Page 75 of Perfect Playbook

“You’ll wait for me for ten years? Maybe more if you keep your health. Logan, we were foolish. Even if you were signed by the Scorpions, what were the chances of you staying on that team…?”

“I would have made myself indispensable.”

“Logan…”

“I would havebeggedto stay if that’s what it came to…” I’m unraveling.

And, as always, she anchors me by taking my hand in hers. “You need to live your best life.”

“My best life is with you…”

“Logan.” She hangs her head. A teardrop falls on her lap before she faces me again, eyes misted over. “You’re the right person for me, I know that in my soul.” She clutches her shirt right over that gorgeous heart of hers. “You are right for me, in that, there is zero doubt. But it’s the wrong time…one of us has to say what we both know. You have a long career ahead of you with more uncertainty than we’ve wanted to accept. You’ll be moved around, hell, maybe even out of the States…”

I know she’s right, we’ve both avoided that detail. Even if I got signed to the Scorpions, the NHL is a volatile place. Trading is common, especially for rookies.

“Logan, I dreamed up all sorts of scenarios, trust me. I thought of all different what-ifs that might make this work. But if leaving my dad was hard before, it’s impossible now. I won’t leave him. It’s not how we do it. Even my brothershave a plan to one day reunite us. Families aren’t meant to be apart.”

I just don’t understand how after all we are and all we’ve been through together, this is it. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“No.” She puts her tiny hands gently to my cheeks. “Webothknow this is what has to happen.”

I imagined a scenario where I flew back every time I could to see Shay and flew her to see me. I imagined us having fun with it for some time in our twenties and eventually, maybe when I was more established, I could even take less pay and beg for a spot in Santa Fe. Not that I even knew if it would work. It was wishful thinking.

Shay isn’t some happy-go-lucky new adult with traveling the country on her mind. She’s a young woman whose mother just died and her dad is alone at home. I know that. I’ve always known that. Even if Shay was in a different spot emotionally, I know her culture. Hell, I respect it so much I want to be a part of it.

But I’m not. And maybe I’ll never be, because the situation of me being in any new city at any given time is, my health willing, a very long era indeed.

Breaking up isn’t my choice, but it’s selfish as hell to pin this on her. I refuse to let her feel guilty for sticking to her morals. I gather my ass up off the floor… for her, I need to set her free, too.

My head tips in a somber nod because I can’t bring myself to actually say yes. But the little bag I brought along catches my eye again, and that’s when the sting in the bridge of my nose shoots to my eyeballs and they glass over. I dig my fingers into my sockets to stop myself from bursting and making this worse than it is.

Despite my best efforts to be strong, my voice cracks. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s like grief. It’s not about getting over us. It’s about learning to live without us.” She blinks hard over glistening eyes. “I love you, Logan.”

“I love you so much,pastelito.”

Reluctantly, so, so very carefully, I place her hand back down on her lap and stand. My feet weigh a thousand pounds, and my body is made of rock. It takes all my energy to make my way to the door, and to pick up that little bag that held the promise I was never able to make.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I am stressedthe hell out because the “just in cake” is an absolute nightmare.

The couple requested the design be wedding vibes in Santorini. It was where they had their first vacation together and where he proposed. I thought it was both a great idea and an easy task. My sketch was gorgeous. I designed a four-tiered cake. My plan is to paint over a hundred Greek tiles and plaster them to the sides of the cake to represent the whimsical Mediterranean town. Fuchsia flowers will crawl up the sides and drop over the top.

On the surface, it seemed like a relatively easy task. Santorini is predominately white, and though my plan hasfifty bougainvillea flowers in addition to the tiles, I am adept at making flowers now. What I didn’t plan on was just how long it would take to paint the patterned tiles.

So now, as I wipe the fallen strands of hair off my forehead, even my ponytail feels like giving up. But finally I have a system. I have my white frostings and fondants, edible paint base over on the island. In front of me on the kitchen table are several pots of edible blue paint, each a subtle shade different from the next to give depth and texture to the design.

When I’m sick of painting, I mold a flower. Flower, tile. Flower, tile. I’ve been doing this for hours, and when I glance at the clock and do the math, based on my output for the last hour, I realize now this design is a time management nightmare.

Each tile is taking too long to paint, but it’s too late to rethink it. I’m not going to be done until two a.m. or three a.m. at this rate and then I need to drive out first thing in the morning?

Quit complaining, Shay. Buck up.This is a twenty-five thousand dollar cake. It’s a real stepping stone into the luxury cake business.

I nearly wet myself when the couple told me their budget. Who are these people with money like that? Friends of Logan’s, that’s who.

It’s ungrateful to focus on the knot in my neck and the way my fingers cramp around the paintbrush. I’m fortunate to have a deal like this so early in my Shino Cakes days. But it isn’t only the work that’s causing my tension headache. Tomorrow, my little boy goes off to big kid school, and I can’t even spend tonight with him because I have to drive this cake to Los Angeles.

---