Page 36

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mad dog

Rush hour traffic was a nightmare—creep forward a car length, then slam to a stop and sit like a chump while some asshole blocked the intersection. After the third cycle of this bullshit, I smacked the steering wheel so hard my palm stung. “Come on,” I yelled, like the cars ahead could hear me. Nate didn’t know I was on my way, but every passing minute gave him more time to dig into the stupid idea that he was somehow protecting me by breaking both our hearts.

I jabbed at my phone and pulled up the relaxing playlist I usually saved for post-game recovery or sleepless nights. While soft jazz filled the car, I took some deep breaths, but it was useless. All I could see was Nate’s face when I left last night, the stubborn set of his jaw and the pain in his eyes. Instead of the music, I heard the deafening silence when he watched me leave.

God, what if he won’t even let me in?

I couldn’t go there. I’d already let him push me aside once, and that had been a mistake. He was scared, and instead of reaching for me, he’d shoved me away. This time, I wouldn’t let his fear take over. Even if it turned into a fight, I would stand my ground and make damn sure he listened to me.

When I turned onto Nate’s street, I pulled to the curb and killed the engine. Without the distraction of traffic, there was nothing left to face but the reason I was there. Nate and I loved each other. We were good together, no matter what twisted shit he’d convinced himself was true. I wasn’t the type to back down, on the ice or in life, and I wasn’t about to start now. If he couldn’t think clearly enough to fight for us, then I needed to live up to my place as his boyfriend and think for both of us.

My mission was not simply to win him back, but to rescue us both from hell. I sat up and hit the start button. Blast off.

His car wasn’t in the driveway, but he usually parked in the garage. Although I had a remote, opening the door felt too intrusive, so I got out and walked to the front door. I rang the bell and tried to visualize what might happen. If he didn’t answer, I’d let myself in. If he tried to block me, I’d shove past him. Those options were certainly more intrusive than opening the garage, but fuck it. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

After two unanswered tries, I gave up and punched in the door code. The lock disengaged with a soft click, and I stepped inside. The house was as dark and quiet as a mausoleum.

“Nate?” My voice echoed, too loud in the stillness.

He didn’t answer. If he’d slept as badly as I did last night, maybe he’d crashed in his room, but the air felt wrong—too heavy. I moved through the house, checking room by room, but found no sign of him, not even an abandoned hoodie. I went into the kitchen, which was too neat. There wasn’t even a used glass by the sink.

My throat went dry, and even swallowing felt like work. Heart pounding, I turned in a slow circle, ready to head downstairs, until I caught a glimpse through the French doors. Nate was in the garden, stretched out on the chaise I always sat in.

His eyes were closed, and he was still, with one arm draped across his middle and the other slack at his side. My pulse kicked harder, and I knew I had to go to him. Outside, for an awful second, I thought he might not wake at all. I knelt beside him and kept my voice low. “Why are you out here without a jacket, sweets? It’s cold.”

Nothing, not even a twitch.

I touched his arm. “Nate?”

His eyelids fluttered open, and his stare was glassy and lost. He blinked like he wasn’t sure I was actually there. “Chuck?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten my face.”

“No.” He cleared his throat and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “I was dreaming. I wasn’t sure this was happening.”

I squeezed his arm. “It’s real. I’m here.”

His eyes went flat. He stared at me with the same dull, distant gaze he’d used when he told me to leave.

“Did you come to get your stuff?” His voice was low and rough.

Fuck. If that was where he thought this was going, I was skating up a steep hill. “No,” I said. “I came to talk.”

The color drained from his face as he pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not ready.”

A flash of anger had my pulse pounding in my ears. I had to clench my hands because I wanted to shake him, anything to jolt him into reality and make him hear me.

“We have to talk, Nate.”

“I said no.” He glared at me. “I’ll text you when I’m ready, okay?”

“Fuck that.” My voice was loud— good for me . “I can’t make you change your mind about us, but don’t you dare act like I don’t matter. Like we don’t matter. Last night, I let you have your say, and now it’s my turn. You owe me that much.”

“I can’t listen until I have something to tell you.”

“Bullshit.” I stood and loomed over him, fists clenched at my sides. “If you’ve got nothing to say, fine. It’ll save me the trouble of telling you to shut the hell up and listen.”

He stared into the distance and said nothing.

“Fuck you for sitting there like a statue. I’m not leaving until you hear me out, so either get your ass up and walk inside, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you in there.”