Read Online Crazy Thing Called Love by Molly O'Keefe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly O'Keefe
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expected, flying to Detroit like that.”
“That night … the hotel … I swear nothing happened.”
She was suddenly so tired of all of this. Of carrying this anger around in hidden pockets and secret compartments for years. Perhaps that was why she was here, really, to finally set this burden down.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She meant what she said—she wasn’t sure if this was forgiveness, or just weariness, but she was ready to be done with this old madness. “We were kids, Billy. And everyone knew what we were too blind to see; we were too young. Your career was just taking off.”
“No. Maddy …” He stepped toward her and she shifted back, wanting the distance. Needing it. But Billy kept walking, until he was a foot from her. She could smell him, salty and raw.
It made her breathless, dizzy.
“You … you were right, all those years,” he said. “I was selfish and disrespectful. An idiot. And yeah, I was a kid, but I loved you. Christ, Maddy I loved you so much and I treated you like an afterthought. You were so sad and so angry after your dad died and I didn’t know how to handle it. How to make you feel better.And I’m more sorry than I can say for the way things ended. You deserved better. You always did.”
The words blew holes right through her chest, tearing through bone and muscle and blood, and it hurt. It hurt so much she gasped for breath. He’d apologized a million times, the words so easy for him, because he never really applied his guilt to them. It was easy to say sorry if you didn’t actually mean it.
But now he sounded guilty. Agonized with it.
“Maddy,” he sighed, more naked in front of her than he’d ever been in their marriage. He touched her fingers, slowly gathering them into his giant palm. His skin was hot and that heat sizzled up her arm, spreading through her body, frying her nerve endings. Her skin recognized his touch, his heat. Like an old code she’d forgotten, her body remembered him, and responded. Opened.
She snatched her hand away.
“Nothing will ever happen between us, Billy. You have to know that.” Looking into his eyes, she could tell that he didn’t see. “You can’t screw around with my show, thinking you can change my mind.”
He leaned back against the granite counter, a bowl of apples behind him. Apples. Honestly, in a warm wooden bowl. It was like he lived in a catalog. “I won’t use the show, but is it impossible to think that this might be fun?”
“You’ve taken a few too many shots to the head.”
“We used to have fun.”
“We were different people, Billy.”
He rolled his head on that thick neck of his, and she heard tendons pop. “I feel the same. Older, maybe. But I still feel like the kid who grew up down the block from you.”
“That’s your problem.” She laughed. “That’s always been your problem. You don’t change, Billy. You’re thesame reckless, single-minded, selfish kid you always were.” He absorbed her words like blows and she wished she had more to fling at him.
But that wasn’t why she was here.
Professional. She needed to be professional.
“And my name is Madelyn. No one calls me ‘Maddy’ anymore.”
That was as good an exit line as she would get.
“We’ll be in touch,” she called over her shoulder and left. Out the door and into her car and she didn’t look back, not once. Not until she was sure he couldn’t see her.
But where it clutched the steering wheel, her hand still felt him. Like a brand, it burned.
Sixteen years ago
His blood hummed in his veins and despite the shower and the Gatorade he couldn’t calm down. His first NHL game and he’d nailed it.
He’d fucking nailed it.
“Press conference,” Georges St. Bleu growled as he walked by Billy, who was still wearing only a towel. Still sweating. “Five minutes. Get dressed.”
“Yes, Coach,” he said and started to throw on his clothes.
“Good one out there, rookie.” Oh God, it was Vincent
“That night … the hotel … I swear nothing happened.”
She was suddenly so tired of all of this. Of carrying this anger around in hidden pockets and secret compartments for years. Perhaps that was why she was here, really, to finally set this burden down.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She meant what she said—she wasn’t sure if this was forgiveness, or just weariness, but she was ready to be done with this old madness. “We were kids, Billy. And everyone knew what we were too blind to see; we were too young. Your career was just taking off.”
“No. Maddy …” He stepped toward her and she shifted back, wanting the distance. Needing it. But Billy kept walking, until he was a foot from her. She could smell him, salty and raw.
It made her breathless, dizzy.
“You … you were right, all those years,” he said. “I was selfish and disrespectful. An idiot. And yeah, I was a kid, but I loved you. Christ, Maddy I loved you so much and I treated you like an afterthought. You were so sad and so angry after your dad died and I didn’t know how to handle it. How to make you feel better.And I’m more sorry than I can say for the way things ended. You deserved better. You always did.”
The words blew holes right through her chest, tearing through bone and muscle and blood, and it hurt. It hurt so much she gasped for breath. He’d apologized a million times, the words so easy for him, because he never really applied his guilt to them. It was easy to say sorry if you didn’t actually mean it.
But now he sounded guilty. Agonized with it.
“Maddy,” he sighed, more naked in front of her than he’d ever been in their marriage. He touched her fingers, slowly gathering them into his giant palm. His skin was hot and that heat sizzled up her arm, spreading through her body, frying her nerve endings. Her skin recognized his touch, his heat. Like an old code she’d forgotten, her body remembered him, and responded. Opened.
She snatched her hand away.
“Nothing will ever happen between us, Billy. You have to know that.” Looking into his eyes, she could tell that he didn’t see. “You can’t screw around with my show, thinking you can change my mind.”
He leaned back against the granite counter, a bowl of apples behind him. Apples. Honestly, in a warm wooden bowl. It was like he lived in a catalog. “I won’t use the show, but is it impossible to think that this might be fun?”
“You’ve taken a few too many shots to the head.”
“We used to have fun.”
“We were different people, Billy.”
He rolled his head on that thick neck of his, and she heard tendons pop. “I feel the same. Older, maybe. But I still feel like the kid who grew up down the block from you.”
“That’s your problem.” She laughed. “That’s always been your problem. You don’t change, Billy. You’re thesame reckless, single-minded, selfish kid you always were.” He absorbed her words like blows and she wished she had more to fling at him.
But that wasn’t why she was here.
Professional. She needed to be professional.
“And my name is Madelyn. No one calls me ‘Maddy’ anymore.”
That was as good an exit line as she would get.
“We’ll be in touch,” she called over her shoulder and left. Out the door and into her car and she didn’t look back, not once. Not until she was sure he couldn’t see her.
But where it clutched the steering wheel, her hand still felt him. Like a brand, it burned.
Sixteen years ago
His blood hummed in his veins and despite the shower and the Gatorade he couldn’t calm down. His first NHL game and he’d nailed it.
He’d fucking nailed it.
“Press conference,” Georges St. Bleu growled as he walked by Billy, who was still wearing only a towel. Still sweating. “Five minutes. Get dressed.”
“Yes, Coach,” he said and started to throw on his clothes.
“Good one out there, rookie.” Oh God, it was Vincent
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