Page 36 of Perfect Playbook

I put the remains of the meal into plastic containers. “He’s the best thing in my life right now.”

“Mmm.” She whooshes her hands around in the water, cleaning as she thinks about what I said, then rinses some dishes, puts them in the drying rack. “He said he loves you?”

“Yes.” I pick up a towel and dry a plate. “Many times.”

“But you’ve not said it to him?”

“I’m… worried about what it will do to me. It just feels risky, you know?”

“Risky?” She says the word like I misused it. Or like she suddenly doesn’t understand its meaning.

“He’s… Logan might not be here in New Mexico for much longer. He’s going to be signed soon. To the NHL.”

Her mouth opens with understanding. “Oh. So you think it will hurt less when he has to leave if you don’t tell him you love him, even though you do?” She winks.

“I don’t know if I do.” I haven’t even convinced myself with these words.

She puts a wet, foamy hand on her hip. “Shaylita? Seriously?”

I dry a plate.Of course I love him.But sometimes I don’t want to. I don’t want to love him when I think of him possibly going out of state.

I’m trying desperately to pretend his leaving won’t hurt if I hold back. But the truth is, Logan already has my heart. He was the one who found it, hiding in the darkness of mygrief, so holding back is pointless. I might as well be concentrating my power on trying to levitate.

I don’t realize I’ve been drying the same dish for the past few minutes, mind far away in the distant future where more heartache finds me.

My aunt’s voice is an echo in my mind. “Shay?”

I snap back to reality and reach up to put away the dry plate into a cupboard.

“Have you talked to him about your worries? Do you know what he wants?”

I tilt my head. “Not really.”

“Why haven’t you talked about it?”

I take up another dish to dry it. “I’m too… paranoid.”

She laughs dryly. “Jealous, too, I suspect.”

“Gee, thanks,tía. Makes me feel better.”

She dives her hands back into the suds, searching blindly for cutlery at the bottom. “You know I’m not the softly softly type, so here are my words for this. You either figure it out because it’s worth it. Or you let go because it’s too hard.”

She wraps her arm around me, wetting my shoulder. “I’m a good judge of character. I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Shay hadto drive her car home from Vegas. I didn’t tell her I abandoned my chartered jet back in order to ride with her and talk. Suddenly, private jets, something that for years has felt so normal, seemed ostentatious. So I climbed into her Honda Civic coupe, put the seat back as far as it could go, and spent the nine-hour drive downing water because the air-con wasn’t very cool, or powerful. Or maybe it works just fine and I’m incredibly hungover.

It gives us time to catch up and formulate plans that need formulating. We called Luis from the car and told him what happened. We called my mom and all our other family members. Surprisingly, most of them, apart from herbrothers, of course, squealed with what sounded a lot more like delight than suspicion. I suppose the shock will wear off and the questions will come in thick and fast at some point. Or maybe not. After all, I know my mom gave up on me settling down. I doubt she’ll want to do anything to put the brakes on me being married.

Plus, it’s done. What are they going to do? Tell us to split up and divorce?

Between calling her four brothers, dad, my three siblings, and Ashton, the car journey goes quickly. And I even feel grateful to be in her car instead, especially when we get greasy fast food which goes down so much better today than whatever five-star gourmet meal they would have served on the plane.

Eating junk food with Shay driving reminds me of old times. We drove back quite a number of times from college. I shouldn’t let old feelings creep in, but I spend the entire car journey looking out her side of the windshield and have the worst crick in my neck admiring how age has been so good to her.

And, moreover, how confident she’s been in allowing it to happen. Shay is thirty-six and still plenty youthful. But she’s definitely not a college kid anymore, and I really like that. I’ve never been one of those guys chasing girls half my age. Shay is more stunning than she was at twenty. Her whole body is fuller and curvier than it was when we were younger, and I only wish I was a hell of a lot more sober last night to fully remember it. The few strands of silver woven into the darkness of her locks only serve to enhance her allure, adding a touch of sophistication to her appearance. Her smile lines are delicate etchings, evidence of joy having visited her in these past sixteen years without me.

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