by Raine Miller
My mind keeps spinning in an endless cycle of embarrassment, mortification, and pure panic. My first thought is to lay it all out to Georg and let him deal with it, but I know that’s the absolute worst thing I could do.
I can’t upset him right now with the Crush on the cusp of going to the playoffs. He’s just come off IR and is playing so well. I cannot let him jeopardize his focus because of me.
Which is undoubtedly the reason for the Crush organization having their non-fraternization policy in the first place. Fuuuuck.
What. The. Fuck. Have. I. Done.
I’ve created a nightmare.
I caused it.
And now my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest.
I’m a complete wreck by the time I pull into Holly’s driveway. After enduring a truly torturous day as the remainder of my work hours crawled by painfully slow, every shred of emotional control I’d managed to hold on to disappears the instant I ring her doorbell. She answers the door with the baby in her arms and a smile on her face as if all is right in the world. Because right now, everything is right in her world.
Oh, dear friend, have I got a story for you.
Annnnd that’s my cue to bust into a seriously ugly cry right there on her doorstep.
“Oh my gosh, Pam, what is going on? Get in here and talk to me.”
I follow my friend into the house and to the kitchen, where she gets to work setting a tea kettle to boil. She does all of this efficiently while swaying sweet baby Danya in her arms. I plop myself into a seat at the kitchen island, drop my head in my hands…and sob.
“Bud says it’s my job or my relationship with Georg,” I tell her after I’ve had a good minute of pity-crying.
“Wait, what happened? How did he find out?” She pushes a box of tissues toward me.
“A coworker outed me…I think.” I valiantly attempt to wipe away my tears before more of them spring from my eyes. I’ve never felt more like a ridiculous mess than I do right now. “There was audio of a, um, very graphic make-out session in the therapy room.”
Holly’s eyes go wide and her mouth puckers into a O.
“Yeah, not my smartest choice. But Bud made it sound like I was just one in a string of women who fall into bed with Georg. He treated it like I was a victim or something.”
“Well, Georg does have a reputation,” Holly says. “But they all kind of do, honestly. And I’m proof that they can maintain real, healthy, long-term relationships.”
“Holly…”
“What are you not telling me, Pamela?”
“Georg and I spent the weekend together after his first game back. He told me he loves me. And I told him the same.”
Holly’s eyes go even wider. They look like they might pop out of her head. I feel awful for not telling her before now, but there hasn’t been time to simply hang with her. I’ve missed that. “Whoa. I think I already knew that. You wouldn’t be sitting here crying if you didn’t feel the same.”
“I do,” I say. “I don’t know how or when it happened. It seemed casual, kind of. A date here and there. Some mix-ups. Some jealousy. A lot of making out. Normally, I’d be done with someone after this long.”
“But you don’t want to be done with Georg,” my friend says softly. “Because you love him.”
“Yes, I love him. But if I stay with him, I’ll lose my job, not to mention cause a whole blow up between management and staff relations.
“I think you can get around that though. I didn’t lose my job. I was worried about it for sure, but once we had Max in our corner, everything was fine. So maybe you just need to go to Max?”
“I don’t have that relationship with Max Terry,” I say. “I’ve only met the man in passing.”
“Well, maybe Evan and I could—“
“No.” I shake my head definitively. “Just—no. I can’t ask that of the two of you.”
“Well, we’ll think of something,” Holly says confidently.
The tea kettle sounds and she pulls it off the burner. She preps two cups before taking the sleeping baby and wandering toward the living room. When she comes back empty-handed, she hands me a cup of tea and then brings her own so she can sit down.
“Is she fussy?” My valiant attempt at changing the subject to anything that won’t make me burst into tears again.
“Dany? No. She’s normal, I think. Overall good. I mean, I think so anyway. I don’t have a lot of opportunity to compare.”
“You’re calling her Dany now. Cute.”
“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “Evan and I both really like it. Danya seems very formal. She’ll need to grow into it, I think.”
“I like it too.” Grasping at straws to find anything to talk about that’s not about me, I ask, “How’s Scarlett doing now that she’s demoted back to press passes and releases? I haven’t hung out with her in a few weeks.”
“She’s fine,” Holly says. “Well, at least from a work perspective. Did you know she grew up in Vegas?”
“I think maybe she told me that. And that she moonlights in one of the casinos to make extra money.”
“Yes,” Holly answers excitedly. “And her father disappeared under very suspicious circumstances. Gambling debts or some such thing. She knows a lot about the gambling underground. I guess her last boyfriend was a big name in competitive poker? Did you know that?”
“Nope. She talked about owing money and knowing mobsters when she saw them, but nothing about a poker-playing boyfriend.”
“Well, he passed away, I guess,” Holly says. “Apparently, he committed suicide. And Scarlett’s barely like twenty-three. She’s been through a lot already. It’s a miracle she can function in life, I’d say.”
“Was this recent? I don’t think she ever mentioned having a boyfriend. She’s always been flirtatious and fun when we’ve gone out. Like nothing was wrong. But you’re right. She’s a young thing so it can’t have been that long ago.”
“Not sure,” Holly says with a shrug. “She didn’t go into detail. I can’t remember how it came up—we were talking about celebrity poker for the foundation with the players or something and she ended up telling us.”
“Wow, I had no idea about any of that. I’ll have to check in with her.”
Holly sighs heavily. “So…what are you going to do about Georg?”
“That I do not know.”
I can’t talk about it anymore with her though. Because if I do, I’ll start up with the ugly-crying again and that solves nothing.
In my heart, I know exactly what I have to do. There is no other option for me.
Tomorrow or the next day I’ll go into work and tell Bud I’ve made my decision.
I’ll text Georg and make some excuse why I can’t FaceTime with him tonight. Because how can I talk to him? How can I look into his loving and insightful eyes knowing our lives are about to change and not lose it completely? He knows me too well. He’ll see it in my eyes. I’ll text him I love him, because he needs to know that. He needs to know how incredible my life has been since I met him. How incredible he is.
And then my heart will officially be broken into a million tiny pieces.
That can’t be put back together.
Twenty-Five
It’s Hard Being in Love
Georg
We won three in a row on the road and are now headed to the playoffs with home-ice advantage. There’s a very real chance we might take home the cup a second year in a row—by the skin of our teeth, so to speak. This was a hard year.
In spite of the excitement around another playoff berth and a multi-year, multi-million-dollar contract, courtesy of super-agent Scott, I can’t enjoy it. Why? Because my girl has gone silent on me. Nearly the whole time I’ve been gone. She messaged that she couldn’t make our FaceTime date but never explained why. I’ve called and left messages with no callbacks from her. I’ve texted and gotten emoji replies only. It’s not like her at all, and my senses tell me something’s not right.
&n
bsp; “Maybe she’s sick?” Evan offers as we board the plane back to Vegas.
“I doubt it. If she was sick, she’d tell me.” Hell, she’d waste no time telling me if she didn’t feel good. I know her.
“Let me text Holly real quick. She’ll know if Pam’s okay.” Evan sends Holly a text while we’re boarding. A few minutes later he looks up from his phone and says, “She’s dealing with some work stress per Holly.”
“Why wouldn’t she respond to me, though? If it’s just work stress?” I know I sound like a big baby, but I can’t help it. My gut is telling me something is wrong. I have a very bad feeling about this.
“It’s hard being in love, isn’t it, G? Hard worrying about someone other than ourselves.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
“I’m not. And I am. It’s both things really. I understand how this feels. Remember how I fell on my face for Holly just last year? It changes things. It changes you.” He pauses and narrows his eyes slightly. “You love her.”
“With everything I am, yes.”
“And you believe in her? In you both?”
“She’s my vozlyublennaya.”
“Your true love. Okay, well in that case, if Holly says it’s work stress, then it should be okay, yes?”
“I hope.” I’ll find out when I see her in a few hours’ time. “Ugh,” I groan. “Feelings suck.”
“Yeah, man, icky feelings very much suck.”
Evan says it as a joke, but it’s nothing but.
The first thing I do is make a beeline to Pam’s apartment, flowers in hand.
She answers, but she doesn’t look particularly happy to see me. In fact, she looks like she hasn’t slept since I last saw her.
“Hey, Georg.” She says it quietly in a way that sends alarm bells clanging inside my head. I do not like the way she just spoke my name. Usually the sound of my name on her lips is huge fucking turn-on. Right now? Not so much.
“Hey. I’ve tried to ring. Text. No talk. I was worried about you.”
“Yeah…” Her shoulders slump as she lets out a huge sigh. No kiss. No throwing herself into my arms. No smile. Nothing to reassure me that everything is okay with her and me.
“Can I come in?”
She nods and turns away, leaving the door open. I follow her in, back toward the kitchen. She pours herself a cup of tea. I watch her do all of this silently, admiring her long hair down her back, her toned, tanned legs-for-fucking-days, topped by a pair of white shorts. She’s absolutely gorgeous, and all I really want to do is pull her into her bedroom and fuck away this worry that’s starting to squeeze around my throat.
After we fuck it out, we can talk about whatever’s bothering her.
“You want some?” she asks, her back toward me.
“No,” I say firmly. “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
She fiddles with her tea bag. Puts sugar in her cup. Stirs. She still won’t turn and look at me.
“Pamela.” The frustration is enough to make my voice break on that one little word. Her name. The name of the woman I’ve grown to love. This is some fucked-up bullshit that’s going on right now.
She turns and takes a sip of her tea, but her hands are shaking. “We—we c-can’t see each other anymore, Georg.”
I’m pretty fuckin’ sure someone just flipped the world upside down. “What the fuck are you saying?”
“I spoke to Bud while you were gone. Or rather, he spoke to me. One of the computer cameras was on that night we…well, you remember the night in the therapy room. There’s no video, but very explicit audio. Bud said very clearly that it’s my job or my relationship with you. And I need this job. I have a mortgage to pay, and I can’t afford to leave my first employment under these types of circumstances. I’ll never be hired again.”
“There’s audio? How the hell?”
She shrugs. “Does it even matter? And it doesn’t matter who told him, or showed him, or whatever, either. What matters is that he has it. That he’s listened to it. That my job is forfeit if I keep seeing you. He gave me an ultimatum.”
“I’ll go talk to him—I’ll tell him it was my fault. I’ll tell him I coerced you.”
“But you didn’t. I did it willingly, knowing it could get me fired. I did it because my body feels weird things when you’re around. I sort of lose all my self-control. It needs to stop. I have to focus on my career. So, I told Bud yesterday that I was committed to the team, and that I would end things with you as soon as you were back.”
“That’s ridiculous. We don’t have to do this. I can go talk to Bud and Max.”
“No,” she snaps. “You can’t. This isn’t about you. You’re the superstar. The guy with the hot, new, upgraded deal. You’re the playboy, and I’m just the girl who got sucked in. At least, that’s what they think. That’s the only reason they’re even considering letting me keep my job. What I did was so unprofessional. I fucked a client. In the professional workspace. There’s little that would be considered a worse infraction than that.”
“We didn’t fuck that day,” I say, cringing at the word. “We fooled around, but we didn’t go all the way.”
“Irrelevant. My point still stands and you know it, Georg.”
“We can go to them together. Tell them we’re in love. That it’s not a fling—“
“Georg.” She levels me with her tone. It actually makes my heart beat faster. “It’s over. I can’t see you anymore. They’re not interested in love stories. They’re interested in having a physical therapy team that can be professional with the players. So from now on, you are a client, and I am a therapist. And that is all we can be.”
“So you’re choosing your job over me? After all we’ve been through?”
She makes a derisive sound. “What have we been through, Georg? We went on a few dates. We made out. We fucked. Just because we didn’t both run away after the third date doesn’t mean it’s a forever kind of love. We’re both in uncharted relationship territory here.”
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. I can’t breathe. I can’t comprehend what she’s saying. I know it’s all over my face and while I want to pull it all back, act like I don’t care…but that’s not the truth. I care. A fucking lot.
“Pam, I know you’re telling yourself this because you’re scared. You love your job, and you’re really good at it. But Holly loves her job and she’s really good at it, and she married a player. We can get through this. This is real. You know it. I know it. And you’re stronger than this.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” she bites back sharply. “You’re celebrated. You can get away with whatever you want, pretty much. I’m a physical therapist. A dime a dozen. There will be fifty people in line behind me for a job like this if I walk away. And for what? I’d walk away from a career I love for something that might work out? Might possibly be more than a fly-by-night thing?”
“No, you’d walk away from a career you love for someone you love. Because I believe you love me, Pamela. And I love you. And I’m willing to fight for this. For us. Why aren’t you?”
“I guess you’re stronger than me, then. Because I’m scared. And I’m not willing to risk my livelihood right now. I worked hard, put myself through undergrad and master’s programs to get here. I’m still paying student-loan debt. I’m still establishing myself. This is a career ender if they fire me.”
“I can take care of you, and we can even get married like Holly and Evan.” I sound completely desperate I know, but I don’t care. “Do you want to? Get married?”
“No. I don’t want you to take care of me, and I don’t want to get married—not like this!” She’s crying now. The tears are flowing, and I think that alone is making her bravado crack. “I don’t need someone to take care of me. I never have. I’ve always had to take care of myself and I’ve gotten pretty good at it, too. So, don’t come in acting like some golden knight in shining armor because I don’t need it. I don’t need you, Georg Kolo
chev.”
“Pam, you don’t know what you’re saying—“
“I do.” She slashes at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m saying this is done. Please, you have to go now. I—I can’t—do this.”
We stand there staring at each other, both of our chests heaving, the air heavy with anger and frustration. I step forward and put my hand on the back of her head, pulling her to me. My lips touch hers for only an instant before she turns her lips away.
“Please…leave,” she begs while hot tears continue to make trails down her cheeks. “You h-h-have to go.” How the fuck am I meant to leave her like this? How am I meant to leave her? My everything. My future…
A heartbeat passes. Then another. “Fine,” I finally say. “But know that I love you. I’m really fuckin’ disappointed in you, because I know you’re stronger than this. And I also know that you really don’t want this.”
And I turn. I walk out her front door, dropping the bouquet of flowers on the front step.
I go to the car, start the engine, put it in drive. I’m on autopilot. My ears are buzzing, my head swimming with a million thoughts. When I arrive at my apartment building I park, but I don’t go up.
No, I walk to a place that I know I shouldn’t go, but I do it anyway.
The nearest bar where I can drown my sorrows in the bottom of a glass.
A few drinks into my pity party I realize that it will take a lot of glasses to drown my sorrows. But more importantly, that even if I drink all the glasses, it won’t make a difference.
I stop drinking before I’m unable to walk myself home. Barely. But I manage to make it inside my apartment and into the shower when I have my come-to-Jesus moment. A lifeline of self-preservation. Strength and determination that rises up from somewhere to reason with my fucked-up, aching, torn-to-shreds heart.
Kind of a miracle actually given the way I feel right now.
Having Pam or not having her—I cannot go back to the partying I did before. Just because I’m hurting. Pamela Jenson is a beautiful, intractable, talented, and brave woman. I get what she’s fearful about, but she’s given up. What the fuck do I do about that? I don’t know how I’ll dull the pain, but I can’t go back there to that dark place again.
