Page 22 of Summer with a Player

"Is everything okay?" he asks, genuine concern etched within his gaze.

"I just...I had to go to work, and I couldn't say no to my boss, you know? But I shouldn't have left you, especially when you were so open with your feelings." My heart races as I confess, my cheeks flushing with shame. "I want to make it up to you, Asher. I want you to be able to trust me."

As I look into his eyes, hoping he'll understand, I realize how much he means to me. How much I want to be there for him, to support him, and be the person he can lean on. I silently pray that he'll accept my apology and give me a chance to prove I'm not going anywhere.

"Elle," he says softly, reaching across the table to place his hand on mine. "Thank you for being honest with me. We all have ourreasons for doing what we do. Let's just move forward and see where this takes us."

"Thank you, Asher," I breathe out, relief washing over me like a wave.

We sit there, hands still intertwined, content to share the right here and now moment.

"Hey," Asher says suddenly, breaking the heaviness. "Why did the hockey player get thrown out of the pancake house?"

"I don't know, why?" I ask, already amused and giggling.

"Because he kept trying to ice the syrup!" Asher exclaims, his laughter contagious as I join him, feeling the lingering tension dissolving.

"Okay, okay, I got one," I say, trying to catch my breath. "Why don't some couples go to the gym?"

"Tell me," Asher says, his green eyes twinkling.

"Because some relationships don't work out!" I deliver the punchline, and we both burst into laughter again.

Chapter 13

Asher

The sun creeps through the thin curtains draped over the window in Elle’s tiny home. I stir awake and squint at my surroundings, disoriented. Elle's sanctuary has become my sanctuary too, a place where I can forget the pressures of the outside world and just be Asher, not "Jet" Gray.

But something feels off this morning. My heart races as I glance around the room, noticing my phone lying on the floor, its screen dark. Panic sets in as I fumble to pick it up and press the power button, only to find that the battery is dead. Shit. I forgot to plug it in last night.

"Elle," I whisper urgently, shaking her gently by the shoulder. Her eyelids flutter open, revealing those mesmerizing crystal blue eyes.

"Morning already?" she murmurs sleepily, her voice laced with the softness of dreams.

"Can you check the time? My phone's dead, and I have a feeling I'm late for practice." Elle reaches for her own phone on the nightstand and swipes her thumb across the screen.

"Shit, Asher. It's 9:15. Weren't you supposed to be on the ice at 9?"

"Damn it!" I leap out of bed, grabbing my clothes from the floor and hastily pulling them on. The guilt gnaws at me, tearing me apart from the inside. I've never been late to practice before. Hockey is everything to me. But so is Elle, and my time with her last night was magical; our bodies entwined, the taste of her lips still lingering in my memory.

"Go, Asher. I'll drive you so you can fully wake up," Elle says, climbing out of bed and tossing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

"No, it's fine," I insist, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "I'll drive myself. I don't want you to be late for work and get in trouble because of me."

"Are you sure? I don't mind," she offers, concern etched on her face.

"Positive." I lean in and press a quick kiss to her lips. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," she whispers, the disappointment clear in her eyes as she watches me rush out the door.

As I sprint to my car, my heart feels like it's being pulled in two different directions. Hockey has always been my number one priority, but Elle is quickly becoming just as important, if not more so. How am I supposed to choose between them? The thought is unsettling.

I need to focus on hockey, at least for now. As I speed towards the rink, Elle's scent still clinging to my skin, I’m debating in my head if I've made the right choice. Is it even possible to have both love and success? Or will one inevitably destroy the other?

Over the next few days, I feel myself unintentionally pulling back from Elle. Our text messages become less frequent, our plans canceled or postponed. It's not that I don't want to see her – God, I do – but there’s an anxious feeling that I need to focus on my career.

"Hey, Jet," Kaleb greets me one afternoon as I walk through the door of our shared house at Pawleys Island. "How’s it going?"

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