I am such an asshole. Such a complete and utter fucked-up douche bag that I’d kick my own ass if it were humanly possible.
I shift on the mattress, and brush Nina’s hair from her face as she sleeps quietly beside me. I never should have told her those thing about me. Never meant to shoot off my big mouth, but in the heat of the moment, anger got the better of me and I let loose on her. She didn’t deserve that from me, and I’ll never forgive myself.
I take a moment to mull that over, go over the turn of events since I showed up at her door. Has she truly forgiven me for being a dick to her, or did she go with me tonight out of pity? I saw the sadness in her eyes, the deep-seated sympathy, and that’s the last thing I want to see from her, or anyone. Which is why I fucking keep my painful past to myself, locked deep in the recesses of my brain where it belongs.
After Tabby returned home, we had a long talk, and I didn’t need to hear it from her to know how much I’d hurt Nina. I never meant to, just like she never meant to hurt me. She was only trying to do something nice. She had no idea what we went through as kids.
But now that she does, it’s beyond clear that things have changed between us. She looks at me differently. Oh, she can try to hide it all she wants, but it’s there, in the depth of her eyes.
People are attracted to The Playmaker, the showboat on the ice, the guy with a different bunny on his arm after every game. The guy I learned to hide wasn’t enough to keep my own mother around, and when it comes right down to it, Nina deserves better. Hell, I’ve read her books, know her expectations. I’m not good enough for her. Not worthy of her love. She needs someone who is.
She makes a soft, sleepy sound, and I inch from beneath the covers. I fix the blankets around her, and take one last look at the girl I love…the girl I’ve spent my entire fucking life loving. Christ, I want her so much. I never should have started something with her that I couldn’t finish. Not with Nina, my sweet ballerina.
She needs someone who isn’t a hot fucking mess, someone who doesn’t pretends to be an expert asshole so no one sees the real guy beneath. But she glimpsed that guy tonight, and I can’t handle her walking away in the end, too.
Besides, she told me in the beginning she didn’t believe in happily ever after, and I told her the same. This thing started because she needed something from me—I’m used to people wanting something from me—and I can’t hang around and run the risk of her wanting more. Not that I’m certain she will. She agreed to a commitment for the duration of her lessons, and didn’t ask for anything more.
Don’t let anyone in, don’t get hurt.
I always pretend to be someone else, and in the end, if she hangs around longer, and we got involved deeper, Nina won’t like what she sees. I need to save her the pain of that betrayal by leaving first and ending this now. I’m sure she’s gotten all she needed for her book—hockey and sex lessons—and even though my fucking heart is breaking, it gives me a measure of comfort to know I’ve been able to help her. She’ll get on track with her book. Of that I’m sure.
I back away and grab my clothes from the floor. I steal one last look at the sleeping beauty sprawled out on her bed. The beatings from my father were nothing compared to the debilitating pain of walking away from Nina.
I love her. I fucking love her with everything in me, but she’s seen and heard too much, and I can’t, just can’t have her hating that guy she got a glimpse of today. She’s better off not knowing who I really am, and finding someone better.