Page 75 of Romancing the Grump
If he doesn’t feel the same way, none of it matters.
But that’s just it. I think hedoesfeel the same way. I just have to figure out why he’s so determinednotto.
I hold Nathan a little closer, already anticipating how he might react to my next question.
“Nathan, will you tell me about your dad?”
Sure enough, Nathan’s entire body tenses, and his hands fall away. “I don’t love talking about him,” he says as he moves over to the deck railing.
Pain squeezes my heart. Whatever Nathan went through, he’s clearly not over it. “You don’t have to talk about him,” I say gently. “I don’t mean to pry.”
Nathan quickly shakes his head. “You aren’t prying. This is not ayouproblem.”
It isn’t much of an explanation, but it’s clearly all he’s capable of giving me, so I move over to where he’s leaning on the railing and rest my hand on his forearm. “Youcantalk to me about him if you ever need to,” I say, “but you definitely don’t have to right now.”
Nathan nods, but he doesn’t look at me. His gaze is fixed somewhere out in the darkness of Eli’s backyard before he says, “He died of liver failure. Basically drank himself to death.”
I shift my hand up to his shoulder. “That must have been tough.”
“Not as tough as living with him before he died.” He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a gold chain looped through a ring, the same one I noticed the morning I woke him up in Chicago. He holds it up, and I step close, taking itin my hands. It’s gold and studded with diamonds. Across the top in navy lettering, it readsStanley Cup Champions.
“Your dad’s ring?”
Nathan nods. “I wear it to remember the mistakes he made. So I don’t make the same ones.”
A knot tightens inside my chest. “Mistakes?”
“He made life miserable for my mom,” Nathan says. “Always gone. Always drinking. She didn’t deserve to raise her kids alone, Summer. She didn’t deserve to be so lonely.”
Dread pools at my feet. So Alec was right. Nathan doesn’t want a relationship because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone like his father did.
I get it, but I also want to shake some sense into him. Just because his parents had one kind of relationship doesn’t mean Nathan is bound for the same thing.
“Nathan, you aren’t your father,” I say. “I didn’t know him, but from what you’ve told me, it doesn’t seem like you’re anything like him.”
“You’re right,” Nathan says, a new terseness to his words. “I’m not, because I don’t have a family. I’m notina relationship. Dad told me once that you can’t have both. You can’t love hockey like he loved hockey and be good at anything else. I knew it was true, because I was living it. I was the collateral damage. I won’t make the same mistake.”
“So don’t make them,” I say. “Just make different choices. Have a different kind of relationship.”
Nathan is quiet for too long before he finally says, “It’s not that easy.” Then he pulls out his phone, and I know before he says anything else that our conversation is over. “I should call my Mom and Blake,” he says. “I’m sure Franklin has already called, but I want to make sure Mom understands everything.”
“Right. Of course. That’s a great idea.”
It takes all my willpower to leave him alone outside. Mostly, I just want to hug him and tell him everything is going to be okay. The intensity of thatcaringis something new—more than just butterflies or fluttery feelings or sparks of attraction.
I want Nathan to be happy for hisownsake, regardless of whether that happiness has anything to do with me.
And that feels big. Possibly too big? And highly illogical considering the status of our entirely pretend relationship. But I’m not sure logic even matters anymore. My heart is on a different frequency, and it doesnotwant to pick up the signal.
Luckily, the guys have all moved back to the living room, but Gracie, Parker and Bailey are still in the kitchen. As soon as I reach the center island, I press my palms flat against the counter and take a long deep breath.
The ladies look on for a moment before Gracie wordlessly cuts me a slice of cake and slides it over. Bailey hands me a fork, and Parker rips off a paper towel, folding it into a napkin-sized square before setting it down beside my plate.
I smile gratefully and take an enormous bite of cake.
It’s delicious—exactly what I want—and I finish it off in four more bites.
“This feels serious,” Bailey says quietly. “Cut her another piece.”
