Page 61 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

“I need you to cancel my appointments today,” I say, struggling to swallow the sobs that are starting to break through.

Sharon hurries around the desk, but I hold my hand up, forcing her to halt before she reaches me.

“Please, Sharon. You’re my friend. I need you to do this one thing for me. Please.”

She stands there, deadly still, just looking at me. “Alright, darling,” she whispers.

As I head to the door, I pause and speak over my shoulder. “Lock up when I’m gone.”

Tears blur my eyes as I drive erratically down the street. Sobs wrack from my chest, making it hard to breathe, drive, and see all at the same time. I’m not even thinking. I’m just driving. I can’t think. I’m too numb.

At the house, I abandon the car, hurry to my front door, and make sure it’s locked from the inside. I don’t want to see anyone. Not even Debs and Sharon. Dumping my bags at my feet, I head upstairs, strip off my clothes, put on my pajamas, and climb into bed.

Texts have already started to come through on my phone, but I don’t look at them. I just turn my cell off completely and then lie there as I let the grief pour out of me in heartbreaking sobs.

I don’t know how long I cry. It seems to go on for ages, even though it’s probably not. But afterward, I just lie there, my body jerking in the aftermath, while I stare at the wall and finally allow the thoughts to come.

This morning, everything was so perfect. After talking to my closest friends last night, I had been willing to risk it all. The fear, the doubt, the unknown, everything. My heart was willing to take whatever came, good and bad. I’m not a fool. Relationships can get tough sometimes.

Now, I want the world to close down around me. I want to stay here in this bed and never leave. I don’t care if I never see another soul again. I just want darkness, and silence, and to be left alone in my sorrow.

Doubt simmers at the corner of my mind, replaying Sharon’s and Ryan’s words that the picture isn’t real. But I can’t believe that. It’s in the newspaper. These guys don’t print stuff that isn’t real. The logical explanation makes far more sense. Ryan met up with Megan at some point that night. Clint was right there, serving customers behind them.

Who knows? Maybe he went to tell her to leave. But I don’t care what his reasons were. He should have told me. Besides,they looked like they were having a great time, his arms wrapped around her with a great big grin on his face.

He’s done it again. He’s done what he promised he would never do. He’s made me look like an utter fool. But that’s not why my heart is breaking. It’s not the reason I feel like I can hardly breathe. The truth is, I’ve fallen in love with him. I think I knew it, deep down, but this morning, I was certain of it. It’s why I was so willing to give this relationship a chance.

My eyes feel heavy, and I let them fall closed. I’m tired. Emotionally exhausted. Not just from today, but all this acting we’ve been doing for the last couple of months has taken its toll. My breathing gets long and deep, and soon enough, unconsciousness overtakes me.

When I wake again, it’s to the sound of a thumping noise downstairs. My heart jumps as I’m pulled from my sleep, and feeling a little disoriented, it takes a few minutes to settle my racing pulse. The metallic knock comes again, and then the doorbell rings.

It’s Sharon or Debs.

Or Ryan.

I shake my head and pull the covers up over me, like the duvet is somehow going to block out the sound, or the grief, or hide me from the tatters that my life now lies in.

The metallic sound comes again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And then the doorbell.

Whoever it is, they’re persistent. But I don’t need to answer. I can just stay here and pretend I can’t hear them. Pretend I’m not here. Wish I wasn’t here. But the knocking and ringing continues. On and on, for ten more minutes.

“For heaven’s sake,” I huff, throwing the duvet off me and sitting up in bed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I lift a hoodie that hangs on the back of a chair and pull it over my head. Clearly, my visitor is not going to leave, and their constant knocking is driving me nuts. It feels worse than Chinese water torture. At least if I go down there, I can send them away and get back to my grieving in peace.

Thumping down the stairs, now feeling more angry than sad, I walk down the hallway. A familiar shadow hovers at the door. It’s tall and broad, with dark hair.

“Go away, Ryan. I don’t want to see you,” I call through the closed door.

“It’s Thomas,” the deep voice comes back.

I hitch a breath and hesitate for a second. “I don’t want to see you, either,” I say with a little less animosity. He’s never done me any wrong, I can’t really shout at him, right?

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