Page 63 of The Wingman

It’s late. Something must be wrong.

“Hey,” I answer, immediately worried. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.” The familiarity of Kit’s voice tugs at something in my chest. “I just, uh, wanted to see how you were.”

My pulse slows to normal. “I’m good.” The reluctance in my tone is obvious. It’s not an emergency, and he’s calling me this late? It’s midnight in Calgary. Something feels off. “What about you?”

He exhales a heavy sigh. “Missing you. I was thinking about you on Valentine’s Day.”

Guilt slams into me like a freight train, because except for the engagement ring, I wasn’t thinking about him on Valentine’s Day at all. I was too busy having fun with Hayden. My stomach hardens into a rock.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t miss him; I just feel relief.

“I saw a picture of you and Hayden at some party,” Kit adds.

The cast party, probably. “You know Hayden.” I don’t mention the t-shirt I gave him that started the whole thing. “He gets invited to a lot of parties.”

“Sounds like you’re having fun in Vancouver.”

“I am.” More unease threads through me. “I’m meeting new people and trying new things.” I think about when Ibrought up purple hair years ago, and the way he made a face like it was a bad idea. “And I dyed my hair,” I lie.

“What?”

I shouldn’t be testing him like this. Maybe I feel the need to give him another chance to redeem himself, not so we can get back together but so at least I can leave my anger behind. Or maybe I want to erase that bad memory with a more pleasant one.

“I dyed my hair purple.” I toy with the edge of my duvet. “It’s pale purple like a mermaid and I love it.”

He makes a hesitant noise. “Why? I liked your hair before.”

“Because…” I scramble for the words, reeling with disappointment and irritation. It’smyhair, but he’s making it about him. “Because I wanted to. Isn’t that enough?”

He doesn’t answer, and a prickle of anger and hurt pokes me deep behind my sternum. It’s just a hair color, but he’s making it sound like I stole a car or something.

He sighs. “When are you coming home?”

The words fall out of my head. I’m stunned. I sit there, blinking at nothing, unsure of what to say. “I’m not. I’m not coming home.”

“You need to get this stuff out of your system, and I’ll wait until you do, but when you’re ready to come back, everything’s still here for you.” A beat of silence. It’s like he didn’t even hear what I just said. “I still can’t sleep on your side of the bed.”

Getthis stuffout of my system? I don’t want to go back to my old life. I like going shopping with Georgia and wearing pretty dresses when I go out for dinner with Hayden and learning how to be a player. Hayden makes everything carefree and fun. I’m filled with guilt over hurting Kit, but everything inside me screams that what he’s saying is wrong.

I don’t love him—not the way I should—but I don’t know how to say that without making this so much worse.

“Maybe it’s time for you to get a new bed—” I start, but Kit cuts me off.

“You want to move to a new apartment? We’ll move. You want to take a trip together after the season’s over? We’ll go wherever you want to go, as long as we’re back for training camp. Whatever you want, Darcy, it’s yours.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Whatever I want, as long as it works for him and his schedule and his career. Whatever I want, as long as I’m the person he wants me to be.

“No.” My nails dig into my palm as I force the words out. “I meant what I said when we broke up. We’re not right for each other. I need you to understand that. Please stop waiting for me.” I close my eyes. I won’t cry. “I’m not ready to marry you or have kids with you.”

“So we don’t have to do those things right away. I’ll wait,” he says with frustration. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

“No.” My face crumples, and my eyes sting. Fuck. I hate it when he doesn’t listen like this. This conversation is completely one-sided. Whatever I say, he’s going to believe what he wants. “I’ll never be ready, and I’ll never want those things with you.”

The words come out louder than intended, with more force, and he’s quiet for a long time on the other end of the call.

“Wow.” That one word is loaded with a bitterness that makes my throat burn. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”

---