Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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Somehow, I make it through practice, a brand photoshoot, a treatment with Sawyer, and entertaining Matilda's son without demanding answers. Although Sawyer complains that I'm "tense" during my treatment, she doesn't seem to connect that tightness as being anything to do with her.
Why would she? I promised her that same night in bed that I wouldn't go see Dalton, that I'd leave it alone, that if protecting her meant letting it go, that's what I'd do.
It's just that with my experience in foster homes, at schools, on the ice, and even now on social media—bullies don't quit. They get bolder, worsen. Ignoring them is condoning the behavior, and Dalton won't win this war. Not if I've still got breath in my lungs.
My gut tells me that Sawyer had leverage at some point. It's the only thing that makes sense. Whatever fancy footwork they'd been using to avoid each other, it's clear he's got her on the ropes now.
Over the last few months, Sawyer and I have had many conversations about future plans, our histories, sexual and otherwise. But any mention of Dalton has been, mostly, met with a brick wall. Except for giving a warning about the videos and photos he took, his name doesn't leave her mouth if she can possibly avoid it.
As a result, the places my mind has gone in the last few hours—phew—I'm not sure she can hold me back if I'm right about any of it. Knowing what I do about Sawyer, what I'm imagining seems inconceivable. There's no way. And yet...
The flinching when I catch her off guard, the way she tenses when I get heated, how she never seemed sure of herself when we first met...
Now that I see it, I can't believe I didn't clock it earlier. In foster care, kids who'd been abused showed some, sometimes all, the same tells. While I was never abused, I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere either. An outcast. Sitting outside of a circle, you see a lot.
It's not until my personal chef has left my apartment after preparing a meal for Sawyer and me that I let myself wonder whether she'll ever give me the whole truth about her and Dalton. Whatever happened is raw or embarrassing or just not something she's willing to revisit.
But I have to go after it. Given that I might have to reopen the wounds to get the complete truth, I'm toying with the food on my plate, trying to find an approach that'll hurt the least.
"You're very quiet," She's beside me at the kitchen island, so we don't have to look at each other if we don't want to, so I keep my gaze glued to my plate.
"I'm a quiet guy."
"You haven't been quiet with me in months—not the kind of quiet you're being right now. Did something more happen with your biological family?"
"I went to see Dalton, even though you told me not to."
"Logan!" She rises with her half-finished plate and takes it to the garbage to scrape out. "You can't antagonize him. Nothing good comes out of you going there."
