“You okay?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “You don’t need to make this decision tonight,” he says. “Actually, maybe don’t make it tonight.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.

  Garrett holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay.”

  “Are you trying to help Everly get a promotion?” I ask like it’s a crime.

  He tilts his head, studying me quizzically. “It’d be nice if she got one. She works hard. She’s good at her job. Maybe fix your shit and act the same way,” he says, for once not playing the smooth, cool agent role, but instead the kick-a-client-in-the-pants one.

  He stares me down, hands on hips. Waiting. He’s not leaving me out here alone because he doesn’t trust me. And really, maybe I don’t deserve trust with the way my brain has turned black and dark. I heave a sigh then say, “Fine. Let’s go back inside.”

  He sets a hand on my shoulder. “Shake this mood, man. It’s not good.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s project.”

  Then I shrug him off and go back inside, slapping on a false smile for the rest of the meal.

  47

  THE GREAT UN-SPIRALING

  Max

  The second we’re in my car, she slams the door, then looks at me with both concern and accusation in her eyes. “What is going on with you?”

  Like she doesn’t know. I fling the question right back at her. “What’s going on with you?”

  She yanks the seatbelt on, then crosses her arms. “Why would you ask me that question about Date Night? Is there anything that would hold me back?” She mimics me, but her voice is laced with hurt.

  So is my whole body.

  “Because I needed to know.” I stab the on button and hit the gas. But as I cruise through traffic, I can’t escape the weight of her stare.

  “What is going on, Max?” she asks again, pressing me, with genuine concern in her voice.

  Fuck, what is wrong with me?

  I grit my teeth and try to fight off the hurt. I truly do. But when we’re close to her house, I’m too caught up in this swirl of doubt. It’s like chains wrapped around me. “Are you moving on?”

  She narrows her brow. Studies me like I make no sense. “What are you talking about?”

  “Moving on. You said that at dinner,” I bite out.

  “Garrett said that,” she corrects me, a little incredulous. Actually, a lot incredulous.

  I take a deep breath. “He said, and I quote, And now you can finally move on to other things.”

  “Those were his words!”

  “You didn’t deny them.”

  “It’s not my job to deny something your agent says,” she says, her voice rising as I pull up to her home, parking at the curb with an unnecessary squeal of tires.

  “He seemed awfully fixated on your promotion. The entire dinner seemed to be about the project,” I say, building up a new head of steam.

  She holds her hands out wide. “News flash: It was about the project. That’s literally why Zaire asked us to dinner. We just worked on a project together.” She takes a beat and draws a deep breath, then pins me with a sharp stare. “So what are you getting at, Max?”

  I shouldn’t say it. I really shouldn’t. But it’s weighing on me. It’s gnawing at me. It’s eating away at me. Because I know what it’s like to be burned and to be burned publicly. Before I can think the better of it, the words tumble out, “Did you just use me for the promotion?”

  Her jaw falls open.

  I always thought that was just a saying. But now I know it’s the truth. Everly Rosewood stares at me slack-jawed, like she can’t believe I’ve said that. Slowly, she lifts her hand, pointing to her chest. “Are you equating me to your ex?”

  “No!” I say it so fast because she needs to know that’s not what I meant.

  “Then what are you saying?” The question is a quiet hiss.

  “I’m saying that the whole night was about the project, and it just made me wonder⁠—”

  “Wonder what, Max? Make you wonder what? If I’m willing to put my head on the line for you? If I feel everything for you? If I’m willing to take all these chances for you?”

  Her questions cut me to the core, and I deserve every single nick.

  She pushes open her door and awareness crashes into me all at once. The spiral un-spirals and I snap back to reality. I fucked up big time.

  I race out of the car to the other side as she’s trotting up the steps to her place. “Everly, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I spiraled, and it’s all my fault. It’s hard for me to trust.” I reach for her, but I don’t feel like I have the right to touch her, so I pull back my hand, trying to use my words and voice instead. “Forgive me. Please.”

  She inhales—a long, thoughtful beat. “It’s hard for me to trust too, but I did it anyway.”

  Her voice is breaking apart, and I am the worst boyfriend in the world for hurting her like this. I try to take a step closer. “I didn’t mean anything by it. My thoughts just spun out. All my fears climbed back up.”

  “I can tell,” she says, but her voice is cool, and she’s wearing the armor of self-protection.

  “I was making up conspiracy theories in my head at dinner. I was freaking out. Let me make it up to you. I’m crazy about you. I’m madly in⁠—”

  But she holds up a hand again, stopping me from saying the words, maybe because it’s not fair to tell someone you love them for the first time in the middle of a fight. “You were making up conspiracy theories. Because I would never do those things. I would never use you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do.”

  “I was ready to put everything on the line for you, and you had the audacity to say that.”

  Was. She was ready.

  “Are you ending this with me?” I ask, the words like razors in my throat.

  She gives me a look that says how can you think that but then turns her gaze to the doorway. “Max, I have an early Zoom meeting with an East Coast team. At eight. And I do not have the luxury of earning a hockey player’s salary. I am going inside so I can get some rest and not make any more mistakes at my job.”

  “Can I go upstairs with⁠—”

  “I need some space tonight. Please just let me have some space tonight.”

  My heart caves in, but the woman asked loud and clear for one thing—some space tonight.

  And I have to be the kind of man who listens. “Okay,” I say heavily.

  Then she walks up the steps and opens the door, and I watch her go. My heart’s been punched.

  By my own stupid fist.

  48

  MY NEW BED

  Max

  I don’t leave right away. I stare at her window on the second floor, debating.

  I should go back in, right? Knock on her door and grovel on my knees.

  I should buy flowers and chocolate and cake and lattes and bring them all upstairs and say I fucked up big time.

  But her last words are on replay. Please just let me have some space tonight.

  I hate doing this. Truly, I do, but I’ve got to listen to the woman, and she needs to not see me.

  I don’t get out of the car and barrel inside like I did when I crashed her dates. I drop my head on the steering wheel. How can I fix this? How can I convince her I’m worthy of all her chances? But a few minutes later, I’m no closer to an answer than I was before.

  I turn on the car and go. No clue where I’m headed. No way can I sleep. I just drive through Russian Hill, passing…wait.

  Is that her pole studio? I hang a U-turn so fast, jerking the car to the curb. It’s late and the studio is closed, but I bound up the steps to the door of Upside Down, like I can find a clue there to fix this mess I’ve made with my own stupid trust issues.

  Maybe I could buy her a lifetime supply of pole classes? Would that help her see I’m all in? I google the name of the studio to find the contact info, then send a quick email to the owner as I head back down the steps.

  But it’s not like I’m going to hear from the owner overnight, so once I’m back in my car, I do the next logical thing. I call my dad. “I need your help. I fucked up big time.”

  “Come on over, kid,” he says.

  I leave the city behind.

  Dad grabs a bag from the pantry and tugs it open, offering me some of the Himalayan salt air-popped popcorn. “Your favorite.”

  I shake my head as I slump down into a chair at the kitchen table. “I don’t deserve it.”

  He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I doubt that, but what’s going on?” He pops a handful of kernels into his mouth. He’s in plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt. His hair is sticking up. He was probably asleep, but he got out of bed for me.

  I blow out a breath. “I kind of have trust issues,” I begin.

  “You do.”

  I drag a hand through my hair. “And I sort of freaked out tonight, and thought maybe Everly didn’t really mean the things she’d said about her feelings for me. What would come next in our relationship.”

  He winces, like he can’t believe I did that. Yeah, I can’t either. I tell him the awful story of where my mind went at dinner, and then what I said to her after. “What do I do now? How do I convince her I’m not⁠—”

  “A dick?”

  “Yes, Jesus. I’ve just spent nearly two months convincing the public I’m not, and in one dinner, the woman I’m in love with thinks I am.”

  He sighs but then shoots me a serious look. “Does she though? Does she believe that?”

  “She probably should,” I say.

  “But did she say that?” he presses.

  “She just said to give her space tonight.”

  “And are you doing that?”

  I gesture to his kitchen. “Yes. I’m here. And I apologized already. As soon as she called me on it, I realized I was wrong, and I apologized right away.”

  “That’s good,” he says, but he’s hedging.

  “It’s not enough though?” I ask, my gut churning with worry. But before he can answer, I say, “I’ll get her a lifetime supply of London fog lattes every morning. A diamond necklace. Her dance studio membership for the rest of her life?”

  Chuckling, he holds up a stop sign hand. “Slow down. You can’t buy your way out of this or gift your way out of it or play your way out of it, Max. You have to use words and your heart.”

  I stare at him. “But I tried.”

  “Try again,” he says then adds thoughtfully, “When you’ve given her exactly what she asked for. She asked for space. The greatest thing you can do right now is listen to her. Give her that. Then try again. Own your shit.”

  “Own your shit,” I say, repeating those words of wisdom from my dad. “That’s what I have to do?”

  “Yes. Own your shit because relationships aren’t easy. And they can’t always be fixed with gifts. You win her heart with the way you care for it, and the way you listen. Have you won her heart?”

  I flash back to all our nights together. To our days. To our secret dates. To the way we connect, to how we treat each other, and then to what she did for me a couple days ago. She told me about the picture Elias took at the senior center, and how she made him delete it. She protected me. And I missed the full meaning of that moment. I missed how deeply she cares for me because of my own fears.

  My fears that have nothing to do with her.

  The wounds she didn’t cause.

  The past she had nothing to do with.

  I need to leave my trust issues behind once and for all. To trust that this love between us is real, and do my part to help my girlfriend do the hard thing. She’s the only one who can, but I can do a much, much better job supporting her. “I hope I’ve won her heart, Dad.”

  He pats my arm. “Give her the time she needs and then be there when the night is over.”

  He’s right. That’s what I have to do. Show up, let her know I might make mistakes, but I’ll do everything I can to un-make them.

  “Love you, Dad,” I say, then give him a hug and take off.

  I return to the city close to midnight, pull up outside her place, and cut the engine. Then I lower the driver’s seat, grab a ball cap from the back, and cover my eyes. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when she wakes up. Just like I’ll be here for her, whatever she needs.

  49

  THE PADLOCKERS ASSEMBLE

  Everly

  I don’t go to sleep right away. Correction: I can’t fall asleep. After an hour or more of tossing and turning, I grab my phone and ask for help.

  I text The Padlockers.

  Everly: Are my no-sex-with-Max sponsors still awake?

  Maeve replies first.

  Maeve: I have the heart of a vampire. What’s up???

  Fable is next, cutting to the chase.

  Fable: Uh-oh. Are you cutting him off?

  Josie is the last to answer the SOS, but she does a minute later with her loyalty on full display.

  Josie: Who do I need to beat up?

  I write back, asking if they can FaceTime. A minute later, we’re on a video call. Maeve’s lounging on her couch, one of her bejeweled liquor-bottle lamps glowing softly in the background. Fable’s in her bed, her red hair piled high on her head in a messy bun. Josie’s on her couch, with her dog, Pancake.

  “Max was possessed by an alien tonight at dinner,” I say, then explain what happened.

  Maeve cringes.

  Josie frowns.

  Fable sighs heavily, shaking her head as I tell them the tale while I pace around my home. When I’m done recounting the things we said outside my house, I sigh and ask, “Why men?”

  “Exactly,” Maeve says.

  I blow out a breath and sink into my soft, fluffy purple couch pillows. “I can’t believe he thinks I did this for my job,” I say, annoyed all over again, hurt all over again. “How can he think that? Why would he think that? I would never do that, and I’m the one who’s taking the big risk.”

  They’re all quiet for a beat, but Josie opens her mouth as if to speak then closes it again, and I latch onto her silence since it means she’s thinking. “Okay, help me out, Josie? Where did your big brain go?”

  “Well,” she begins thoughtfully. “I think sometimes men and women—well, humans—are just so scared of real love, real vulnerability, real trust…that it’s easier in the moment to regress. That’s what happened with Wes and me last year.”

  I remember that. They hit a rough patch, as all couples do, and had to figure out how to get in each other’s way rather than out of each other’s way. “And maybe this is when the two of you need to really lay your hearts on the line,” Josie adds.

  “But I did, and he still asked if I was using him,” I say, except once I say that I’m keenly aware I didn’t completely put myself out there. I said I adore you. I said I feel everything. I said I was ready to put everything on the line. I avoided the L-word because it scares me. Because the last time I loved someone so deeply that I felt it in my soul, I lost them. Even though that was platonic love, it was still love.

  I haven’t told Max I love him because I’m afraid of losing him. Because I’m terrified of what might happen if I love so completely and then lose someone again.

  But he tried to tell me he loved me tonight, and I didn’t even let him finish the sentence. I also didn’t clarify when he asked if I was ending it with him. I groan. “What if I’m the asshole?” I say, then I tell my friends what I just realized.

  Maeve scoffs. “Well, he’s the asshole too. The bigger one, honestly.”

  Fable nods. “Let’s not give him a get-out-of-jail-free card just because you didn’t let him say he loved you when he was in the middle of apologizing. As he fucking should. He did spiral. He did suggest you were using him. Just because you didn’t soothe his worries doesn’t make what he said okay.”

  That’s true too, but I’m also more confused now than I was before. I furrow my brow. “I’m lost. What do I do? Especially if we’re both…assholes. Um, whatever-size assholes. Why are we talking about assholes? Can we stop talking about assholes?”

  “Please! Yes, anything else,” Josie says, then smiles. “Here’s what you do. Apologize. Then kiss and make up. Forgive and move on. And keep on loving him.”

  Fable smiles and gestures to Josie. “Both things can be true at once. You can both be jerks and you can also forgive.”

  Tears prick the back of my eyes, and my throat clogs with emotions. But my heart swells, too, with so much love for these women. And I don’t have to keep that to myself. “I love you. All of you. So much,” I say, and that feels like the start of a brand-new day.

  “Love you too,” they all say.

  Then, I yawn, feeling better, and feeling like forgiveness is possible. And honestly, maybe as easy as a butterfly.

  Since he’s probably asleep, I send Max a text.

  Everly: We’re not breaking up. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I promise you.

  I fall asleep.

  50

  EARLY MORNING DELIVERY

  Max

  My joints are stiff. My muscles bark. My neck is filing a lawsuit against me for indecent sleep. But when I finally manage to open my tired eyes and fumble around for my phone on the console, two beautiful notes flash on the screen.

  The first is from Everly, and it makes my heart soar. I grip the phone tight almost like I’m hugging it in my hand. I needed this. I needed this from her so badly. But I need her even more. One quick glance at the time and I get the hell out of my car before the sun comes up. I’m not going to try to buy her love back with gifts, but at the same time, I’ve got a streak going.

  And athletes don’t mess with streaks.