“I don’t think he’ll believe me.”
“Then convince him.”
Fresh tears burn my eyes. “Kinsley, I appreciate what you’re doing, but maybe this is working out for the best.” I want to believe that, but even I heard the way my voice broke when I said it.
“Wow, you two are so much alike.” She snickers.
“What do you mean?”
“Luke likes you a lot, Sophie, but he’s scared.”
“Scared of being in a relationship with me?”
“No, scared of losing you.”
A teeny tiny spark of hope flickers to life in my chest. “Did he tell you that?”
Char raises her brows in question at me. I shrug and hold up my hand so I don’t miss what Kinsley’s saying.
“You know that our mother was killed in a car accident, right?”
I get a mild case of whiplash with her subject change, but I’ll roll with it. Maybe all this has stirred up some old emotions for her, which makes me feel even worse to think about. “Yes, I do. I hate that you two went through that.”
“It happened on her way to Luke’s game.”
“I remember reading that.” I massage the spot between my brows. The article Marty found mentioned it briefly, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.
“Luke blames himself.”
I jerk my head up. “For what?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Wow, for being older, you two sure act a lot dumber. For her death. That’s why he left hockey.”
“I thought he left to take care of you.”
“That’s what he wants to believe. Did he tell you the significance behind his jersey number?”
My mind is jumbled by trying to follow Kinsley down this rabbit hole, so I close my eyes as I recall what I wrote about that. “He said it was his mother’s favorite number.”
“No, he wore that number because she predicted Luke would make the NHL by the time he was twenty-four.”
I mentally flip through my notes—Luke turned twenty-four early the same year of his mother’s death. “But he left before that could happen.”
“Exactly. I think my brother thought if he failed, it would make her death seem even more pointless.”
A blinding light switches on in my head. “Because she died on the way to his game.”
The pain I felt earlier over Luke’s rejection pales in the presence of the ache I feel for him now. And he’s carried this burden alone, among all the other responsibilities he had to take on.
“Yes.” Her voice takes on a soft yet sad quality. “And he’s pushing you away out of fear too.”
A surreal calmness settles over me as a determination replaces my self pity. If Kinsley is correct, then I need to have a conversation with Luke. I have to at least try, right?
The only thing that eclipses my gratitude for Kinsley’s call is how blown away I am by her ability to not only tell a story but to lead me full circle back to the truth.
“Thank you, Kinsley. Has anyone ever tell you that you’re going to make a fantastic journalist?”
Her snort pierces my ear. “No comment.”
