Page 135 of Breakaway Hearts

I get up from my seat a little while later and move the canvas and my paints back to their little corner before settling on the couch. They’ve moved on to post-game interviews, and just as I’m about to turn off the TV, they cut to a female reporter standing next to Reese. I hold the remote in front of me, my finger hovering over the power button, but I can’t find the will to press it.

His hair is still wet from his post-game shower, his face flushed.

“Reese Sutton,” the reporter says over the din of the arena. “Congrats on the win, and on your winning goal! How was it out there? It was a tough game. What contributed to your success tonight?”

Reese glances at the camera, back to the reporter, and then shifts his gaze directly at the camera again. He shakes his head, and it feels like he’s looking directly at me. My heart clenches, and my breath gets caught in my throat.

“To be honest,” he says, “the win feels a little empty. It’s not that I’m not proud of my teammates, because they played hard out there and pulled out the win for sure. And while I try to leave my personal stuff behind when I step on the ice, I haven’t been able to lately. Because I hurt someone I care about, and it’s been wrecking me.”

My hand shakes, and I drop the remote onto the couch. My fingers are freezing when I twist my hands together, and all I can do is stare at his handsome, exhausted face.

The reporter glances at the camera for a fraction of a second.

“Care to comment on that a bit more?” she asks. “We all think you played hard out there tonight.”

“Thank you. And I do have a comment, yes. I want to set the record straight about what’s been happening between me and Callie Marshall.”

Oh my god.

I hear my phone buzzing on the kitchen table, probably my mom or Margo, but I can’t get up to answer it. I don’t know if I could move if I tried.

“I was an idiot,” Reese continues, “for pretending to date my best friend. But I realize now, looking back on it, that I wanted to fake it because I was scared. Scared to admit that I really wanted to be with her.” His jaw works, and he takes a deep breath. “But I’m not afraid anymore. Because she’s it for me. It’s always been her. Even before I was brave enough to admit it.”

The reporter’s eyes are wide, and she blinks a few times before clearing her throat. Her cheeks are pink even through her makeup, and she offers Reese a small smile.

“Do you want to say anything else?” she asks. “While you’ve got the mic?”

“Yeah, I do.” He nods at her and then faces the camera head-on again. “To all the trolls out there hiding behind their keyboards and commenting on the stories about my relationship with Callie—say whatever you want about me, but please, leave her alone. Callie Marshall is the sweetest, most incredible woman I’ve ever known, and I’m lucky that she ever thought I was good enough for her. She’s an amazing teacher and a beautiful person, inside and out, and she doesn’t deserve any of the negativity that’s been thrown her way.”

He swallows, blowing out a short breath as he runs a hand over his hair, shoving the damp strands away from his face. His voice drops a little as he continues, becoming softer and more intimate.

“Callie,” he says quietly. “If you’re watching, I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you ever doubted how I felt. I’m sorry I wasted so much time letting fear hold me back. I’ve messed up a lot of things in my life, but the thing I’ll always regret the most is losing what we had. Because it was real to me. It waseverythingto me.”

My heart is beating in my throat, and I barely register what’s happening as the reporter thanks Reese and turns it back to the commentary desk, where they say a few things about the surprise interview before diving into an analysis of the game.

What just happened?

There’s no way.

I’m hallucinating.

There’s seriously no way Reese just said all of that on live national television.

But when I get up to grab my phone from the kitchen table, there’s a slew of texts from my mom, basically sending me a play by play of the interview in case I didn’t see it.

Reading her texts makes my stomach flip all over again. I’m sweating despite the cool temperature in my apartment. When I click over to my text thread with Reese, my fingers hover over the screen, debating about sending a message. He’s probably in the locker room by now, maybe having a post-match debrief with the team. He’s definitely not looking at his phone. There’s no way.

I press the call button.

The phone barely even rings once before Reese picks up, breathless and clearly waiting for this.

“Callie,” he rasps. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment of silence. Both of us are clearly waiting for the other to speak, and if I know why I called, why is it so difficult to voice the words? And which words should I say?

Come over? Tell me you love me?

---