“Cap, I need advice.”
“About the game?”
“No. Something personal.”
Curiosity lights up his eyes, making me nervous but I don’t let it deter me.
“You love Emily, right? You’ve argued with her before?”
He blinks slowly, nose scrunching.
“You’re asking me if I love my wife of three years and have had disagreements with her?”
“Y-yeah?” I scratch the tip of my brow, shooting him a sheepish shrug. When I don’t offer more context, he grunts.
“Yes. So?”
“Say you ever had to pick between hockey and—”
“I’d pick Emily,” he says, before I even complete my question. There is no doubt in his tone. “Here’s the thing,” he sighs. “I love hockey. You kinda have to if you’re playing it professionally for as many years as we do. But my life isn’t limited to the ice. I’m lucky Emily puts me first, but hockey is rough on our partners. So, if there comes a time I need to choose, it’ll be the woman I’ve promised to spend my life with.”
Simple fucking concept. I can’t believe it took messing up with Alia to get it through my thick head. If she stayed, she’d go through what other WAGs do. She’ll have to sacrifice time with me while Iplay hockey. Then why shouldn’t that expectation apply to me as well?
I don’t know if cricket has HABs, husbands-and-boyfriends, but they fuckin’ should. Because I’m about to be the best one they’ve ever seen.
“When you know you’ve fucked up, how do you usually make it better with her?”
Mateo stares at me like I’ve informed him I’m quitting the NHL to pursue figure skating instead.
“I’m asking for a friend,” I say immediately, when the look he levels me makes heat crawl up my cheeks.
“Alright, I’ll bite. One, apologize,” he advises, uncurling his index finger. “Two: Flowers are timeless.”
That’s easy enough. I make a mental note to pick up a bouquet as soon as we land. Hell, I’ll buy her an entire shop with daily flower deliveries if that lessens her anger and gives me a chance to change her mind about us.
“Three: Accepting you—I mean—your friendfucked up,” Mateo rolls his eyes while unfolding a third finger, “is non-negotiable. I know the concept eludes us, but use words. Talk. Apologize again. Profusely. It has to be heartfelt. It’s scary as fuck, but they know when you’re not being sincere and it’ll be the death blow you never saw coming. Can’t bullshit an apology because womenalwaysknow. Wait—it’s a woman?”
“It’s a woman,” I confirm.
He nods, continuing without a break. “When she’s receptive, aim for physical touch. Make-up sex is in a league of its own. But the most important thing?” he says, pausing for emphasis. “Grovel.”
48
CALLUM
Using Mateo’s advice as a crutch, I reach Alia’s building while the sky overhead is still pink. Two hours and a lonely sunset later, the roses I picked up on the way feel like rocks in my hands. I glance up at the fifth floor where Alia and Irsia live, the unlit windows as dark as nightfall.
Alia hasn’t responded to a single text message. I gather my courage and call her, wishing with every unanswered ring that she’ll give me a chance.
“Hi—”
“Hi, baby, thank god you—”
I’m cut off abruptly when Alia’s sweet voice talks over me and instructs me to leave a message.
Her voicemail.
Disconnecting the call, I lean against the side of the building where I’ve spent my evening hoping to see Alia again. Hopes that are dwindling by the second.