The words I’ve wanted to hear for so long rip me open. They’re what I wish he’d said the night he almost proposed to me. Us against the world—that’s what I want from a partner.
Hearing them now soothes a craving I didn’t want to have but one that has been living inside of me nonetheless. It would be easy to fall into those big arms of his. I don’t doubt for a second that I’d feel just as much comfort as I’d ever felt from him.
But.
But.
He did let me go and thank God for that. If he hadn’t, I would never have met Mercy. Real fear grips me, thinking about missing my chance to meet Merc and how close I was to just that. The hollowness of imagining a life without Merc is desolate and precipitates a physical ache. I don’t ever want a life without Merc.
“I love you, Rhett. I always will.” I squeeze his hand. “But I’m so fucking in love with Mercy. He’s it for me.”
Merc.
My face lights with a smile for Merc but witnessing Rhett’s heartbreak wipes it away just as quickly as it appeared. Fat tears roll down his stone cheeks and over his inflexible jaw.
He takes one of my hands in both of his warm ones that are shockingly smooth for a guy who plays hockey for a living. “No,please. It can’t be the end of us.” I’ve never seen Rhett cry like this. Not even when his dog died. “Jack, I’m willing to do absolutely anything. Pick me. You still love me.Pickme.”
My heart fragments and then shatters, breaking into tiny pieces. Guess it doesn’t matter who’s doing the ending. It hurts the same. I could get angry. I have plenty to be mad about with my hockey career in permanent ruins thanks to his dickhead dad. The anger would be a nice buffer to the pain. It wouldn’t change anything though and I don’t want our last moments together to be smothered in venom.
Words won’t form so I shake my head. My answer’s written on my face anyway.
Rhett downs his Glenfid in one fluid swallow, thudding the highball glass onto the wooden table. His hand freezes around the glass as he contemplates me with weary eyes. Clearly, the emotional pain has exhausted him and it’s no wonder his last games have been shit—well, for him. Anyone else would still love game stats like his.
Sliding out from the table, he tosses a fifty down, eyes still on me like he can’t take them off me. Like he’s memorizing everything about me. It’s so fucking sad. My chest hollows. Need takes over and I have to feel him one more time. Shooting out of my chair I trap him around his thick waist with my big arms.
Gently, he reciprocates the hug. He kisses the top of my head.
Then he’s gone.
Chapter27
Leaving, Leaving, Leaving
MERCY
Okay, I’ll admit it. When I walk in and see my boyfriend wrapped around Hockey God Rhett fucking Elkington, I want to throw a prepubescent-style fit and take out a few tables in a jealous rage. Before I can make a fool out of myself, they part. The heartbreak is written all over Rhett. It’s the equivalent of watching Zeus cry. Doesn’t seem right even if I’m glad about it.
Jack’s a mess too, but for different reasons. That damn haunted expression is back, shrouding his eternal sunshine. That’s not on. If I have my way, and I plan on it, that look will never cloud his features again. Rhett gets the blame for it.
He kisses Jack’s head—that’s gonna have to get bleached off—and spins on his heel, looking like the God of War in a turtleneck as he stalks across the restaurant, wiping tears away. Jack’s left to plunk back into his seat and without another thought, I head to him.
Which is why I end up colliding with the stonewall called Rhett. Great, now I’m gonna reek of Tom Ford.
On instinct, he grips me like he would any player on the ice, by my collar, and I get a taste of the hulking pythons he calls arms. “You’d better take good fucking care of him, Meyer. Hurt him once, just once, and I’ll ruin you.”
Spare me.
Thankfully, I have my own set of athletic genetics so when he releases me abruptly, I catch myself without flying into another table. Man do I want to go after him and pound on him for a bit, but nothing’s more important than Jack right now.
I’ve been given super strength or something because spinning Jack’s heavy ass around in the chair is nothing and I yank him into my arms. “Sorry I was late, baby,” I tell him as he clings to me. “Just bumped into Rhett. You, okay?”
“Fuck. Merc. Why does it hurt so fucking much? I don’t want him anymore, at all. There’s just you and yet my heart’s caving in on itself.”
Jack sobs into my shoulder, and I let him, swaying him back and forth. His pain goes on for so long, I can’t take it anymore. He scored the goal of the season tonight. He should be celebrating with his friends not crying over a douchebag who wears too much Tom Ford.
The DJ turns down the soft dinner music and makes his usual announcement about piling onto the dancefloor. When the first bar of the first dancing song fills the crowd, I take it as a sign. It’s not Theo’s sunshine song, but this might be better for me and Jack.
“Am I your fire, Jack?” I say, tugging on the brim of his hat.
