Page 78 of Good Pucking Luck

Mads frowns, and I must admit, it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “What does that have to do with meeting Hayes’s friends?”

“Well, I don’t know them. What if they’re not who Hayes thinks they are and they end up outing us? Then we’d have this big media frenzy before the playoffs.” I smile because my reason totally makes sense, and now that Mads heard it, he’ll agree.

“How did Hayes feel about that?”

“He understood. Why wouldn’t he?” This conversation isn’t going how I thought it would.

Mads shrugs. “After what he’s been through with that cheating dickhead, I figure something like that must be sensitive for him. I’m sure Hayes wasn’t meeting the dickhead’s friends or anything like that. They didn’t have a normal relationship, and if it were me, I’d probably be feeling as if my partner didn’t want anyone to know about us.”

My heart sinks somewhere to my feet. “He was nervous when I virtually introduced the two of you, and he didn’t want me to meet his friends at first,” I try to defend myself, though my senses, which seemed to be in hiding until this moment, are now telling me I’m in the wrong.

“That’s true. And maybe he’s fine with it, but he changed his mind. He stepped out of his comfort zone for the two of you. He did something that probably made him nervous, only to have you agree and then change your mind at the last minute.”

I am.

An idiot.

“But that’s not… I didn’t mean…”

“Of course that’s not what you meant, but that doesn’t mean it’s not what he felt.” Mads shrugs. “I could be wrong.”

But he’s not wrong. It’s completely clear to me now, even though it wasn’t five minutes ago. I can understand why Hayes would feel that way. And I already know he has difficulty seeing himself as worthy, that he’s still surprised that I would want to be with him, and this is what I do.

“Should I not have said anything?” Mads asks.

He shouldn’t have had to say anything, and I’m pissed at myself that he had to, but I get it now, and I’m going to fix it.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Hayes

Iwake upto a voicemail from Rylan, which I’m totally not listening to—at least not yet. In the few months I’ve known him, he never left me a voicemail, and I’m inclined to believe it can’t be good news that he’s leaving one now.

I have a busy day with meetings at work, and the last thing I need is to be off my game because I’m nursing a broken heart.

So, work first.

Rylan’s breakup message second.

Because clearly that’s what it is, and yes, I’m negative as hell, but history hasn’t been on my side for this kind of thing.

But then, would he break up with me before the season is over? Do I want him to stick with me just because he doesn’t want to risk his weird logic that he’ll win the cup because of me?

I should have known that him calling me when he knew I’d be asleep was an omen for the day to come, but nothing prepares me for going home after a long, stressful day of work to see Malcolm waiting outside my building. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my stomach instantly nauseous.

“What are you doing here?” My voice cracks, and I hate that sound, hate the way I suddenly feel small seeing him again. Is this how I felt when we were together? Did he make me feel small the whole time? The fact is, he did, and I forced myself to ignore that. I ignored it because I thought he liked me, and I needed that so damn much at the time, so I accepted his shitty behavior. Accepted the way he made me feel.

“Can we talk?” he asks, voice soft and meeker than I’ve ever heard him.

“I have nothing to say to you. Frankly, I’d hoped to never see you again.”

Malcolm grabs my arm when I try to walk around him toward the glass doors of my building. “Please, Hayes. It’s important.”

His skin against mine feels wrong, makes me shiver but not in a sexy way, like a horror-movie way, when you realize the bad guy is someone you trusted and you’re alone with them. Malcolm is a bad guy. I can see it, feel it. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but it’s clear as day now. “No.” I stand my ground.

He looks around, noticing we’re alone. My building entrance is on a quieter side of the street, some cars passing, sure, but not a lot of people walking by.

I pull my arm from Malcolm’s hold, just as he says, “I miss you,” and I freeze.

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