Page 60 of A Million Times, Yes

When I exhaled, I pushed the air out so hard, my nostrils flared, and even though I was clinging to the armrests, I wanted those hands to be on her. “I do.”

“Then take it as far as you need to.”

Me:Talk to me, Maya.

Me:Let’s meet.

Me:Please.

Me:I have so much I want to say to you.

Me:Just give me 10 minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.

Maya:I need time.

Me:How much time?

Me:I get that you’re upset. But why aren’t you even giving me a chance to explain myself? Don’t you want to hear my why?

When I approached the intersection the next morning, I knew she wasn’t going to be there. That was even after I waited ten minutes incase she had a slower pace or a late start. I was leaving room for hope when there wasn’t any.

Maya wasn’t coming.

And I didn’t fucking get it.

Sure, she could be torn up about what had gone down, but was money the reason for all this? Was I really the deceitful liar she’d made me out to be? Had I committed an unforgivable act by not giving her my last name and my history with hockey and what I now did for a living?

I just couldn’t believe that her distaste for the rich was so profound that she’d put me in that category regardless of how she felt about me.

Which made me feel that something else was going on.

Something I didn’t know about.

Something she wasn’t telling me.

I stormed back into my condo, dripping with sweat, my clothes sticking to me. I peeled off my T-shirt and left it on the foyer floor, dropped my shorts and boxer briefs as I walked into the kitchen, and kicked off my sneakers and socks while I pounded a bottle of water. I crinkled the plastic in my hand when it was all gone and attempted to breathe through the anger.

I didn’t fucking understand.

I didn’t know why this was happening.

I couldn’t tolerate how out of my control this was.

I wanted her, and she wasn’t there this morning.

I wanted to hear her voice, and she wouldn’t give it to me.

I wanted to kiss her lips, and she wouldn’t even respond to my texts.

I threw the flattened plastic into the sink, using so much force that it bounced out and hit the counter. I left it there and headed to my bathroom, turning the water to the setting I knew would scald my skin, and I stepped beneath the spray. My arms stretched up, palms pressed against the marble wall while the water hit my back.

I could feel my skin turning red, the burn setting in.

But I didn’t move.

I stayed right there, waiting for an answer, for clarity, for a reason why I’d finally reached this place in my life, in my head, and in my heart where I wanted more—and now this had happened.

Why?