…clinical. Like we’re strangers discussing someone else’s sex life instead of our own.
“We had sex because I seduced you when you were drunk.” She sounds deeply ashamed. “And then I tried to guilt you into staying together when I knew you weren’t happy with me. You have no idea how guilty I felt about it afterward. I wanted to call you, but I was too embarrassed. And my dad told me he’d ship me to Siberia if I ever spoke to you again. So I said nothing. I figured you’d forget about me eventually.” There’s a pause. “Obviously you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Another pause.
“Anyway.” I clear my throat. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’m sorry if I did or said anything to contribute to what you were going through, or to exacerbate it. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I never meant to hurt you either.”
I gulp. “So…you’re doing okay now? Graduating from Duke this spring, huh?”
“Yes!” Excitement echoes over the line. “And I got into med school!”
The news startles me, because she always talked about wanting to be a social worker, not a doctor. I guess people change, though. God knows I have. We spend a few brief minutes catching up, and I’m relieved when the call ends. Miranda was an important chapter in my life, but it feels good to close it.
MIRANDA O’SHEA ✓
I didn’t bother adding Miranda’s father to my list. No amount of apologizing will make that bastard like me, and truth be told, I don’t owe him any more apologies. The only crime I’m guilty of is breaking up with his daughter. I didn’t deserve to be punched in the face and treated like dirt for it.
Frank can work through his issues on his own.
I’m working through mine.
*
Another week passes. Allie is still doing Allie. I’m still doing me. We’ve texted a few times, just brief how-ya-doings and not much else. I’m dying to see her. Hold her. Kiss her. Make love to her. But I promised to be patient, so I keep my distance.
I do, however, poke Hannah for information every chance I get. I know that Allie aced her screenwriting course. I know she got her nails done at the salon in town. Bright green, Wellsy had revealed, and it made me smile.
The next time I pester her for an update, Hannah reveals that Allie flew to LA. My heart immediately drops, because I think she left for good, but Hannah is quick to reassure me. Turns out the people at Fox wanted Allie to come in and read for them in person. They’d loved her audition tape, but wanted to test her chemistry with the two actresses she’d be working with.
My heart damn near explodes with pride when I hear that, and I send her a congratulatory text. I don’t hear back from her until several hours later. She says she’s about to board the flight home and that we’ll talk soon.
I board my own flight on Saturday morning out of Logan Airport. I’m making a quick trip to New York, because there’s one final item I need to cross off my list.
34
Allie
“You can’t turn down the part.” Hannah looks outraged that I could even suggest such a blasphemous course of action.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a lead role on a sitcom! What if the show’s a huge hit? You could win an Emmy!”
I shrug and sip my coffee. I know I’m talking crazy right now. Believe me, Ira already dished out his own dose of disbelief earlier, begging me to accept the job. But when it comes to my career, I always go with my gut, and my gut is telling me this is not the role for me.
“I haven’t made my final decision yet,” I tell Hannah. “They gave me until Wednesday.” It’s Saturday night. That means four whole days to think it over.
My gut insists there’s nothing to think about.
I’m tempted to call Dean and ask for his advice, but I force myself not to. I’m so used to running my decisions by my boyfriend. I did it with Fletch, Sean, Dean. But nobody else can make this decision for me. It’s all on me.
Honestly, I’ve enjoyed being on my own these past couple weeks. It’s nice to just think about myself for once. But I miss Dean. I really, really do. I know he’s doing well, because I’ve been harassing Hannah for status reports. She said he’s working with the Hurricanes again. He’s gone out to Malone’s with the guys a few times, but only had a few beers, as far as Hannah knows.
There aren’t any pictures of him on Instagram or Facebook making out with other girls, but a part of me still worries about it. Dean is the most sexual guy I’ve ever met. I’m praying he’s jerking off a lot, because I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out he slept with someone else. I didn’t bring up the subject at the coffeehouse because I just assumed he’d keep his pants zipped while I took this time to clear my head.
That was selfish of me, maybe. But I love him, and if I hear that some chick tried to put her hands on him, I’ll beat her senseless. He’s mine. And I’m finally ready to claim him. The time apart succeeded in centering me, but now it’s time to get my man back.
The only problem? Dean is in New York visiting his parents for the night. Hannah mentioned it earlier, which triggered a flash of concern, because it’s weird that he would fly to Manhattan for only one night.
My ringing phone interrupts our coffee chat, and I’m even more concerned when I see my dad’s number.
A second later, his voice rumbles over the line. “I don’t want you to worry,” is how he starts, and oh my God, who says that? Now I’m worried!
I slam my mug on the kitchenette table and stumble to my feet. Hannah eyes me in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” I demand. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I just told you not to worry, didn’t I?” God, sometimes I really want to kill my father. “I took a little spill this afternoon, that’s all. Thought I might have broken my arm, so I called an ambulance.”
Fear pummels into me. “Oh my gosh. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he says firmly. “It’s just a sprained wrist. No broken bones, I promise.” A sarcastic note creeps in. “I can ask the hospital to send you copies of my X-rays if you’d like.”
I clench my teeth. “Don’t be a jerk, Daddy.”
He sighs heavily in my ear. “I’m sorry. I just knew you’d overreact when I told you. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m fine. My wrist is a little sore, but I have my pain meds.”
“How did you get home from the hospital?”
“Taxi. And now I’m lying on the couch watching the Hawkeyes game.”
I inhale a slow, calming breath. “Okay. Don’t walk around. Don’t try to lift anything heavy. Please, Dad, just take it easy for a couple days.”
“I will. Love you, AJ.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and turn to Hannah, who instantly asks, “Is your dad okay?”
I nod. “So he says.” But Dad was a hockey player. Hockey players always say they’re okay, even when they’re bleeding from their ears and spitting their broken teeth at your feet.
I take another deep breath. Then I pull up Dean’s number and press send.
*
Dean
Joe Hayes answers the door with the biggest, meanest scowl I’ve ever seen on another human male.
“You’ve got to be
kidding me! She sent you over to check on me?”
I gently touch his shoulder to move him out of the way. God knows he won’t be inviting me in. “Yup,” I confirm. Then I walk inside and look around.
Fortunately, nothing seems amiss. I glance at the stairs—Allie told me over the phone that Joe had taken a “spill”. There’s no blood on the hardwood, no broken floorboards. That’s good. And he’s not sporting any bruises or visible injuries. He’s using the cane, but he looks steadier on his feet than the last time I saw him.
“Please don’t tell me you got on a plane and flew all the way here just to give me the onceover,” he mutters.
“No. I was already in the city visiting my folks and brother.”
Mr. Hayes settles on the sofa and proceeds to ignore me.
I take off my jacket and drape it over the back of the armchair. Then I sit down.
He balks. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” I raise a brow. “Didn’t I mention? I’m spending the night.”
“Like hell you are!”
His outrage makes me chuckle. “Come on, sir. I thought we already established that arguing with your daughter is pointless. She asked me to stay the night and keep an eye on you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Because I will do anything that woman asks. I’d sell my soul to the devil himself if Allie told me to do it.
“I don’t like this,” Mr. Hayes grumbles.
“I don’t care,” I say cheerfully.
And that’s how I wind up watching college football with Joe Hayes for the next hour. It’s almost nine o’clock now, and my stomach is grumbling. I hadn’t eaten dinner, and Mr. Hayes doesn’t object when I order a pizza. “Sausage and bacon okay?” I ask him as I place the order.
He grunts. I guess that means yes.
Another hour passes. We don’t talk. We scarf down pizza, drink beer, and switch from football to hockey. The Bruins are playing tonight. Every time we shout at the screen or cheer for a goal, we glance at each other warily afterward, as if remembering who we’re with.
Between the second and third period I put down my beer and say, “I love your daughter, sir.”
