Page 31 of The Catch

"You bribed me with dinner, too." Saint points a thumb to the oven behind him. "We were keeping it warm, and I baked us dessert while we waited."

"Should we have dinner?" Pablo rubs my shoulder. "The three of us, like we used to in college sometimes?"

It doesn't take us long to whip up a quick salad to go with the lasagna in the oven. Saint puts a tray full of his baked goods on the table as well. He promises the cinnamon sugar muffins are filled with a hazelnut-chocolate paste that I will love.

At first, Pablo jokes with us about the adventure he went through trying to make it here to see me— see Saint and I. I'm smiling more than I have in a longtime. But some of this conversation will be hard, and I'm proven right when my brother gives me a long, thoughtful stare.

"I'm glad you're not doing as poorly as I imagined," he says.

I glance at Saint. "Gael has been a great friend and that has helped, but… well. I'm not as devastated as I thought I'd be."

The words pull an embarrassed feeling from deep in my belly. The warm wave builds and crashes on my face, until I'm sure I've blushed.

"What do you mean?" Pablo asks.

A big gulp of water serves as my escape. Saint's gaze is locked on me. He's taken a break from eating, it seems. Like he's had enough for now, or he finds it too distracting when he doesn't want to miss a single word.

I cast my eyes down again. They land on delicious, creamy lasagna, but the need to eat is subdued. I don't want to hide from my brother, and Saint deserves to know, too.

I sigh. "I was with Aidan for years. We planned a future together. I should be crying in the corners for him every day but, no. I've only cried eight times. In a month. And my mind is on my business more than anything and— I'm very aware I'm being self-centered. Saint is going through a lot— not only did I parachute into his life and interrupt it, but with the possible trade and everything, I haven't even asked about any of it—"

Belatedly, I see Pablo staring at Saint in shock.

"Shit." I bite my lip. "I thought he would know. I'm sorry, Saint."

"I'm not publicizing it," he says, "since I'm hoping to stay. But I should have told you, Pablo."

"One big change at a time, please," Pablo says. He points at Saint with a finger. "What the hell is happening?"

Saint nods. "We're talking about Ames' situation." He turns to me. "You get to be self-centered when your life changes so much."

"Wouldn't your life change, too?" Pablo arches an eyebrow at Saint. "A trade means moving, starting over with a new team, redefining your career… with new contract negotiations, new rankings, new team and front office dynamics…"

"You would have to move?" I ask.

The ball and chain tied to my ankle had almost disappeared, but now doubles in size. It pulls from my insides, too, somehow. Saint had told me he would have answers after the championship game, which gives us a couple more months, but I hadn't realized what it truly meant until this moment.

Saint might end up somewhere else. He might move away, just like Pablo did. Another person I might lose.

An ache takes hold of my breastbone. It latches on and constricts my airways for good measure.

This is more in line with the kind of pain I expected to feel over Aidan.

Saint nods. "I could retire if I wanted to and stay here. Money isn't the problem, but I'm not ready to give up on my career. I want rings, what can I say? Just know, Ames, if you still need a place to stay, I plan to keep this condo. You won't be left without a home."

"I'm not asking because I'm worried about where I'll stay. Which isn't to say I'm not—"

"You can stay here," Saint repeats.

"— but I didn't realize you might have to leave. Ridiculous, I know."

The last few words come out quiet. Shame weighs them down, trapping them in my lungs and tempering with my vocal cords.

I take a slow breath, trying to tame the discomfort. Not to placate him or pretend I haven't made mistakes, but to see the lessons clearly.

The situation with Aidan is teaching me I may not know how to make relationships work. That being the Perfect Girlfriend is not only insufficient, but it's unrealistic. I supported all of his career moves, didn't make a fuss about how distant we felt at times, and I took every chance I had to show him I wanted him to be happy. It didn't help. Meanwhile, I'm also learning things from livingwith Saint. Attempting to be the Perfect Roommate, whatever that is, has to be just as unrealistic, but I should givesomethingto him as a friend. Friendships are relationships, too.

"I'm sorry, Saint."