Page 99 of In My Hockey Era
Maybe I needed someone to call me out.
I exhale sharply.“I broke up with Bennett.”
Ethan lets out a low whistle.“Damn.”
I pick at the edge of my sleeve, focusing on the fabric instead of his face.
He watches me for a beat, his expression unreadable.“Why’d you do it?”
“Because he didn’t tell me something.Something big.And when I found out… I panicked.I told myself it was a trust thing, but—” I shake my head, my voice quieter.“I think I was just scared.”
I was upset that he hadn’t told me, we’d shared so many personal details, so to leavethis out felt like a betrayal.It was more than that, though.Mia’s words and my subsequent epiphany definitelyplayed into my reaction.I was falling for Bennett—hard and fast—and that was scary.I’d been on my own for so long, and to open myself up to a man who could hurt me was...it was terrifying.So yeah, maybe I’d run at the first sign of trouble.It was easier than having my heart crushed.
He shifts in his seat, resting his arm along the steering wheel.“You love him?”
I inhale sharply.I don’t answer.I don’tneedto.
He sighs.“Look, I don’t do feelings, either.But I do know this—love is the one thing on this planet that makes all this pain and suffering worth it.Don’t throw it away because you’re scared.”
I stare at him.
Of all the things I expected Ethan to say,thatwasn’t one of them.
He shifts, looking out the windshield, his fingers drumming against his thigh.“We see the worst of it, Quinn.Every single day.People in pain.People dying.People losing the ones they love.And yeah, it’s easy to get jaded.Easy to think nothing lasts, so why bother?But if you find something good?Something real?”His jaw tightens.“Youholdonto it.You fight for it.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.
I never thought Ethan would be the person giving me relationship advice, but damn it if he isn’t making sense.
I sit with that for a long time, letting his words settle.
• • •
I’ve been home from my shift for an hour when a sharp knock at my front door jolts me upright.I frown, pushing myself off the couch.Max is already at the door, tail wagging like it’s his job.
I pull it open, and Mia breezes in without so much as a hello, a garment bag draped over one arm, a smug look on her face.
“What’s this?”I ask, crossing my arms as she marches straight into my apartment like she owns the place.
“This,” she says, dropping the bag onto my kitchen table, “is your solution to moping like a sad, tragic heroine in a hockey romance novel.”
I scowl.“I amnotmoping.”
Mia just lifts a brow, then glances at the couch—specifically, at my crumpled blanket, the half-eaten bag of peanut M&Ms, and the fact that I’m still in my sweatpants.
Rude.
I glare.“It’s calledself-care.”
“It’s called acrisis,” she corrects.“And lucky for you, I have the perfect plan.We’re going out.”
I blink.“Out?”
She grins.“Out.To a bar.To drink and dance and remind you that there are, in fact, other men on this planet besides Bennett Wilder.”
I exhale sharply.“Mia—”
“Nope.”She holds up a hand, stopping me mid-protest.“You don’t get to argue.You don’t get to sit here and spiral while avoiding social media because you’re too afraid of what people will say.”
