Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“I love you so, so much,” I whisper. When he says nothing, I add, “I’m so sorry things didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped, but I have zero doubts you’ll use this game as motivation to bounce back, better than ever, next week.”
Roman’s body stiffens in my arms.
He pulls back, his facial expression tight and annoyed.
Shit. That was obviously the wrong thing to say to him.
It’s too soon.
He doesn’t want to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. But Edward shoots me a warning look that makes me press my lips together, swallow hard, and stuff back my tears. Why’d I say that? Edward explicitly told me not to give Roman a pep talk!
“Thanks for coming,” Roman says tightly. Not “I love you, too.” Not “I’ll see you back home, my love.”
“Of course,” I say lamely, wiping my eyes. I’ve seen Roman thank people for coming to his game many times, in many situations. But I’m the one who shares his bed every night. Not someone to politely thank for coming.
After shooting our trio a half-hearted, clipped wave, Roman turns and strides toward the waiting team bus that’s parked, its engine running, about twenty yards away.
And that’s that.
Roman doesn’t turn and wave before disappearing through the bus door, like usual. He simply vanishes without looking back, leaving me feeling like I’ve majorly fucked up.
As I hang my head and cry, Edward slides his arm around me and squeezes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. He’s not upset with you. He’s mad at himself. Give him a few days to work through his emotions, and I promise he’ll be good as new.”
Chapter 37
Iris
I change positions on our couch, trying, and failing, to get comfortable.
I’m watching a dishy, trashy, addicting show that’s right up my alley—and yet, my eyes are glazed over. My concentration nonexistent. I’m restless. Jittery. Lonely.
It’s been four days since the Crusaders debacle in Baltimore, and Roman is not, in fact, “good as new,” as his father promised he’d be by now. On the contrary, whenever my boyfriend comes home every night from the Thunderbolts’ training facility, always much later than usual, he’s simply not himself. He’s quiet. Distant. So intense, it’s stress-inducing to be around him. I don’t even know why he comes home, frankly, since all he does when he’s here, besides sleeping, is watch game footage.
With Maverick still in Vancouver with Vanessa, I’ve kept myself busy at the ranch and with friends. Also, by bingeing shows like this one. But I can’t continue like this. All I want to do is support Roman and make him feel better, any way I can—but even so, I can’t allow him to ignore me forever. Sorry, that’s not the relationship I signed on for. We haven’t even had sex since the loss! Granted, that’s probably mostly due to Roman’s crazy schedule this week. I’m almost always asleep by the time he gets home. But is it crazy to think he might have woken me up for sex at least once this week? He’s done that before, even after that other loss, so he has to know I’d happily choose sex with him over sleep.
Too good to be true.
The Voice of Doom is no longer whispering that horrible phrase into my ear. This week, the voice has been screaming it. Constantly. Does Roman blame me for that horrible loss in Baltimore? Is he second-guessing his decision to invite me to live with him? I’m well aware he’s never had a girlfriend during football season before, and he’s one hell of a superstitious motherfucker when it comes to football stuff. So, could it be Roman’s decided I’ve somehow brought him bad luck or caused him to lose necessary focus?
As my thoughts spiral into another full-blown panic, Roman unexpectedly waltzes through our front door in a Thunderbolts T-shirt and gray sweats, looking freshly showered and perturbed.
“Hey,” I murmur, sitting up on the couch. “You’re home early.”
My heart is thundering.
This is it.
I’m going to talk to Roman today and tell him everything I’ve been thinking about on a running loop. It might piss him off and push him away even more, but I simply can’t live like this. If we’re not going to make it, then I’d rather find that out now than let this drag on for the rest of the season.
“Yeah, Coach made me leave early for some ‘rest and relaxation,’” Roman murmurs with a scoff. “He’s forcing me to take the rest of the day off, whether I like it or not.”
I clear my throat and pat the couch next to me. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Roman’s features soften. “Of course.” He strides over and sits down. But before I say a word, he leans in and kisses me deeply. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve been a total dick.”
My heart rate quickens. I croak out, “You blame me for the loss.”