Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Willa

S itting alone at my kitchen table, I absently swirl the lukewarm tea in my cup. I'm taking advantage of the quiet as Brittany and Izzy had a school event tonight and were going to grab dinner on the way home. I reheated last night's leftover pork chops, took two bites and decided I'd rather just have tea because my stomach is rolling with anxiety.

The past four days have been a tumultuous blur of emotions—anger, confusion and endless overthinking. My sister has given me space, but her concerned glances do not go unnoticed. The uncertainty is suffocating.

King's voicemail from last Saturday replays in my mind on an endless loop. His explanation did little to soothe my racing thoughts. His words were sincere, but they couldn't erase the image of Emily standing in his posh condo. A woman he was with for years, whereas we've been together for weeks.

And now, there's only deafening silence. No calls, no texts, not even a mention of Ice Pups practice he missed on Monday. I thought at a minimum he'd send me some direction or even a reminder he wouldn't be there since he has a home game. The decided lack of communication has me anxious that I've seen the end of our relationship.

The front door swings open and Izzy's cheerful voice fills the house. Brittany's warm tone follows. I try to muster excitement as Izzy rushes into the kitchen.

"Aunt Willa, it was so much fun! We made art and sang songs. Miss Taylor said my picture was the best!"

I force a smile and reach out to tuck a stray hair behind Izzy's ear, her red curls soft against my fingertips. "That sounds amazing, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

Izzy beams with joy but Brittany catches the lingering sadness in my eyes. "Izzy, why don't you go upstairs and start your bath? I'll be up in a minute to help you."

"Okay, Mommy!" Izzy skips out of the kitchen, leaving us in a silence that hangs like a thick fog.

I've been resolutely quiet and unwilling to talk about King. Brittany has allowed me time to work through this and now I'm not sure what to say to her.

My sister glides over to the fridge and retrieves a chilled bottle of crisp white wine and pours two glasses with practiced ease. Placing one in front of me, she takes the adjacent seat, her expression serious. "Okay, spill it. It's time for you to purge all your thoughts and feelings on me."

I shake my head, trying to brush off her concerns. "I'm fine. Nothing to talk about."

She scoffs, sipping her wine. "Don't give me that bullshit. I've known you my whole life and I can tell when something's eating you. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that it's your boyfriend—"

"Ex-boyfriend—"

Brittany rolls her eyes. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that you're having major regrets about things."

"Am not."

"Are too," she replies. "And don't even try to deny it. It makes you look shallow and uninteresting. Own up to the fact that you like this guy so much you're gutted by what happened, vomit all of your feelings about it to me and then we'll figure out how to fix it."

Most of that statement pisses me off and makes me defensive, but it's the last little bit that has me deflating. We'll figure out how to fix it.

With a heavy sigh, I admit defeat. "It's eating me alive that I walked in on King with his ex-girlfriend."

"Talking," Brittany reminds me. "They were talking. Nothing more."

"But he never once told me they'd been in contact again. She actually showed up to one of his away games and they had dinner. And he never said a fucking word to me. Ask yourself why that is. Because I sure have and I can only come up with one reason."

Brittany raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Because you think he slept with her?"

"I don't know," I confess, a mix of frustration and confusion brewing inside me. "But why would he keep it a secret if nothing happened? Was he feeling guilty? And then there's Scott, planting doubts in my mind about all pro athletes being cheaters. I can't believe I'm still letting that douche get inside my head."

Brittany takes another sip of her wine, studying me carefully. "Do you trust King?"

"It's not that simple," I snap defensively. "I've been hurt before. Scott was abusive and a cheater, and I never saw that coming. Didn't think he was capable until I found out he was. How do I know King won't do the same?"

"That's why I asked if you trusted him," she replies. "Because you will never know for sure. All you can do is evaluate what you know about King and make a gut decision, knowing you're at risk of being wrong and it will hurt if you are."

"That's absolutely no help," I say dismissively, taking a large gulp of wine. But in truth, I know she's right. I'm just too stubborn to admit it.

I feel like continuing my rant. She did say to purge everything. "And then he called me immature for getting upset. Of all the insulting things he could have said. I'm a smart, rational, thirty-three-year-old doctor. I'm in no way immature."

"And yet you blew like a rocket and left without talking. He's only twenty-five and wanted to discuss it to resolution."

I glare at my sister but I'm not feeling great about the way I acted. I've never done that before, even when I was at my angriest or most disgusted with Scott. Still, I had my reasons.

"Whose side are you on?" I demand with narrowed eyes.

"Always yours, sis." Her tone softens for a moment before hardening again. "But I'm going to call you on your bullshit. That's part of loving you and being on your side."

I stew silently on that. Maybe she's right. Maybe I was immature for not handling it calmly. But I'm an emotional person. Surely he'll give grace for that, so why hasn't he called?

Because he left the ball in my court. King is a lot of things, but he's not going to grovel and kiss my ass.

Brittany lets out a deep breath before speaking gently. "Willa, you're only human. You reacted in the moment. But if King explained everything and apologized, don't you think you owe it to yourself—and to him—to at least hear him out?"

I stare into my wineglass, her words weighing on my mind. "But what if he does it again? What if I'm just setting myself up to get hurt?"

Squeezing my hand, Brittany looks at me with understanding. "You can't let fear control your life. King is a good guy. He made a mistake by talking to Emily and not telling you, but you also made one by assuming the worst. The difference is, he's apologized. Now you need to do the same. Be the bigger person and fix this before you lose something special."

I wish the answer were that easy. I'm so confused by my past history playing into my present relationship. More than anything, I've got so little confidence in my ability to judge character, I have no clue what's real and what's not. I don't want to get hurt but it also feels like doing nothing means I'm going to get hurt anyway.

The insecure woman inside me wants King to walk in, force me to talk and make it all better. But the realist in me, the one who knows if I want something I have to do it myself, accepts that's not going to happen. Four days of silence and his line has been drawn.

If I want to cross it, I'm the one who needs to take the next step.