We both climb into the tub and I settle between his massive thighs, my back against his chest, and we soak in the luxuriously scented water, play with the bubbles, and then we wrap up in towels. We crawl back under the thick duvet on my bed, still naked, and I use his bicep as my pillow as we spoon and sleepily discuss maybe ordering food, but we both fall asleep before we can make a decision.
When I wake I don’t know if I’ve been out for minutes orhours. The room is pitch black and the other side of the bed is cold. I sit up. The door to my bedroom is cracked, and I know we’d closed it when we came in from the bath. “Conner?”
There's no response. My heart starts to slip, but I refuse to let it sink. He wouldn't just bolt in the dark of the night without a word. This isn't some dine-n-dash thing. We're…. friends. Fake boyfriend and girlfriend, which is more than friends, right? There should be a level of respect in that. I think.
He’s probably just in the bathroom and can’t hear me. I call his name again and pull back the duvet. I turn on the bedside light. My scrubs from the night before are lying on the floor, but his clothes are no longer tangled up with them. I grab my robe off the chair in the corner and put it on. I had no problem walking naked through the apartment with him earlier, but now, it doesn’t feel right. I step out into the hall as I cinch the belt on the robe. Everything is dark and still. I flip on the light and that’s when I see the piece of paper. It’s speared through the key hook where I hang my keys.
I walk over to it. It’s from the notepad I keep by the fridge for grocery lists and such. He’s got pretty standard male chicken scratch writing but I can read it easily.
Mac
Agent called at 2am. I was picked up. Holy shit! But I have to fly to Colorado to join my new team ASAP. I'll be back for the NYE party! Thanks for… everything.
Talk soon. Con
He just avoided his biggest fear, was given a pardon in the eleventh hour, and he didn’t bother to wake me up to celebrate it? And he’s going to play inColorado?
I’m happy for him, technically, but yet my heart is still sinking, and I’m letting it now. I don’t know what I thought wouldhappen after I indulged in this little physical fantasy with Conner, but I think I was holding out hope we’d maybe turn this into something regular. That’s not a possibility now. Because people who want to turn their casual sex into something more don’t bolt in the middle of the night with nothing more than a note. And how the hell would we pursue this with one of us living in Colorado? Long distance is tough when a relationship has a foundation of more than a quick lay and a barely rekindled friendship.
Girls like you don’t get the fairytale ending with the local town hero.The neglected and abused little girl I once was comes alive once again to whisper that negativity to me as I crawl back into bed. But I refuse to listen to that old ghost of who I once was.
It was fun, Mac,I tell myself as I pad my way back to the bedroom.But that’s all it was. He doesn’t owe you more. He didn’t promise more. It’s all good.
Only it doesn't feel good anymore. My post-hook-up haze has a sting of rejection attached to it now.
Chapter 20
Conner
So far so good. I mean, I’ve been with the Portland Riptide for all of seven hours, and it’s been more than a bit of a blur, but I’m feeling pretty fucking good. I dodged a bullet. I survived the league’s guillotine.
When my phone buzzed on Mac’s nightstand in the middle of the night, and I saw Clark’s name, my heart seized in my chest. I swear it didn’t start beating again until I crept into the hallway outside the bedroom and he blurted out, “Portland Riptide picked you up. Official. It’s done.”
In a whisper, I asked him to repeat it twice because my phone was buzzing in the background with a slew of calls and text messages from my family at the same time. "This is great, Con. It's an expansion team, filled with cast-offs from other clubs and veterans with chips on their shoulders. They're eager. Bad News Bears vibes."
“I don’t know what Bad News Bears are, but if I’m still in the NHL I don’t care who I’m playing for, honestly,” I whispered.
Clark told me to get to Boston Logan by six in the morning because the Riptide had me booked on an eight o’clock out toColorado to meet the team for their road trip. I snuck back into the bedroom and looked down at a sleeping Mac. My entire body vibrated with the need to tell her this news. To share it with her first even as my family was still blowing up my phone so intensely I had to leave it in the hall so it wouldn’t disturb her.
Mac was sleeping on her stomach, her curls splayed out behind her head which was twisted to the side of the bed I’d been sleeping on. Her tanned skin exposed from her mid-torso up. She had a small grouping of dark round freckles on her back between her shoulder blades. They looked like a little arc, like a rainbow. She was sleeping so peacefully that I couldn’t wake her. She wasn’t my girlfriend after all and she’d already dealt with so much of my drama.
She worked so hard that sleep was precious, so I made the split decision not to wake her. I gathered my stuff, wrote her a quick note, and texted my dad to come pick me up. He was awake, of course, and had texted me four times since I got the call from Clark. He must have been glued to the sports news all night, waiting for word on my career. Fuck, I love that man.
Dad picked me up while I scrolled through all the well wishes from family and some of the Barons guys I was close to. And then there was a small flood of interview requests from the really pushy media outlets that always somehow seemed to find and use player's personal email. I ignored those and texted the family in the group chat and some of my former teammates. Callie had packed my stuff and given it to Dad so we could drive straight to Boston.
Dad was upbeat the whole trip, and it was really nice to get that time with him. An hour and a half later while I was pulling my bag from the back seat, he pulled me into a hug on the curb beside the American Airlines gate. "I'm happy for you Con," he whispered, his words ruffling the hair by my ears. "But know thatI don't give a shit what you do for a living. You're the best damn kid I could have ever hoped for and I will always be proud of you."
Shit, if that didn't make my vision blur. I squeezed him, hard, and stepped away, turning to wipe my eyes and hoping he didn't see. I haven't cried in front of him, or anyone, in a decade, and for some reason I really want to keep it that way. "Thanks, Dad."
Do I believe him? Maybe. I am just really glad I have the option of doubting his words because I’m still a professional hockey player. He isn’t saying this to the first Garrison to fail. I hug him again but keep it brief.
“And when you get back I’ll drive your car over to Portland,” he tells me as I clap him on the back. “And you can explain to me why I was picking you up at Alex Larue’s daughter’s apartment in the middle of the night with your shirt on inside out and backwards and your hair sticking up all over the place.”
Oh. My eyes fly down to my shirt and I see the tag, which is supposed to be tucked into the back of my Henley, sticking up by my chin. I run a hand through my hair and grab my duffle bag. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom before security. Bye, Dad."
I entered the airport, leaving the sound of his chuckles behind.
The flight was seamless and I was exhausted so I passed right out, praising my new team for booking me a business class seat that turned into a bed, and had to be woken by the flight attendant for landing.