Page 37 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jade

Drew sits at the bar, not at all like the man I expected to find.

Nope. This man isn’t laughing with his friend, kicking back having drinks. He’s hollowed. Shaken. He looks exactly like someone would whose life just imploded. I hate it. I hate that I care.

The lines I’ve rehearsed walking over here, “ You ghosted me. Real mature,” or “ Hey, forgot how to text,” vanish from my thoughts. Only to be replaced with the one that really scares me: Did I lose you tonight?

Because looking at his bruised knuckles, split lip, and shoulders tense like he’s holding himself together by a thread, I fear I have.

Drew’s gaze connects with mine, and the entire world stops spinning. At least, that’s what it seems like. My feet falter, along with my anger. I can barely breathe.

Every ounce of longing and hurt charges me as if we’re connected by an invisible live wire feeding me his emotions.

They are too raw and too vulnerable. I want to touch the edges of that split lip and wipe away the hurt.

But I cannot forget the three hours of silence that felt like an eternity after what happened.

“You’re alive then.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Good to know.”

His jaw clenches, but the haunt in his eyes gets to me. They’re dark and unreadable.

“Jade.”

Just my name. Nothing else. No explanation, no apology, nothing to grab onto. The music suddenly seems too loud, the bar too hot, and the space between us is too wide and too close.

“That’s all you have to say?” I press, fighting to keep my voice level. “After three hours of radio silence?”

He glances at his knuckles and back at me. Guilt or maybe fear flashes in his eyes. Then he masks it with that frustrating control slipping back into place.

He jerks his head toward the door. “Outside.”

Up close, I can see the exhaustion etched into his face and the slight tremor in his hands. Whatever happened after he was taken off the ice has hollowed him out.

I nod once and follow, my legs moving even though my chest feels like it’s caving in.

He holds the door open this time. It’s a small thing. But I notice.

I follow him out into the darkness, not knowing what to expect. The words build in my throat, the pressure threatening to choke me if I don’t release them soon. Words like: Don’t you dare walk away. Don’t you dare be like everyone else. Don’t you dare make me care and then disappear.

But I swallow them down because Drew’s expression as he turns to face me in the harsh parking lot lights tells me he’s already gone. He’s already decided. And nothing I say might change that.

He shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets.

I cross my arms, feeling the late October weather settle in my bones. “Three hours, Drew. You couldn’t send one text?”

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking away from mine to study the ground. “I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” I press when he doesn’t continue. “Didn’t think I’d care? Didn’t think I’d notice?”

“I didn’t know what to say.” His voice is rough, like it hurts to speak.

I huff a bitter laugh despite wanting to hug away his pain. “An ‘I’m okay’ would’ve worked. Or ‘Talk later.’ Anything.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“It was exactly that simple.” My voice rises despite my efforts to keep it level.

He flinches, just barely.

“I waited outside the arena like a damn idiot. Then I found out you’re here?”

“You think I’m celebrating?”

I study him. The rigid posture, the haunted eyes, the way he holds himself like something might shatter if he moves wrong. No, he’s not celebrating. He’s drowning.

“What happened after they took you off the ice?”

He drags a hand down his face and stares past me toward the street. “Suspended until the NCAA decides.”

The sting of it flashes across his face, making my stomach twist. Suspended indefinitely for a guy whose identity is wrapped up in hockey is a nightmare. Despite my anger, despite the hurt still raw and pulsing, I ache for him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

His eyes widen before he recomposes himself. “You’re sorry? I’m the one who snapped.”

“Then why shut me out?” I take a step closer. He backs up. “Why ignore my texts?”

He suddenly finds his feet interesting. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like the guy who can’t control himself. The guy who wanted to hurt him and didn’t care who was watching.”

The words knock something loose in my chest. This isn’t about me at all. It’s about the fucking demons riding him since long before we met.

“You were defending me.”

“Yeah, but this time was different.” He shakes his head, jaw flexing. “I gave in. And I liked it. That’s the worst part.”

My feet carry me closer, that charged string drawing me to him. “Drew?—”

He steps back again, and the rejection stings like a motherfucker.

“My brother was the same. Quick to fight. My dad? Worse.” His voice breaks slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t be like them. Tonight, I was.”

I want to reach for him, but I don’t.

“You’re not them,” I say.

“You saw me out there.” His voice turns hollow. “I wanted to hurt him, Jade. Really hurt him for what he said about you, but also just … because I could. Because it felt good.”

The confession hangs between us. I should be scared, maybe. Should be backing away from the admission of violence. But all I feel is a terrible clarity.

“And that terrifies you,” I realize aloud.

He nods once, a sharp jerk of his head. “It should terrify you, too.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then you’re not paying attention.” His voice hardens. “I’m toxic. I’m the kind of guy you should be running from. The kind who loses control. The kind who breaks things.” He gestures between us. “This isn’t safe.”

The words hit their target with painful accuracy. This isn’t about Roman or hockey or even tonight. This is Drew deciding he’s too dangerous to be near me. This is Drew cutting me loose before I can get hurt. This is Drew walking away before I can.

Just like everyone else.

“So that’s it?” I can barely speak past the bubble of pain lodged in my throat. “One fight and you’re done?”

“It’s not about the fight.” His gaze finds mine, and the turmoil in it cracks my heart further. “It’s about who I am. Who I might become if I stay.”

“That’s bullshit. That’s just an excuse to run because things got hard.”

His face hardens. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.” My tone is stern as my hurt crystallizes into something sharper. “You’re scared, so you’re running. Just like everyone else in my life.”

He opens his mouth, but I push forward.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to be left?” My voice shakes. “My mom walked out six times before I turned sixteen. My uncle took this job and didn’t look back. I don’t need you to protect me, Drew. I need you to stop running.”

He swallows hard like the words hurt.

“I’m not good for you.” His voice is so low I can barely hear the following words. “I’m not good for anyone right now.”

And there it is. The goodbye wrapped in concern. The abandonment dressed up as protection. I’ve heard variations of this my entire life, and it never hurts any less.

“You think you’re broken? Maybe you are. But so am I. And I still showed up.”

“I’m trying to be honest with you,” he says, his voice strained. “You saw what happened tonight. That’s who I am when I lose control. That’s the real me.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit.” The words cut through the night air.

“The real you is the guy who texts me stupid memes at two in the morning, the guy who remembers I like my coffee with two sugars, not one, and the guy who listens when I talk about my writing even though you don’t care about romance. ”

Each example lands like a blow, making him flinch slightly. He opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head.

“One good moment doesn’t erase the bad ones.”

“And one bad moment doesn’t erase all the good ones either,” I counter. “You think shutting me out is protecting me? It’s not. It’s protecting yourself.”

“Myself? Please enlighten me.”

“You’re protecting yourself from caring too much. From being vulnerable. From the possibility that I might actually stay even when it gets hard.”

The words hover between us. They’re dangerous, but there’s truth in them. Drew’s face shifts, and the mask he wears to perfection slips, revealing something raw underneath.

His eyes close. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” I don’t try to hide the pain in my voice now. “Not by fighting my ex. By shutting me out afterward.”

Silence stretches between us.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” he says finally.

“I never asked for perfection. I asked for honesty.”

Drew opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

So I turn. “Goodnight, Drew.”

He doesn’t stop me.

I reach the door and pause. I wait. Just for a second. Just long enough to hope. But he doesn’t move.

Drew fought for me on the ice, risked his hockey career, future, everything, and now he’s running from me. The cruel irony isn’t lost on me. He’ll fight the world for me, but he won’t fight his demons to stay.

I walk back inside without looking back. Let him be the one left standing alone this time.