Page 77 of Off Season

Holding the largest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen.

His eyes trail down my body before making a slow perusal back up, taking in my tank top and shorts.

“Hey.” Ethan smiles when his eyes finally meet mine. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, all unsure and lacking confidence. “These are for you.”

He holds out the flowers, and I take them in my arms. They’re heavier than I expected and nearly take up the width of the door frame.

A mix of dark and light peonies and roses. Some of the peonies have started to open, and I bring them to my nose to sniff.

My stomach swoops, and my heart flutters like there’s akaleidoscope of butterflies in my chest. I can’t believe he remembered they’re my favorite.

When I don’t say anything, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gives a small shrug. “I just…” he trails off. “I miss you.”

My breath hitches in the back of my throat.

Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

But this was what I wanted, right? For Ethan to realize that we’re good together. So why am I starting to feel frustrated? Does he think that he can just waltz in here and expect things to go back to the way they were after over a week of radio silence?

You know him better than that.

I thought I did. I thought he wouldn’t shut me out the second we left English soil, so now I’m not sure what to think.

“Thank you, Ethan; these are beautiful.” This is awkward. He’s just standing there, looking at me, and I don’t want to regret not saying what I feel. So I add, “I’ve missed you, too.”

The smile he gives me makes the dimple in his left cheek pop out.

“Would you like to come in?” I finally ask, stepping aside.

He nods, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He follows me into the kitchen in silence while I find a vase for the flowers and put them in water. I offer him a drink, then lead him outside, where he sits on the patio chair next to the sun lounger.

“So, how have you been?” he asks, taking a tentative sip of soda.

I glance over to him, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, even though my sunglasses are on my head. I don’t want to shield my emotions this time. I want him to see everything.

“Honestly? Not great.”

His face falls, but I’m not going to give in. I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine when he’s pissed me off. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“I thought we had something special, but the way you shut me out the second we boarded the plane?” I shake my head. “It hurt. It was like you just dismissed everything we had, closed the book on that chapter of your life, and moved on.” I stop talking and take a shaky breath. “I know what our deal was, but you just let me walk out of the airport without a word.”

Ethan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands twist as his forehead creases with a deep frown, in his jaw ticking with tension. When he looks up, sorrow is written all over his face.

“It wasn’t like that at all, and I’m so sorry I made you feel like that was the case,” he begins. “I was racking my brain trying to find the right way to ask if you would like to give things—us—a chance when we got back. Not as a friends-with-benefits arrangement, but actually dating, and I know it sounds fucking ridiculous because all I needed to do wasask.” He runs his fingers through his hair in distress. “I know I didn’t need to make a big thing out of it, but my anxiety convinced me that I needed some sort of grand gesture for you to take the leap. Then, by the time I stopped being an idiot and getting myself so worked up over it, it was too late.”

I chew on my bottom lip.

I want to believe him. I really do. But while my heart is yelling at me to do this, my brain is questioning how long it will take until his anxious thoughts take up space in his head. How long until he shuts me out again.

The only way this is going to work is if we both put everything on the table for once and for all.

Including the painful truths.

“If we give this a chance, how do I know you won’t just end things the second the season starts? How can I trust that you’re all in and that I’m not just someone for you to spend some time with between now and when you’re playing again? That I’m not a stepping stone for someone else?”

His gaze remains fixed on mine, those chocolate brown eyes boring into me, unwavering as he speaks.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he states. “This last week without you only cemented the fact that I don’t want what we had to be a fond memory. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and not see you next to me. I understand your fears, and I’m so fucking sorry that I caused this.”

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