Page 70 of What If I Hate You
"I was honest," I protest weakly, even though I know it's bullshit.
"Were you?" Scarlett challenges me. "Because telling someone what happened between you might have been a mistake when you clearly don't believe that isn't honesty. It's cowardice."
The word stings, but she's right. I've faced down 100-mile-per-hour slapshots without flinching, but the prospect of admitting my feelings to Blakely terrifies me more than any playoff game in overtime ever could.
“You’re right. I was a coward.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Harrison asks, nudging my shoulder.
I pause at Harrison's question, feeling the weight of everyone's expectation.
What am I going to do about it?
The truth is, I don't know. I've never been in this position before. I’ve never cared enough about someone to worry about fixing what I broke.
"I'm not sure," I admit, grabbing another fry and shoving it in my mouth to buy time. "I can't just show up at her place with flowers or some shit. She'd probably slam the door in my face."
"Or worse," Griffin adds unhelpfully. "She could write a scathing article about your inability to perform off the ice."
"Jesus, Griffin," Layken hisses, smacking his arm. "Not helping."
"Sorry," he mumbles, but I can see he's fighting a smirk.
"Look," Marlee says, leaning forward with that intense focus. "First, you need to apologize. Not some half-assed 'sorry if youfelt bad' bullshit. A real apology that acknowledges you were an idiot."
"And," Ella jumps in, "you need to be completely honest about your feelings. No more of this tough-guy act. Tell her exactly what she means to you."
The thought of laying myself bare like that makes my stomach turn, but the alternative—losing Blakely for good—is worse.
"She thinks I'm ashamed of her," I admit quietly. "She thinks I don't want anyone to know about us because she's a reporter."
Marlee's eyes narrow. "Are you? Ashamed, I mean."
"Fuck no!" The words burst out of me with such force that several heads turn at nearby tables. I lower my voice. "No. I'm not ashamed. I'm fucking terrified."
I admit again, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "I'm scared of how much I care about her. I'm afraid she'll realize I'm not worth it because I'm just some hockey player from a shithole town who got lucky. I'm terrified that I'll let her down. I’m terrified I’ll ruin her career if she’s seen with me."
The table goes quiet. Even Griffin stops his fidgeting. Marlee and Ella exchange a look that makes me want to crawl under the table.
"Bear," Harrison says softly beside me, "have you ever considered that maybe she's just as scared as you are?"
I blink, the thought hitting me like a cross-check I never saw coming. "What?"
"Think about it," Ella jumps in. "She's in a male-dominated field where she constantly has to prove herself. Where showing any vulnerability gets her labeled as weak or emotional. It’s not exactly the same for me because I’m not the only female mascot in the league but most of them are men and I’ve certainly hadthose comments slung my way a time or two. I know how that feels.”
Ella's words hit me in the chest. I'd been so wrapped up in my own fears that I never considered Blakely might be fighting the same demons.
"You're right," I relent, running a hand through my hair. "I didn't think about it that way."
"Of course you didn't," Layken says, but there's no real bite to her words. "Men rarely do."
Griffin snorts beside her. "Hey, I resent that."
"You resemble that," she corrects him with a playful nudge.
Marlee leans forward, her eyes serious. "Bear, Blakely has worked twice as hard as any man in that press room to be taken seriously. And every time she shows even a hint of emotion, some jackass uses it against her."
I think about the night I found her in the bathroom, tears streaming down her face, and my chest tightens. How many times has she had to swallow her feelings just to maintain her professional image? How many times has she been dismissed or belittled because she's a woman in a man's world?
