Page 85 of Offside for Christmas
"So what are you saying?" Cole felt something cold settling in his chest. "We end it?"
Ellie wrapped her arms around herself tighter. "I'm saying you take the offer. You go to LA. You play hockey. And we... we figure it out from there."
"Long distance."
"Or we end it clean." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Like we agreed."
"That was before—" Cole stopped, his jaw tightened.
"Before what? Before we fell in love?" Ellie laughed, the sound broken. "Cole, that makes it harder, not easier. It makes it so much worse."
"Why are you pushing me away?"
"I'm not. I'm giving you permission to choose your career without guilt. Without feeling like you're abandoning me."
"I don't want permission!" The words exploded out of him. "I want you to fight for me! I want you to say 'stay' and mean it! I want you to give me one goddamn reason to turn down this offer!"
Ellie flinched like he'd hit her. "I can't fight for someone who's already leaving! I did that before, remember? I begged Marcus to stay, to choose me, to make it work. And he left anyway. I stood in an airport and cried and made a fool of myself, and he still got on that plane. I won't beg you, Cole. I won't make myself that small again."
"I'm not him, damn it," Cole said through gritted teeth.
"Then prove it." Ellie's voice turned hard. "Take the job. Go to LA. And if you still want me—if this is still real and not just a nice vacation from your real life—come back. Or call. Or something. But don't stay because you feel obligated. Don't stay because you're scared of the NHL. Don't stay for me."
"That's not what this is—"
"Isn't it?" She was backing toward her car now. "Cole, if you really wanted to build a life with me, you'd know the answer to that phone call immediately. You wouldn't need time to think."
The accusation landed like a punch. "That's not fair."
"Neither is asking me to be okay with you throwing away your dreams for me." She opened her car door. "Go home, Cole. Think about it. Really think about what you want."
"Ellie—"
"I can't do this right now." She got in the car. "I need... I need space. Please."
Cole wanted to argue, to fight, to make her understand. But she was already starting the engine, and the look on her face told him that pushing now would only make things worse.
He stood there as her taillights disappeared into the night, and then—because he couldn't help himself—he pulled out his phone and called her.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
She didn't answer.
Cole tried again. And again. Six times total before he finally stopped, staring at his phone in the empty parking lot, surrounded by melting snow and Christmas lights that suddenly felt like they were mocking him.
His chest was so tight he couldn't breathe. He got in his truck and just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to figure out how everything had fallen apart so fast.
Finally, he texted:
COLE:I love you. That hasn't changed. That won't change. I'm sorry.
The message showed as delivered. Then read.
She didn't respond.
He leaned back and watched the damn Christmas lights flicker.
Cole didn't go home.
