She was seeing who I’d been before the illness. Not the woman I was now.
I fastened a smile on my face, taking whatever pieces of Mom I could get.
“He’s playing,” I said. “And he loves it.”
Wow. I hadn’t been able to speak those words and have them not be lies in so long.
It was refreshing and terrifying all at the same time.
She often asked after Bentley when she recognized me—we’d been inseparable as kids and then as teens. It wasn’t a shock she remembered him when she recalled me . . . like we were a matching set.
“That boy,” she said, finally releasing me to reclaim her seat. I scooted my chair closer, taking her hand in mine. “He’s always on the ice.”
I grinned. She had no idea that I lived and breathed the game as well. For years now. It was the sole reason she was here, in this wonderful place, that afforded her more moments of clarity than ever before.
Guilt gnawed at my insides.
I’d thought she was getting this kind of care when I was in Canada, cultivating my camps and sending seventy-percent of my checks home. If I hadn’t been so distracted with my relationship, if I hadn’t let that man isolate me so much, then perhaps I would’ve realized what was happening.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?” Mom asked, squeezing my hand.
I shook off the guilt and blame, and reassured my heart that she was here now. I was doing everything I could to keep her here, too.
Except for playing that dangerous game with Bentley.
Right, except for that.
God, I could be so selfish sometimes.
Justifying my time with Bentley because I’d craved him all these years.
Missed him.
Because I’d spent years in the dark with my ex, unaware how much he was sucking the life from me.
“You and Bentley get in a fight?” Mom asked when I didn’t answer.
“No. We’re perfect.” Perfectly complicated. “I just missed you, Mama.” That, at least, was the whole truth.
“Awh,” she said, patting my leg. “I’m having a great time here.” Her brow furrowed a bit—her worlds merging in a way that didn’t wholly match up. “I love painting, and they give me all the canvases and supplies I want. Plus, I have so many friends.” Another flicker of confusion in her eyes, and cold dread clawed up my throat.
I could see the shift, sense it.
As if she was falling backward through her own eyes.
Transforming into someone else entirely.
“I’m so glad,” I said, quickly. “I want you to be happy.”
She withdrew her hand from mine, her spine straightening.
“Oh, I am,” she said, though the tone of her voice was distant as she picked up her brush again.
“I’ll leave you to your painting,” I said, rising, holding back tears. “I can’t wait to see it hung on your wall.” I glanced to where three other canvases—all flowers—hung.
“Thank you,” she said, never taking her eyes off the painting, the tone so professional and detached and confused.
I closed the door behind me.
“Bye, Mama,” I whispered. “Love you.”
I smiled at John, who was reading a magazine as he waited outside the door.
“Good visit?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “She remembered me.”
He clapped, his smile blazing. “That’s so great.”
“It is. Thank you,” I said, waving to him as I walked toward the exit.
Each step took me away from my mother, but the hollowness in my chest was not as vast. Not when she’d looked so happy, so healthy. It only reassured how perfect this place was for her. And how I needed to keep her in here—no matter the cost.
What if it costs you Bentley?
My traitorous inner voice tortured me with the question, but I buried it deep in the recess of my mind.
Because I hadn’t been this happy in years—my mother was thriving, my job was amazing, and for the first time in so long, I had that missing piece of my heart back.
I couldn’t help but wonder when the other shoe would drop.
I miss you.
You’re mine.
Distance doesn’t matter.
Remember what I said.
I hear a whisper of another man with you, and I’ll ruin you for good.
My hand shook as I held my cell, eyes reading the string of text messages over and over again. Certain I’d read them wrong.
But I hadn’t.
Because it was his pattern.
One I hadn’t discovered until I was in too deep.
A cold shudder ran the length of my body, a chill so deep that had nothing to do with the ice in the rink where I waited for Bentley. For our training session. The cover he’d used when Gage had caught us in my exam room two days ago.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard on my phone, ready to text something back. Something fierce and solid and enough to get him to leave me the hell alone.
“Chloe?” Bentley’s voice sounded a foot from me, and I snapped my eyes up to his. His brow was furrowed, his muscles flexing. “Everything okay?”
I cleared my throat, quickly closing out the text and pocketing my phone. “Are you ready to get schooled?” I asked, completely ignoring his question.
Of course he could tell there was something wrong with me.
But he let it slide, always giving me the choice to come to him.
“You think there’s a thing you know that I don’t?” he asked, skating backward as I left the box where I’d waited and glided after him.
“I know there is,” I said, skating circles around him.
“Is that so?”
“Did you really never look me up?” I teased, pressing my skates into the ice and flying around the rink, him chasing after me. The motion so freeing, so fun, the perfect distraction.
“Should I have?” he shot back, and I flashed him a knowing look over my shoulder.
I knew he’d looked me up just as much as I had kept an eye on his career, too.
Sometimes to a fault, since searching for him always came with a slew of pictures or stories on who was on his arm this week or that.
I swallowed the irrational jealousy, digging into the ice harder, faster, practically flying.
“Damn, woman,” he said, keeping up with me, but just barely. “You know I was kidding, you don’t have to punish me.”
I swirled around, switching to skate backward so I could set my eyes on him. “So, you admit it. You know my reputati
on?”
“’Course I do,” he said. “I tracked you. Not in a creepy way, but I couldn’t resist. You made such a name for yourself over there. The camps, the players you helped. It was incredible.”
I slowed, almost tripping as he said the words.
The game we were playing leaving me in a blink.
If he tracked me, he could’ve easily known who I was with.
My phone burned in my pocket, the texts I hadn’t responded to would likely earn me a slew more.
And what would he do if he caught me here with Bentley?
What would I do when they played against each other?
I dreaded that day on the calendar, the day Ontario would be here to play us in our house.
I shredded the ice, coming to a halt before I lost my footing.
“Chloe?” Bentley asked, his hands on my shoulders. “What is it?”
The tangle of my emotions twisted and tightened.
The risks of being together—like the world was against us.
“Did you . . .” I swallowed hard. “Did you ever hear . . .”
“That you dated a player?”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
He knew.
Just not everything.
“Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up. “It’s not like I didn’t have my fair share, either.”
I flinched against the confirmation, though I had no reason to be upset.
I skated off, circling the rink as he stood there, gaping at me.
Then as I circled, he was there stopping me on a dime, his strong arms hauling me against him. I quickly wriggled free, sliding back a few feet. We were the only people on the ice, but the rink was not as private as my office.
“What are you hiding, Chloe?” he asked, his voice gruff.
I narrowed my gaze.
“Don’t,” he said before I could deny it. “I know there is more. I’ve known there was more since that first night.”
My lips parted, but only a sigh released.
He skated the distance between us, towering over me yet keeping his hands to himself.
“You don’t trust me,” he said, and I instantly shook my head.
“Of course, I trust you.”
“Then talk to me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “It’s . . . my problem. One I have to sort out on my own.”