Falling: Chapter 36

I don’t know what I was expecting to happen this morning, but it wasn’t to wake up in bed alone.

There is no doubt that we both had a good night last night, so Wren running off from me was not expected. I know she’s probably got all in her head and let the last week’s worries crash down on her when they don’t need to. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell her and prove to her that I’m right there with her in whatever she’s feeling because I am.

Maybe sleeping together was a dumb idea. As good as it was at the moment, we both have a lot to deal with right now. With the pressure on Wren from her sister and my own struggles with trying to get back my captaincy on the team, complicating our relationship is the last thing either of us needs.

Our flight isn’t until tonight, and I have no idea what to do with myself until she comes back. I tried calling her, but she clearly doesn’t want to be disturbed. Usually, I’d push her on this, but I have a strong feeling that she doesn’t want to be pushed right now.

I catch a cab into town to a good bar-restaurant so I can let myself think. I know she’s at the beach closest to the hotel, and the best thing I can do is to give her space to figure out what she wants. Whatever the fuck that is.

I’m not surprised when I walk into the bar and it’s completely deserted. It would be crazy for anyone to be up this early on New Year’s Day anyway. The air inside is thick with the energy of last night, and the bartender is nursing a hangover as he wipes down the counter. I knew my fake ID would be accepted in a place like this, so he doesn’t look twice when I take a seat and ask for a soda.

I stare at the soda, my fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass. My mind won’t stop spinning. The drinks are right there, and it would be so easy. Just one shot to take the edge o ff.

I’ve worked too hard to fuck it up now.

I look around, the shadows of the bar feeling like they’re closing in on me. The polished wood of the bar, the clinking of bottles as the bartender restocks, the faint hum of a distant television. It’s all too familiar and too tempting. I can almost taste the burn of whiskey on my tongue and feel the warm numbness spreading through me.

I grip the edge of the bar, my knuckles whitening. The urge to order a drink claws at my insides, a restless itch that won’t go away. I know it would only take a moment, a simple word to the bartender. Just one drink to make everything fade, to silence the chaos in my head.

I pull out my phone and flick through my photos as a distraction. My entire camera roll has been consumed by Wren the same way my brain has.

I’ve always been a picture-taking person. I love having these kinds of memories on my phone to look through over the years. Whenever I post any pictures of Wren and me, my followers go insane as if we’re the new celebrity couple. It’s got to the point where I’m basically a Wren Hackerly fan page, and I love it.

One of my first pictures of her is when we went to meet up at the gym one cold morning. I forgot to give her my keys before I told her to go to the car so I could pee quickly. When I walked back out, she was standing at the side of my truck with the most ridiculous look on her face. Her hair was braided into two pigtails, and she was wrapped in a huge puffer jacket, a beanie, and a scarf while she sulked at the camera as I snapped pictures of her. “It’s for the memories,” I said, and she pushed me, almost making me topple over in the snow.

I catch myself smiling and don’t bother to hide it.

I have tons of candid pictures of her in the library, at the rink, in my room, and in her car. And my favorite picture of us: a candid taken by Kennedy on Christmas Day. In the photo, I’m leanin g on the sink, drying the dishes while Wren washes them, but the picture is a small moment caught where we both look at each other, smiling as she passes a dish to me. Kennedy sent it to me on Instagram, and I didn’t get it until I was in bed that night. To add to the photo album for your kids, the message read.

Another of my favorite photos is the one we took when it was snowing. She’s straddling me, wisps of her blonde hair falling out of her beanie as she smiles at me. It isn’t one of those fake smiles she gives to the camera when we’re in public, but it’s one that she reserves just for me. In contrast to the white snow covering the background, Wren looks like she’s in screaming color, and I didn’t want anyone else to see it, so I’ve kept it to myself. My girl is so gorgeous it almost hurts.

In all the ways that count, she’s still my girl, and her running away from me isn’t going to change that. Being with her this week has stopped this constant orbit that I have been in, trying to get her to pull me into her. To get her to notice. But when that happens, she pushes me back out again and I’m stuck circling around her.

I sit there, scrolling aimlessly through my camera roll, smiling to myself like a loon. I’m so caught up in listening to her laugh that I don’t notice the tall, dark-haired guy who sits next to me. He looks around my age, maybe a little younger, but definitely not allowed to be drinking.

“Is that your girlfriend?” he asks, nodding toward my phone. Instinctively, I lock my phone and turn it face down on the table.

“Yep. I think,” I reply, but my voice sounds distant. The drinks must be getting to me, and I’m too far in to stop.

“What do you mean, ‘you think’? Is she or not?” He looks at me with kind eyes. His features seem boyish and friendly, a lot like Carter’s. A huge part of me is telling me not to talk to strangers, but there’s something about him that’s so familiar. I gesture to the bartender for a drin k “Do you want to hear a story?”

As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew I had to get out of that room. I have to stop pretending like this is my life. That living off room service and good sex was my lifestyle. I thrive off routines, not whatever this is.

I need to be in the rink, in the gym, training and eating well. I need to get my head on right so I can tell Austin to suck it up and tell Mom about her pregnancy. My mind hasn’t been the same since last night, and I hate how out of control I feel. How helpless. So I got my ass up, showered, and got myself down to the beach to try to help settle my brain.

I know leaving without saying a proper goodbye probably pissed him off, but I didn’t expect him to be gone too. I came back to the room, started packing up our things, and an hour went by with no text. Maybe he’s taking some time for himself, too, which is understandable. I wouldn’t blame him, but I at least thought he’d tell me if he was leaving.

The rapid knock on the suite door drags me away from my thoughts.

The door swings open as I cross the living room to answer it. My heart drops through my ribs as I take in the sight in front of me. An elderly black lady in a flower sundress stands in the doorway with a very sad and very drunk Miles on her shoulder.

My stomach turns.

This is the first time I’ve seen him drunk in months. The lady looks around the room before her eyes settle on mine and they soften. I rush over to them, pulling Miles’s weight off her. He’s sweaty and a lot heavier than I remember. He sinks into me, and I can smell the alcohol on him. It’s so strong I’m sure he could start a fire.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. He was wandering around , and he said that he was staying here. You’re Wren, right?” the lady asks in a thick Southern accent. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay, good. He might not look like it right now, but he said some really nice things about you. Take care of him.”

“I’m sure he did,” I say as I look down at him, his face buried into my chest. “Thank you so much.”

I try to keep calm as I walk with Miles’s arm over my shoulder, but my mind and my heart are racing. He’s avoided my eyes since he got in here, and I don’t know how to make this better for him. What to say. I know he wouldn’t drink unless he had a reason to, which is probably my fault for leaving this morning.

He stands, leaning against the sink even though I’ve told him to sit down, when I return to the bathroom with some water and painkillers. He takes a few pills and chugs half the bottle of water.

His movements are so slow and jerky, but I rub his back as he bends down to the floor, leaning over the toilet and throwing up. My stomach flips as I kneel next to him, rubbing his back in smooth circles while he leans his head on his arm on the toilet seat.

“It’s okay. Everything is okay. Just let it out,” I murmur. He doesn’t say anything, just mumbles indistinctly as he sits back up. “You’re okay, Miles.”

He groans as he sits up. I pull his arm around my shoulder and wrap my hand around his middle to help him stand up. “C’mon, let’s get you in the shower.”

Like I expected, he doesn’t reply; he just mumbles something in agreement. When he’s able to stand, I stand across from him, and part of me wishes I couldn’t see his face right now. Tears that are starting to dry stain his pale cheeks.

I inch closer, reaching my hand out to pull off his shirt. He helps me take off his shirt and his trousers, still staying quiet. I lean over to turn on the shower as he takes off his boxers and steps into it. He sits down, pulls his knees in, and hugs them close to his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wren,” he mumbles as I run the shower over his hair and back. I place my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb under his eye, and he melts into my touch. “I’m trying to be good for you, I swear.”

“I believe you. You don’t need to be sorry. I shouldn’t have run away,” I whisper.

“I thought… I thought you hated me. That you regretted last night and that you didn’t want me anymore. And I saw— I thought I saw Carter.”

It feels like someone has taken a pin to my heart and deflated it. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? We need to get you feeling better right now.” He nods, some of the color coming back into his face as I run my hand through his hair. “I’m here, Miles. I’ve got you.”

‘You’ve got me?” he mumbles, and my heart tears.

“Yeah, I’ve got you, Miles. Always.”

We don’t talk as I help him to feel better. We don’t talk about what happened. Why he went somewhere to drink or why he thought he saw Carter. I don’t push him to tell me, so he doesn’t bring it up. I ran away from the problem and so did he. We’re clearly both to blame and have more important things at hand to deal with.

When we get back to Salt Lake, the winter air hits us as we run to find a taxi to take us back to our houses. The second my body warms up to the temperature in the taxi, we’re already outside Miles’s house, and I’m struck by another brush of cold air.

I almost forgot it was New Year’s Day until I took in all the decorations in the house. Gold and silver banners hang from the ceilings. Beer cans and SOLO cups litter the floor. There’s even a makeshift photo wall that I saw in Kennedy and Scarlett’s pictures from last night .

They were not happy with me missing New Year’s with them, but I convinced them to go to Xavier’s party, and from the way Kennedy was cuddling up to one of Miles’s teammates, Harry, I can tell they had a good night.

“Finally,” Xavier exclaims when he sees me and Miles. “Dude, it’s been hell without you.”

“Can’t talk. Head hurts,” Miles mumbles, acting worse than he is. He sulks and brings his drama queen ass up the stairs. I laugh, and Xavier pulls me into a side hug.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, turning to me with a funny look.

“He’s hungover. Kind of,” I reply with a shrug. He laughs and walks in the other direction. I run up the stairs after Miles as he hides away in the bathroom.

“You’re such a drama queen. You know that, right?” I shout to him as I fall onto my back on his bed. The tap stops running, and I make myself comfortable.

“I’m not. My head does hurt,” he whines, walking back out of his room in nothing other than gray joggers. He sits beside me, brushing my hair out of my face. “Are you going to stay here tonight?”

“I think we both know that’s not a smart idea,” I say. “I haven’t seen Scar and Kennedy in a week. I miss my girls.”

He moves from over me and rests his back against the windowsill next to his bed. I push myself up next to him. “I’m sorry, Wren. About earlier. I was freaking out, and the last place I should have gone to was a bar. Especially after we’ve spent so much time trying to avoid me getting to that place again. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I let myself slip.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re allowed to have bad moments, Miles. You’re allowed to freak out and lose your head a little. It’s my fault too. I know I shouldn’t have just left. That was a shitty move on my part.” I turn my head to him, but his eyes are already on me. “I meant what I said last night. I am scared. I know y ou said you’re going to be there, but what if one day you’re not? Trusting people is terrifying. I can’t depend on someone for them to let me down. I really don’t think I’ve got it in me to get heartbroken again.”

He pulls my hand into his lap and encloses his hands around mine.

“That isn’t going to happen. I’m all in. For real,” Miles says, turning over my hand in his. He traces the lines in my palm with his finger.

“I’ve got qualifiers coming up. Then the competition season begins, and you’ve got the hockey team counting on you. If we do this and something happens, we’re both going to go downhill,” I ramble, my voice wavering. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“I know that this is what I want. I want you, Wren. You’re worth it.”

“What if you change your mind?”

“I’m not going to.”

“But what if you do?”

“I’m. Not. Going. To,” he snaps.

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, the small gesture making my stomach do that annoying flip thing it’s done nearly every day since I met him. I nod, but it’s still a hard pill to swallow. It can be easy to say you’re not going to stop feeling this way, but it happens. I’ve seen it happen right in front of me.

“Why don’t we take it light and breezy and see what happens? If this gets too much, we’ll tell each other, okay?”

“Light and breezy,” I echo. He nods. “That sounds stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” he mutters. I narrow my eyes at him, and he sighs. “You’re not stupid. I’m drunk. You’re gorgeous.”

I grip both sides of his face, shaking him slightly. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He grins, and it’s enough to make my heart stop. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.

”

I can’t help it.

I press my lips to his, and he practically steals the air from my lungs.

“Yeah, you are,” I mutter into his mouth.

He holds out his pinkie to me. “Promise?”

“You want me to promise that you’re my idiot?” He nods, and I roll my eyes, linking my pinkie with his. “Promise.”