Page 3 of Heartbreak Hockey

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. That’s no way to raise children, Jack.”

“You could be the stay-at-home parent.” I harden my expression as best I can while I fall apart on the inside.

He laughs. “Right, Jack. I’m not stay-at-home material.”

“But I am?”

“It’s already established that I thought so, yes. I’ve seen you with children. You’re good with them.”

I wipe at the tears brimming my lids, so they don’t spill over. I don’t want to cry in this restaurant. “Is this an ultimatum? If I don’t agree to this, we’re through?”

“No. No, no, no, sweetheart,” he coos. “I envisioned this going so much differently.” He sighs. “I love you. I want you to do what’s best for you even if it’s not what’s best for us.”

“Now I sound like the fucking prick.”

“Not what I meant, Jack.”

“Then what did you mean? I’m so fucking confused right now.” Every rock of the castle we spent three years building is crumbling to rubble.

“I was talking to my dad about us and—”

His dad. Right. This makes more sense now. “I should have known he was behind this.”

His eyes narrow. “Watch it. That’s my dad. You’ve never liked him.”

“Not true. I don’t like the way he is sometimes, but that’s not the same as dislike.” Ugh. This is so like his dad though. “We’ll be fine, Rhett.”

The chandeliers I thought were so brilliant when I walked into this place are too bright now, tightening the muscles behind my eyes. My head aches.

“We need a plan, Jack. Without one, I don’t think I can give you this.”

He snaps the box closed and it’s the loudest sound in the busy restaurant. I know it’s also the door closing on us. He hasn’t said it, but the finality wraps around everything. He says it’s not an ultimatum, but it is. How could he ask this of me? Doesn’t he know a thing about me?

I can’t breathe. My heart beats a painful rhythm and without meaning to, I look for the exit. My adrenals have chosen flight.

“Jack, wait.”

“No.” I slide out from the table. “I’ll make this easy for you.”

“Jack!”

Rhett’s the proper “let’s not make a scene” type of guy—which he got from his dad—yet he’s chasing me across the busy restaurant. Bet his dad won’t like hearing about this later. Bet his dad will lecture him about having feelings or something.

Yeah, I’m blaming his dad too much. Maybe the idea was put there by his dad, but Rhett’s still making the choice. I fucking love Rhett though and I’m not ready to blame him yet. His dad can burn in hell.

He corners me in the wide lobby, slamming me into the polished mahogany wall like he’d slam an opponent against the boards, only I’m facing him, and I don’t fight back. I can’t face the end. I’m not good at endings. The tears flow freely now because I don’t care anymore, and I’m hit with a zephyr of his decadent Tom Ford cologne. My heart squeezes again.

Is this what dying feels like?

“Don’t end us like this, Jack, please.” Rhett’s not one to beg. That sounds a little like begging.

“Me?You’reending us.”

His intense gaze never leaves me. “Can’t you just try it? One year that’s all I’m asking.”

“A year?” It might as well be ten. I’ll be twenty-four by the end of next season. I need to get drafted soon or I’ll lose my best years. “Why don’t you try a year my way?” I counter.

He pauses. He wants to. Something else is stopping him. “C’mon, sunshine. Please.”