Page 49 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

FORTY-FIVE

By the time the rideshare drops me at Logan’s, it’s been four days. Four days without Mia. Without knowing where we stand. If she’s okay. Way too fucking long .

I crouch on his doorstep, digging through my backpack for the emergency key he gave me—this qualifies as an emergency.

I hope Mia’s here and not at her parents’ place. That’ll be my next stop as soon as Logan gives me their address if she’s not here.

I’m still rummaging when the door swings open.

“Oh.” I stand quickly, the August humidity clinging to me as I wipe sweat from my brow. Yeah. Definitely back in Chicago. “Hey. How’d you know I was here?”

Logan jerks his chin toward the security camera built into the doorbell.

“Right,” I mutter.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he whisper-shouts, keeping the door cracked just wide enough to glare at me.

“Is Mia here?” I move to step inside, but he doesn’t budge. With a groan, I tip my head back.

He grips the edge of the door, knuckles pale against the wood. “What’s it to you?”

What’s it to me?

Everything.

She’s everything.

My jaw clenches. “She just left. No warning. No explanation.” I pause, trying to rein it in. “I’m worried about her.”

He seems to be weighing my words, but he’s taking too long to decide. I plant a hand on his chest and step forward, forcing him into the house.

Luckily, this time he relents and moves. When we’re both inside, I shut the door and turn to face him.

“You look like shit,” he states unhelpfully.

“Thanks.” I try to move around him, searching for her, but he blocks my path. “Look, if you want to hit me, I’ll take it. Just let me see her.”

He lets out a huff of annoyance as he scrubs a hand roughly down his face. “What happened between you two?”

I wish I knew. Sure, we fought, and I know I shouldn’t have let her leave with things unresolved, but I never thought she’d run all the way back home. I would’ve stopped her if?—

I shake my head. The would’ve, should’ve doesn’t matter. What matters is fixing it. Fixing us.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt her, man.” His voice stays even, but there’s a sharp edge to his tone. “And yet she’s been holed up in that room for days.”

His words coil deep in my chest. She’s been holed up. For days.

She’s not okay.

“Is it the bees?” I ask.

“Excuse me… what?”

The fact that he has no idea what I’m talking about makes me more desperate to get to her. She trusted me with a part of herself she hasn’t shared with her family. “Nothing. I’ll figure it out. Now, if you could let me?—”

I step to the left, and he mirrors me again.

“I don’t have time for this.” Frustration drips from my every word.

“And I don’t have time for you to screw things up any more than you already have,” he fires back, not budging.

“I love you like a brother. Hell, not even like, you are my brother, Lo.” I take a breath.

“But Mia… she’s more . She’s my future. And if she’s hurting even a fraction as much as I am being away from her—knowing she’s not okay—it’s fucking killing me.

I don’t want her to feel that for another second. ”

He deflates. “Do you love her?”

“Of course I do,” I snap. “But I’d like to tell her that. Not you.” My eyes automatically lift toward the stairs in a silent question.

He watches me, and I don’t bother hiding anything—my guilt, my panic, my feelings for her.

“She’s in the guest room. Second floor. Last door at the end of the hall.”

I start forward, but he catches me with an outstretched arm.

“She won’t tell me what happened, but whatever it is… she’s not doing well. And yeah, it’s not the first time, but the fact that you’re the reason… Fuck .”

“I know.”

“You get that she’s not just going to ‘get better,’ right? That this is something she’s always carried, and maybe always will? You can’t just kiss it better. It’s going to be hard. Are you planning to stay through it all?”

“Of course I am. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. So please, let me through.”

He finally drops his hand, and I don’t waste another second, taking the stairs two at a time.

When I reach the door, I don’t bother knocking.

It’s nearly pitch black with the curtains drawn, despite the sun shining brightly outside. I use my phone’s light to guide me to the lump under the fluffy white comforter.

I don’t want to startle her, but I can’t wait any longer to see her hypnotizing blue eyes or hear her sleepy voice. I run a hand through her hair, down her arm, and squeeze when I reach her hand.

She stirs but doesn’t wake.

“Mia,” I whisper, and she grumbles.

My lips tip up as I squeeze her hand again and kneel beside the bed, needing to see her face. “Mia.”

She makes a small sound of acknowledgment but her eyes stay closed.

“Baby, it’s me. Wake up.”

Her lids flutter open. Even in the near darkness, her eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen. I toss my phone onto the nightstand, which dims the light but leaves enough to see her.

“Dom?” she mumbles, pushing herself up slightly.

“Shh, it’s me,” I soothe, brushing her hair from her face.

“You’re here?”

“Where else would I be?”

Her brows knit together as she grabs my wrist, stopping my motion. My hand doesn’t move from below her jaw.

We stare at each other wordlessly, and I’m finally able to take her in. The features I’ve daydreamed about over the past few days—stuck in that damn airport hotel waiting for the storm to pass, waiting for clearance to fly back to her—are all there, but not quite as I remembered them.

Her eyes are still that sky blue I love, but they’re glassy, threaded with red.

Her nearly black hair is usually silky smooth, but now it’s unkempt.

Her cheeks are missing their usual flush.

Her lips look red and chapped, like she’s been biting them.

I want to bundle her up and protect her from everything and everyone.

I want to ask who we’re going after.

Until I realize it’s me— I’m the one who hurt her.

Fuck.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes.

I’m usually so good at reading her, but her body is stiff, unreadable. She doesn’t say a word. And that terrifies me.

I stand, heart pounding, and pull back the blanket. I scoop her up before she can protest. Now sitting on the edge of the bed, I cradle her against me, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks, her jaw, the spot near her ear, her hairline.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

She shivers, despite being wrapped in a sweatshirt she has no business wearing in this heat.

“Can we talk?” I hold her tighter than I probably need to.

“Yeah… I need a shower first.”

It’s about the last thing I expect her to say, but it’s something. A small marching order I can follow while I figure out our next move.

“Can I take you home?”

She nods.

Even though I already know—have known for a while—it hits me.

Home is wherever she is.