Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps, #3)

by Becka Mack

I go on multiple dates to come home alone, disappointed, and tired of looking for something that’s probably not even out there at this point. Not for me, anyway.

It’s not the sex I miss but the connection. My person used to be my whole world, above hockey, above everything.

I don’t miss her. I miss the love that was once there, the body I held against mine each night, the way my heart soared every time she smiled at me. I miss the way she loved me before she… Stopped. She stopped, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who loves me for me.

Nothing kills a boner faster than thinking about Courtney.

Fuck Courtney

I want something. I want to be needed. Appreciated. Loved. No, I don’t just want it. I fucking crave it.

“How else does Voldemort show up here?”

😂

Pretty and unique.”

“You know, Rosie. I wasn’t having the best day when I ran into you. Or rather, when my dog tackled you to the ground. Maybe he knew what he was doing, though. Because my day got a hundred times better after you fell into it.”

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “It’s cool. I’m getting used to the idea that there’s no one out there for me.” She frowns. “I don’t believe that, Adam. Not a single bit.” “I’m tired of looking,” I admit quietly.

Magic sounds nice.

“I, um…I liked walking with you. And talking with you. And eating you. No, fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I—eating with you. Your sandwiches. Not your…” I gesture at her crotch. Holy fuck, I gestured at her fucking crotch. I’m turning into Garrett.

I want to fucking feel something, anything, and I just want it to feel right.

It's the way she loves the dogs so wholly, shows Piglet neverending patience. It’s bringing extra sandwiches on her hike, just in case, because she thought of me. It’s not that I feel less fractured with Rosie, but that the light streams in anyway, between all the shattered pieces left behind. I find beauty there, a sense of peace that tells me good things are waiting. Maybe it’s dense of me to be so hopeful after everything, the betrayals, the lies, the countless dates with anything but the right intentions. Maybe I’ve lost my mind, thinking I can find any type of solace in someone I barely know. But I’d rather be hopeful than accept the more gutting option: that I won’t find what my friends have, the type of love my parents taught me to wait for.

Eat a meal she doesn’t make me, maybe have a glass of wine that I can taste from her lips after.

But I want to be where she is now, on the other side of it. Did she feel this lonely while she waited? Did she feel like she didn’t even know herself? Because I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself along the way, and I hate it.

I’d give anything to capture this moment in a photo, because right now, I see all of her, but more than that, I’ve found her. I wonder if she’ll find me too.

“Your scar is a badass badge of honor for having a life you created carved right out of you. And your stretch marks are tiger stripes, Rosie. You are strong. You are fierce. You are perfect, just the way you are.”

“Comparing yourself to others won’t get you anywhere. It’s a useless way to spend your energy.”

Easier said than done 😩

Have you ever walked into a space and been hit with the overwhelming urge to lock the door so you can live there, in that moment, forever?

Connor shoves the last of his banana in his mouth and grabs hold of one of Adam’s fingers. The way Adam’s eyes light, the corner of his mouth quirking as he looks down at the connection, makes my heart flutter.

Everything is still and quiet, and I feel…at home. With myself. With Connor. With Adam.

I can’t tell you how good it feels to know that, for once in my life, I’m on the same page as someone.”

How nice it would be for someone else to choose us too.

And, ladies, trust me when I say this: there are a lot of inches. I mean, Jesus shit.

All I want to feel for him in this moment is happiness that he found that. Instead, I’m overcome with guilt and a stinging pile of self-hatred, because beyond the genuine happiness lies the weight of wishing there was somebody out there, anybody, who might understand what it’s like to sit there day after day, on your best behavior, hoping, dreaming that someone might choose you. Might spend five minutes talking to you and go, Hey, I think I want to take a chance on her. I think I want to keep her. I think I want to love her.

Oh Rosie 😭

“How busy do you want me to keep you? Because sometimes I feel lonely, but when I’m with you, I feel full.”

“Well, I’d tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of when it comes to me. I’ll be gentle, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I won’t push you to do anything you aren’t ready for. You tell me where your boundaries are and I’ll respect them.” “It’s easier,” I mumble against his neck. “With you, it feels easier.” “I feel the same with you.”

“What’s easier for you?” “Being me,” he whispers. “Just me.”

Perfection exists, and it’s right here in my arms.

I could float through the rest of my life content in knowing I’ve held perfection in these arms.

Rosie lays her cheek on my shoulder with a soft sigh, tucking her face into my neck, like I’m her safe space. I think she might be mine.

“You feel really nice,” perfect lips murmur against my skin. “Solid. Steady.” Another sigh. “Safe.” “I’ll be anything you want me to be.” “Just you, Adam. You’re enough exactly as you are.” Her words tug at an invisible string, pulling everything in my chest tighter. I want to be enough for her, but I’ve spent the last year and a half not feeling enough for anyone. But...

There’s just me, and she says I’m en...

I can’t put myself in your shoes, but I’d stand in them if it meant one less minute where you felt that pain alone.”

Captivating? But she’s so much more than that. She’s…fascinating. Dazzling. Fucking hypnotizing. Doesn’t she know that?

She doesn’t knock the air from my lungs when she walks into a room; she breathes the life back into me. If she’s the flower blooming after the harshest winter, I’m the spring. I’m everything new and fresh, full of life and color and sunshine and hope, after it was all stolen from me the way the first bitter frost of winter steals the beauty of autumn.

“Not fucking average at all.” I drag my nose along her cheekbone, settling my mouth above hers. “I never wanna hear that word again. Got it?” She nods, a frantic jerk of her head, wide eyes ready to give up any semblance of control. “Got it.” “Good girl.”

I run my hand up her throat, fingers itching to lock it in place, keep her right there.

It’s nearly painful how heavy the weight of her stare is.

It’s painful because for everything Rosie’s given me, no matter how small or how hesitantly, I haven’t done her the same. She gets the pieces that come easily, the ones that don’t hurt, and I keep all the others in my fist, grasping them tight against my chest, afraid of what she’ll do with them.

I let her steal everything good and bright and happy, one tiny handful at a time. My confidence, my trust, my faith in happy endings. I don’t think it’s wrong to make someone your whole world, but I know the one time I’ve done it, it was my greatest mistake.

I think they might be my favorite people in the world.

‘Stepdaddy Adam??? Man just went from a 10/10 to a solid 20.’

Ireland may grow up before he does.

“She makes me feel like things aren’t so heavy.”

“You make me feel like things aren’t quite so heavy, too, Adam. Just in case you were wondering.”

I’ve retreated further into the shadows, clung tighter to every piece of me. I want to give those pieces to Rosie. I want to open my clenched fists, show her the pieces with shaky hands, and ask her to take me anyway, to like me for me. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be Adam Lockwood, Vancouver Viper, all-star goalie. I just want to be… I just want to fucking be. I want to exist exactly as I am. I want to be a loyal friend, a loving son. I want to be dependable and kind and generous because I like to be, not because I have to be. I want to be a partner, someone’s best friend, the steady hand on their back when they need to be held up, the fingers laced through theirs to walk through life together. I want to be Adam.

He’s so relaxed, so at home, so freaking beautiful, and he’s here with me.