Page 51 of Breakaway

I nod, even if he can’t see me. “Yeah.”

“Sorry to be the bad guy, but I don’t think you’re being fair to Nevaeh. You know how some people are. They don’t take no for an answer. If her ex-boyfriend isn’t ready to move on and forget about her, how can she control that?”

“She still?—”

“For fuck’s sake, Pashkevich. I know how hard it is for you to trust people. How much easier it is to keep everyone at an arm’s length, or even farther,” Colton says. “I was just like you years ago. If I’d continued to think like that, I would still be alone, without any chance at a happy family. And I can’t imagine my life without Ava and my children.”

“Just a few minutes ago you were complaining about your kids,” I joke, trying to dismiss this nagging feeling of hopelessness his words brought me.

“Very mature, Roman,” he retorts snidely. “Just stop making assumptions and talk to her.”

“Sorry, Colt. I know you’re right,” I tell him as the car idles to a stop. “I have no idea what’s going to happen once I get home.”

“Start with an apology. And maybe flowers. Just don’t buy roses.”

“Why? Roses are her favorite.” I pinch my eyebrows together.

“You know, in case she slaps you across the face with them.”

I laugh, getting out of the car and taking my suitcase from the trunk. “I bought something for her in Mexico. I hope she’ll talk to me at least.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” Colt chuckles. “Good luck.”

“Thank you. Bye, man.”

“Bye.”

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I thank the driver and head inside my apartment building, straight to the elevator. There’s a popular old song that anyone who plays hockey in my country knows; “Cowards don’t play hockey,” the lyrics go. But I handled the aftermath of our kiss like a coward. Running away, not saying a word to her. Immature behavior at its finest.

When the elevator stops at the sixth floor, my palms start to sweat. I’m a mess just picturing how seeing her will go. I like her so damn much, it’s maddening. The feeling I get when she’s around is a thousand times stronger than it was with any other girl I’ve been with. Even in Cancún…there were always girls, making small talk and flirting. Beautiful girls. Hot girls. But I couldn’t care less about any of them.

They weren’t her.

I open the door, and the first thing I hear is the sound of the TV. ThePeaky Blinderstheme song is playing, and my lips lift into an involuntary smile. She’s watching my favorite TV show, even without me, and it makes me unreasonably happy.

Taking a step forward, I psych myself up to see Nevaeh. But a loud bark makes me freeze. I blink, stupefied, as a small French bulldog barrels out of the living room.

What the hell is this?

“Happy!”

Nevaeh runs out of the living room and catches the dog in her arms, lifting it and pressing it to her chest. Our eyes lock, but I’m unable to say even a fucking word. The barking is high-pitched, and I grimace at how unpleasant it sounds.

“Why is there a dog here?” I ask in a low voice.

Her eyes roam over my face, and she pouts, lifting her chin. “Hi. Nice to see you back home.”

I shift, clutching the handle of my suitcase harder. “Um, yeah, hi.” Pointing at the dog in her arms, I ask again, “Why is there a dog here?”

“You said I could invite some guests over.” She adjusts her hold; the dog is probably too heavy for her. “This is Happy, and he’s my guest.”

“I didn’t mean dogs.”

“You don’t like pets?” She arches an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing.

“I do! I have a dog and a cat at home. That’s not the point.”

Nevaeh stares at me for a long minute, then wheels around and disappears into the living room. So, we’re done talking? Really? I stand in the hallway like a fucking statue. Hiding my fingers in my hair, I huff, trying to make sense of all this.

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