Page 26 of The Game She Hates

At least I didn’t know my parents. I knew they had given me up and were probably addicts of one kind or another. But Zane’s story... A fat tear rolls down my cheek, and when he reaches to wipe it away, a shockwave of tingling travels down my neck, causing a shiver to ripple through my core.

“I’m sorry. I actually have no idea why I just told you all that. I never talk about it.” He turns away, and I have to fight the urge not to gently turn his face back toward me. I want him to know how deeply sorry I am for what he went through, and if there’s any way I may have inadvertently triggered painful memories for him, I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive me.

“Don’t be sorry. Talking about your pain is good. I just...I know it’s not fair to judge a book by its cover, but this…I couldn’t have imagined. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He turns his face toward me again, his expression now devoid of any discernible emotion.

“It’s fine. Life can be cruel. So what about you? Let me guess. Had a great childhood? Grew up in a home with loving parents and boundless joy?”

“Why is that your guess?”

“The way you carry yourself. You’re kind, and it’s like you can’t frown. Even when you do, it’s another one of your adorable expressions. And you care about people. That’s why I call you Sweet P,” he says, and at the mention of “adorable expressions” and the nickname he gave me, my heart quickens.

I do my best to consider everyone, but I wonder how he’s been able to see that in me, especially when I’ve been trying to keep my distance from him.

“We can’t do this, Zane.”

“What?” he says, suddenly alarmed. “What can’t we do?”

“This,” I say, gesturing between us with my hand, “I’m not the girl for you.”

He blesses me with his blinding smile, clearly playing the fool. “We’re just having a conversation. As friends. Remember?”

“You really expect me to buy into the ‘just friends’ act?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. The gesture sends another gentle drift of his jacket’s scent around me, reminding me that I’m wearing it. Why does he have to smell so irresistible?

“Why not?”

“This is why not,” I say, pointing directly at his eyes. “Friends don’t give me that look.”

“You have a problem with my eyes?”

“It’s the way you look at me. That’s not the same look you gave Robyn or anyone else here.”

He lifts his arms up in surrender. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I really want to get to know you. You seem different. I love that it doesn’t have to be about hockey between us.”

“I don’t believe that’s it. You’ve been looking at me like this since you spotted me the first time at Randy’s before our appointment,” I huff.

“Okay, you got me,” he admits with a sheepish look. “You’re beautiful. You caught my eye. I had no idea you were my therapist the first time I saw you at Randy’s. And when I finally got in your office, I thought you were looking at me the same exact way. I even thought you were a fan because of how flustered you seemed. It made me want to talk and see where it goes. But you’ve made it clear since then that you don’t want to explore the idea of us in a romantic capacity. But I still want you in my life. In any capacity. Except, obviously, as my therapist, because you’d never let me get close to you.”

His words, his smile, his gaze, his honesty—everything about him leaves me speechless. My heart races with a pace I can’t calm. How does someone as beautiful as him see any beauty in me?

“I never knew my parents,” I start, and notice his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I grew up in the foster care system. I wasn’t always kind. I was a kid who was mad at the world. I was rehomed too many times until, at thirteen, I landed in the home of angels.

“A couple named Beatrice and Fynn took me in. They introduced me to the gospel of Jesus Christ through the way they lived and loved. They cared for me until I left for college, and then they went to Asia for missionary work.”

He inches closer.

What’s he going to do? God, please, not this. I don’t know if I have the self-control needed to resist kissing him back.

Instead, he takes me into his arms and squeezes me gently, my head resting against his broad chest. His heartbeat has a rhythmic sound, and I feel like melting into this hug. The way he holds me makes me wonder why he feels for me. He’s clearly had it much worse.

He releases me, and I clear my throat before taking a few steps back. After the moment we just shared, I could definitely use some distance.

“I am so sorry for my assumption. I can’t believe you went through that.” His hand reaches for mine.

“Don’t be. Jesus turned my worst experiences into something so beautiful.”

“What are you talking about? What’s beautiful about parents leaving their own child for the government to raise?”

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