Page 107 of What If I Hate You
I grit my teeth. “That’s?—”
“Don’t say it’s bullshit, Barrett,” she cuts me off, voice rising. “I already know it’s bullshit. But what really gets me is that the absolute fucking bullshit of bullshit is coming from people who are supposed to respect me. The very people who hired me! I’ve worked my ass off to be more than the girl in the press box, and apparently it doesn’t matter because I don’t have a damn dick!”
“Blake—”
“No!” She smacks another puck into the net, her stick trembling in her hands. “You don’t get to come out here and try to calm me down with that whole quiet, steady, stoic goalie crap you do. I’m pissed, Barrett. And you standing there looking at me like I’m a stray cat you’re trying to coax out from under the porch isn’t helping.”
I take another small step. “Then tell me what you want me to do.”
Her eyes flash as she shouts at me. “I want you to stop looking at me like you’re scared I’ll fucking break.”
“I’m not scared you’ll break,” I say, standing my ground despite the raw intensity radiating off her. “But if you keep swinging that stick like you’re trying to chop down a tree, you might just hurt yourself.”
Blakely slams her stick against the ice and glares at me, her breath coming in sharp, frustrated bursts. “I’m not scared of breaking, Barrett! You think I’m out here venting because I need to calm down? No. I’m out here because I refuse to let anyone dictate how I feel about my own career!”
“Then let’s talk about it!” I counter, frustrated. “But yelling at me doesn’t help anything! You can’t just shoot pucks at the net until they magically fix your problems.”
“Why not?” She spins around, fury and passion igniting her eyes. “Isn’t that what you do? Take a hit until you can't anymore? Buck up and deal with it? It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with pressure, Mr. Golden Boy. You put yourself out there every time you step on the ice.”
“But shouting at me about it won’t change anything!” I fire back, frustration flaring in my chest. “You think you’re the only one who deals with pressure? We all have a job to do, Blakely. I’m trying to support you, but how can I help when you’re acting like this?”
Her eyes narrow, and I see the fight in her. “Support me? Is that what you call this? You think telling me to calm down is support? You think standing there like a stoic statue while I’m losing my mind is helping?”
“I’m not a fucking statue!” I shout back, my own temper rising. “I’m here because I care! But if you keep yelling at me like I’m the enemy, I’m not sure what good it does for either of us.”
“I’m not yelling at you because I see you as the enemy,” she retorts, her voice fierce. “I’m yelling because I’m tired of everyone else deciding what I can or can’t do just because I lack apenis between my legs.” She gestures with a hip thrust for visual representation.
I lift my arms in an outstretched shrug. “Okay then what are you going to do about it?”
“I quit, Barrett!”
She’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with fury that’s more than just anger.
I stare at her. “You—what?”
“I quit my job. And you know why? Because I’m in love with you, and apparently that means I can’t be good at what I do. Apparently it means every single thing I’ve worked for is worthless, because I don’t have a damn penis and I had the audacity to fall for one of the guys on the team.”
It’s like the whole rink goes still.
“You’re in love with me?” I ask quietly.
She throws her hands up. “Oh my God,that’swhat you heard?”
Trying to hide my smile, I cock my head as I shrug. “Kind of hard to hear anything else after that.”
Her eyes flash. “Of course. Of course, you’d focus on that instead of the fact that I just lit my career on fire!”
I take another step, close enough now that I can see the tremor in her hands. “No, I heard that too. But we’re gonna deal with the career part together. And the love part,” I reach for her wrist, slow enough for her to pull away if she wants, “we’ll deal with that together too.”
She doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t look at me either. She just swallows, chest rising and falling fast, like she’s not sure whether to kiss me or slap me.
And honestly, I’m not sure which one I’d deserve more.
“Say it again,” I murmur. The air between us crackles, thick with tension. I can’t breathe, my heart hammering in my chest while I wait for her to respond. Every second feels likean eternity, and I’m acutely aware of the way she’s looking anywhere but at me, her jaw tight and fists clenched.
“Blakely,” I say, my voice softer now, more careful. “I need you to look at me.”
Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine, fierce and vulnerable all at once. “What part do you want me to say again, Barrett? The part where I quit my job? Or the part where I’m in love with you?”
