Page 28 of Best Things in Life

“I’m so weak,” I whisper, shocked at myself, horrified because my zia would be horrified. She was a dignified old lady who never wept at wakes. When my uncle, her beloved husband, passed, she saved her all her tears for the very last moment, after the funeral when the casket was lowered and disappeared into the earth.

Nate takes my chin and lifts it to look at me, close up where I can’t hide anything, none of those wild emotions roiling around in me because I’m too raw, too empty, and desperate for relief.

“You’re not weak. You’re strong enough to have loved your zia with everything in you, with all your passion and caring, and now you need to grieve because you’re lost. All that caring has nowhere to go.” I humph and shake my head.

“Then why did you tell me not to cry? Because you don’t want to cry either? Because it’s a sign of weakness.” He chuckles and kisses my nose without an answer as we follow everyone out of the house in a solemn parade. No one’s behaving casually about Zia Rosaria’s death. She was too lively, too happy and full of sass and good humor, and most of all kindness to be dismissed as just an old woman whose time has come.

At the wake, Nate stands by my side, greeting my family and friends like he’s one of us, the way he’d been until three years ago, and raising a few eyebrows. I don’t care, but I do at the same time. Breaking away, I go sit with Uncle Joe. I need to not need Nate after all, need to prove to myself that I still have a spine and that… what? I don’t need him, but I still want him like a piece of chocolate cake.

Except he’s more vital than that. He’s more like the other half of my beating heart.

* * *

After the wake, we all go back to my family’s house and I drive with my uncle, separate from Nate. Maybe I’m sending him a message that just because I let him console me for a while doesn’t mean I trust him, doesn’t mean I don’t think he wouldn’t break my heart all over again given the chance. And I’m not giving him the chance, am I?

When I find him in the kitchen, I ask him the question that’s been buried under a mountain of grief, niggling at my curiosity and sparking ever since I went to the rink to see Bigs the other day and I saw Nate too.

“What did the scout have to say?” I join him at the island, sitting on the stool next to him.

“How did you know I was talking to a scout?”

I roll my eyes. “Bigs couldn’t shut up about the scouts at the rink that day to talk to the players. He was fucking shameless and puffed up about having scouts from two teams interested. I was lucky I got a minute of his time.” I try not to sound disappointed. Try to care more than dimly let down. “I saw you talking to a slick guy—had to be a scout, right?”

I wish I cared less about what the scout said to Nate and more about Bigs, about anyone or anything than the man sitting with me in my family’s crowded kitchen, in my home where we’ve shared so much. I nearly snort in disgust with myself. He has a plate of food in front of him, but he’s stopped eating. I haven’t eaten a thing and don’t want to. I can picture Zia Rosaria wagging her finger at me and telling me to stop pretending my feelings away.

“So what did your scout say? What team was he from?” I continue.

“San Jose.”

My stupid fucking heart cracks because it’s being held together only by Band-Aids now, so fragile I don’t even know how I’m standing—except maybe borrowing strength from Nate.

“I told him I prefer to stay on the East Coast.”

“Wait—what?” Did I hear that? Do I understand the implication the way my suddenly frisky heart thinks I do? My brain is slow to come around and I’m confused. “Really? Why did you do that? You’re crazy. If he’s interested, you need to—”

He chuckles and puts up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll get a chance with another team.”

“But why take the chance?” His soft smile falls away and his eyes go serious. I swallow hard, anticipation big and rapid drumming my insides.

“Because I don’t want to disappear from the lives of people I care about.” His voice scrapes against my soul, low and vibrating and true. “And you’re one of those people, Sarina.”

Inside my head the clash between calling bullshit and pulling his face to mine so I can kiss him into tomorrow stops me from saying a word, stops my breath. I want to believe him so much it hurts and my chest constricts again.

“I know I haven’t been with you in a while, but I’ve kept an eye on you,” he says. “I knew your kid brother was going to the hockey camp where Bigs was on staff. I’ve kept in touch with your brother Frank—though he never mentioned you were dating Bigs. Much less that you were serious.” He cracks a grin and I’m forcing myself to breathe normally. “I suppose I owe him a punch in the teeth for that.”

“Go ahead. He’s already lost half of them.” That’s my response? Shit, what’s wrong with me? But Nate’s grin widens and my heart stutters again as he leans in.

“How serious are you about Bigs, Sarina? Are you in love with him? Is this the real thing between you two?”

My heart almost explodes with the sudden violent beating because these are questions I’ve been asking myself and I don’t have the answers, or can’t make myself admit them. Because I’m afraid. To Nate, I give a shrug. It’s Nate I’m afraid of, afraid that I still care for him, that I’m still in love with the one man who can destroy my heart all over again and I can’t be that stupid to let him do it to me twice.

“Tell me the truth. It’s important,” he says.

“Why is it so important?” I need him to spell out whatever he has on his mind. And then if he has feelings for me, I’ll crush him the way he crushed me.

“Because I’m still in love with you, babe, still want you like candy, need you like oxygen.” He smiles, that smirky, yet deep smile designed to make a girl’s knees go weak, and I feel it. Damn it. I feel the weakness all the way from my knees up to my very core. I lick my lips and in spite of his betrayal, in spite of all the common sense baked into my DNA, the tough scar tissue protecting my heart crumbles and I believe him. Or maybe I just want to believe him.

Either way, the compulsion to give him the truth overwhelms me as sure as if he were inside me, filling me and my world with mind-blowing love and the kind of orgasms I can never have with anyone but him.