Page 93 of Knotted Laces

“And if anything,” she says, “being with you, falling for you when you play for someone my team was actively investigating would have made things more complicated between us.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

She reaches for me but I step back. “Then how do you mean it?”

“Imean”—she nibbles at her bottom lip—“that the case doesn’t factor into my feelings for you.”

Iwantto believe that. I do. I just…

You’re not good enough.

“I can’t do this right now,” I whisper.

She takes another step toward me, hands extended as though to touch me, to hold me. God, I want that, but…

I can’t, not when my head is spinning and my heart is sliced to ribbons and nothing makes sense.

I skitter back, hating that the hurt on her face tears through me.

“Cam, honey”—another rip when she halts, when she doesn’t touch me, when that endearment hangs in the air between us—“I didn’t even know about your coach until you told me. And I didn’t know of his connection to my work until tonight—something that couldn’t happen unless Jean-Michel was cleared and felt comfortable enough to give me some files and ask me to investigate.”

“When?”

She opens her mouth, closes it. Then opens it again. “When what?”

“Whendid Jean-Michel give you the files?”

“A couple of weeks ago. After we talked that day at the rink. I mentioned to him that your coach was giving you a hard time and?—”

Rip!

Jesus Christ.

She’d mentioned my insecure, whiny bullshit to theownerof the team.

Who then had swept in to solve all of my problems and recruited my girlfriend to help along the way.

Shame rises up and sweeps over me.

Not good enough. Never going to be good enough.

Can’t even deal with my own fucking job.

“I can’t do this.” The words are torn out of me, but it’s what they do to her face that kills me.

And yet, it doesn’t stop me from repeating them when she asks, “What?”

“I. Can’t.Do. This.”

A long, horrible silence.

“Can’t do what exactly?” she asks quietly.

“This.Us. I need some space,” I add desperately when her expression locks down, becomes ringed with ice and the fear of losing her overrides the panic in my mind. “You said if I needed space, I could ask for it and you wouldn’t hold it against me.”

Quiet again, the lack of any words, any sounds other than our breathing just as horrible as the previous silence.

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