Page 119 of Rebel Bride
I chuckled. “No, I’m saying there didn’t appear to be any significant pressure on you because you were on the same ice as him. You played better than you might think. It’s odd how outside influences like the media and inside ones like your brain can make things seem worse than they truly are. What was more interesting was when I compared your stats with and without Dash.”
“Carter?”
I nodded. “Often when you’re both dressed, you’re on the same line as him. And you two on the same line don’t work that well. A lot of incomplete passes, lower possession percentages overall. But see here?” I pointed to a line in a graph that trended up. “This was the month Dash had a groin pull”—still didn’t stop him from wanting sex, though—“and your stats were solid. Better than solid, pretty great. You were more likely to be paired with Peyton Bell, Francois Gaultier, or Dex O’Malley on the second or third line, and over thirty-two percent of your season’s points came from this stretch alone. Then once Dash comes back, one, you’re not put in as much, and two, when you are, you’re usually on the same line as him—and that’s not a good combo.”
He looked stunned. Finally, he said, “Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.”
He rubbed his mouth. “So I’m … allergic to Carter?”
“Are you?”
He stood and paced, hands on hips. After a few torturous seconds, he stopped and faced me.
“I hashed it out with my dad last night. He’s retiring after all.”
“Oh wow!”
“It’s still hush-hush, but in talking to him, I realized that I’ve been blaming my poor game on the wrong reason. I thought it was because I hated to suffer comparisons to him, and while that’s true, the real reason is because I didn’t want to be in Chicago. Near you and Carter.”
“Oh.” I moved the laptop to the coffee table. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I was happy to blame my ex for Hatch’s poor form, but not so thrilled to take the credit myself.
“I especially didn’t want to be on the same team as him. What you’re saying with these stats confirms this. It’s not that we’re incompatible on the ice, though that might also be it. Really, it’s that I was so fucking jealous that the sight of him screwed with my brain. And I’m seeing now that it might also have screwed with my game.”
My heart thundered hard. “Are you saying … what are you saying?”
He stared at me, willing me to understand. I tried to piece together everything I knew from my time in the Rebels front office.
“You were in talks to join the Rebels three years ago, but it didn’t happen.”
“It didn’t happen because I didn’t want to see you and Carter together. You were another guy’s girl, and that didn’t look like it was going to change, so for my mental health I stayed away. But this past year, with it likely being Dad’s final season, I bit the bullet. I refused to admit it to myself for the longest time. I wanted what Carter had. I hated him for being with you, and I—I hated you, too. Because I saw how he treated you and you stayed. I told myself that made it easier. If you could crash off the pedestal I’d placed you on, then I might not want you so much.”
My heart keened for him. “Oh, Hatch, I can’t believe you felt this way. You barely knew me.”
“I knew enough. I knew that the sun couldn’t hold a candle to you. That when you walked in the room, the air felt thick and heavy and I could barely breathe. That those gold flecks in your eyes sparked when someone pissed you off, usually Carter. I knew that I wanted and couldn’t have you and that spending any time in your orbit would be hard for me. But I thought I could control it. I needed to, for my dad. For my family because they wanted this too, and I would do anything for them. So I signed with the Rebels, was celebrating my new team in the Net, and then?—”
“Dash and I got engaged.”
He nodded, and his shoulders—the ones that had borne a weight I had known nothing about—sagged. “I left for Saugatuck and all that stuff with Ava happened. I thought I was over you but …” He trailed off, the emotion of the moment too much for him.
I had assumed Hatch just didn’t like me because he had notions about my suitability as WAG material. I was so wrong. Rosie had said he was moody and withdrawn this past year, and I put it down to what happened with Ava. It never occurred to me that he might have had feelings for me all this time.
“When did this start?”
Another tortured look.
No. Impossible. “Not when we first met?”
“Hook, line, and Summer.”
The night of the Rebels Christmas party, five years ago.
It was an infatuation, of course, because he had little to go on beyond that first, almost wordless meeting. But that didn’t mean his feelings weren’t real and important.
I had to let him know that wanting me so badly and for so long was the most amazing gift. Jumping up, I closed the gap between us and cupped his jaw. In searching those deep green eyes, I saw everything reflected back at me. Pain, torment, regret.
Love.
