Page 98 of Playoff

Rowan

Boston?

What the fuck is that reporter talking about?

Sometimes they throw out shit just to get a rise out of the player, but I know Blake well enough to know his body language. And whatever bullshit they’re talking about with Boston is real. He covers nicely, and if you don’t know him intimately—like I do—you wouldn’t catch the annoyed tic in his jaw.

I don’t have time to confront him, though, because there’s a bit of a party going on and the guys are celebrating again. Plus, I have to clean up, make sure the guys are taken care of, and check in on my dad. It turns out he’s going out with a few of the guys, but I decline, knowing Blake and I have to talk. And we’re going to need a little privacy.

“Rowan.” I hear his voice, but this is neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.

“What do you need, Blake?” I ask in my most professional voice.

“You got a minute?”

“If you’re injured, of course. If not, it has to wait. I have to take a look at Gabe’s knee and get my shit together.” I don’t even look at him.

“Okay.” He’s gone without another word, and I’m actually relieved.

I don’t know whether I’m furious or hurt or confused. Probably some combination of all three.

Not only is it against the rules for teams to discuss trades for teams still actively in the playoffs, but he also essentially lied to me. Lies of omission are still lies and I can’t for the life of me figure out why he would do that. Things have been good between us. He told me he loved me, for God’s sake.

Of course, he’d been telling me he loved me for nearly four years when he unceremoniously dumped me last time too.

Fuck.

I somehow get through packing up, the bus ride to the airport, and even the flight without losing my shit.

But it’s coming.

I can feel exasperation and anger and disappointment bubbling to the surface and things are going to explode if I’m not careful.

“I’m going to drop off Bodi and then head to your place,” Blake murmurs to me as we’re heading out to the private airport parking lot.

All I can manage is a tight nod.

My hands are like ice on the steering wheel as I drive home and it’s hard not to cry. I don’t know exactly why I’m so upset—I have no idea what’s going on—but the fact that he lied to me after promising he’s in it for good this time really hurts.

I toss in a load of laundry as I wait for him to get here and then pour a glass of wine.

By the time he knocks on the door, I’ve worked myself into a snit and I throw open the door.

“Boston?” I say the moment it closes behind him. “Seriously?”

“They contacted my agent expressing interest. He goes way back with someone in the organization, so it wasn’t anything official.” He looks contrite. “I just thought I’d wait until I knew something definite before?—”

“You lied to me. And don’t you dare say not telling me wasn’t a lie.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry, babe. I just knew you wouldn’t be happy.”

“Of course I’m not happy! We’re barely back together, and you’re already keeping huge secrets from me about our future!” I throw up my hands.

“No, it’s not like that. I just?—”

“You just what? You’ve got a chance in the NHL and you’re going to take it. I get it. But lying? Keeping secrets? Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? You didn’t want me to go with you to college either. Is that how it’s going to be with Boston?”

“That’s not fair.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been very clear that you’re not leaving your job.”

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