Page 135 of Imperfect Player

All that, while I hate it, I can accept.

This? Now? Him refusing to reach out when I’ve been doing nothing but proving I’m still here for him every single day, with every single letter?

That is a little harder to swallow.

“It’ll be fine. Things will go back to normal before you know it,” I assure him.

What is normal anymore, though? For the last sixth months, my life has been consumed by Ethan Ambrose. Good. Bad. Everything in between. It’s all him. Us.

God, do I miss the us.

The laughter. The support. The understanding without having to speak.

While Ethan was busy recovering, I was too.

Things were said, damaging words that, while I know they came from a dark place, not the man that I love, still hurt. I knew that if I wanted to be a part of his life, I too had to heal, to learn. Al-Anon meetings became a regular for me. I met men and women like me. People who have gone through much worse for much longer and still managed to come out the other side.

I learned about the constant battle. The struggle that Ethan will have to go through and some of the best ways to support him through it.

If I want to.

Live and let live.

I have to live my own life, be my own person, and hope he wants to come along for the ride. Hope that I’m enough to break through the desire of drinking.

I have that hope. Hope for him. For me. For us.

I have a belief that we’re strong enough, because even when things were bad, there was still a whole hell of a lot of good too.

As I make my way down the street, I catch a glimpse of Ethan walking toward the Advantage building.

I duck behind a building so he won’t see me.

I watch him stroll down the street. There’s no hat to hide his identity. If anything, he’s walking taller, prouder. He looks healthy. Handsome as hell too. But even at his worst, he was gorgeous.

It’s the healthy part that captivates me. It’s not the taut muscles, or the trim yet muscular build that I’m referring to. It’s the look in his eyes. A look much brighter, much happier. It’s the lack of dark circles under his eyes. A true indication of just how much he was hurting, not sleeping—drinking.

Healthy and happy.

And he wants no part of me.

I sigh. A single tear slides down my cheek as I accept the fact that what we have . . . it’s over. That maybe in order for him to heal, it has to be.

And I have to be okay with that.

I have to live for me.

Chapter 42

Ethan

“There he is,” Tripp says as I walk into his office.

No sooner do the elevator doors open on the floor that houses Advantage Player than my eyes gravitate directly to Everly’s office. Her very dark, very empty office.

In all honesty, I’m not ready to talk to her. I’m not sure what I want to say.

Hell, I’m not even a hundred-percent sure where I want to go from here with her.

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