Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
So Laurence gave him up.
Awesome.
Twenty-Four
Matty: Please come back.
Matty: That’s not what I meant. Everything is just so fucked up. I’m fucked up, and I’m freaking out, please.
Matty: Wells, I love you. You know that. Come back. Please.
Matty: I don’t understand how this has gotten so crazy. I just want to make it right. Please.
Matty: Where are you?
Matty: Are you really this mad? Dude, I’m sorry. Come on. I need you.
Matty: I really need to talk to you. Can you stop ignoring my calls?
Matty: Where are you?
Matty: You’ve been gone all day. I’m worried.
Matty: Wells, I love you. Please.
Scrolling through the text thread, Wells shook his head before he set his phone down, picking his fork back up. “Can you put the NHL Awards on?”
The bartender looked back at him and smiled. “Sure, buddy.”
“Thanks.” He pressed the home button on his phone to see how much longer he had until his flight.
Two more hours.
Fuck. He was ready to be home.
He had spent the day walking through New York to clear his head, but everything reminded him of Matty, and he couldn’t take it. So he’d decided to go home. Unfortunately, he’d missed the direct flight to Colorado by six minutes, and since he had nothing better to do, he figured he’d wait for the next direct flight. He had a thing about layovers; he almost always seemed to miss them. So direct, it was. Gave him a chance to drink his sorrows away and watch his buddy on the NHL Awards.
Man, he should have just gone. But Matty wanted to stay in New York, Avery was coming up, and like always, Wells had cared more about Matty and his needs and wants. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Matty cared about what Wells wanted, he did, Wells knew that—except when it came to being completely committed to Wells. It just sucked because, in Wells’s mind, their relationship was a runaway train and there was no stopping it. But just when things were great. Perfect, even, Matty was there, trying to throw barricades up to stop it, to take time to think and overthink the whole fucking thing. Wells wanted Matty to stop. To just love him, and things would be fine. They’d get through it, but their love, their relationship, wasn’t controllable.
That would be their undoing.
When his phone lit up, he looked over to see another text from Matty.
Matty: Okay, it’s almost nine. What the fuck, dude? Where are you?
He swallowed hard, ignoring it because if he didn’t, he’d give in. He’d ignore this incident and just go along with whatever Matty wanted. But then again, how was it fair that Wells wasn’t giving Matty a chance to explain? Matty had just gotten his ass reamed by his dad, and Wells really didn’t give him the time he said he needed. It was just that Wells felt he didn’t need time. Matty should have known what he wanted and done what he promised.
But how many fucking chances was he going to give the guy?
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
There couldn’t be a third time. But somehow, that just felt wrong. He loved the guy, he did. But damn it, what he’d said hurt. He wanted Matty to be sure, to know that they were good. Wells needed time. They both need time.
But maybe he shouldn’t leave.
Man, he wished he could talk to Wren or Jensen. They were at the awards, dressed to the nines and having a great time while he was sulking in an airport bar. He could really use them at that moment. They’d know what to do. Or they’d say something, and he’d do the opposite. But at least he’d be doing something instead of sitting there, feeling sorry for himself.
Glancing up at the TV, he leaned back when he noticed they were awarding the Vezina Trophy, the one Jensen was up for since he was the best damn goalie in the whole world. Wells might be a tad bit biased, but that was beside the point.
Just as he knew they would, the presenter said, “From the Nashville Assassins, Jensen Monroe.”
Wells almost stood, but he did clap as the camera turned to where Jensen was giving his beautiful wife a long and lusty kiss. Those two were almost too much. Wells loved it. They belonged together. As Jensen climbed the stairs, a bashful grin on his face and tears in his eyes, Wells’s own eyes started to flood as he shook his head.
Damn, he was proud.
“That’s my best friend.”
The bartender nodded, obviously not believing him as he took his plate and wiped the bar in front of Wells. On the TV, Jensen held the trophy before setting it on the podium and grinning at the crowd. His speech was, of course, humble and professional, just like Jensen was. He was a class act, but when he paused, his face twisting, Wells knew something was wrong. Especially when he left the podium before jumping off the stage. Wells sat up, his own brows coming together when the camera cut to where Jensen was holding Wren up as she held her stomach.