After about five minutes of sitting in stone-faced silence, I pick up my phone again, my fingers trembling as I find Cindy’s number and press send. It’s nearly midnight in Saint Paul, but only ten on the West Coast.
Jamie’s mom answers right away. “Hi, sweetie! You must be tired after that exciting game! Why aren’t you in bed?”
I smile despite the massive lump in my throat. Cindy Canning is the mother I never had. It’s so humbling to have someone actually give a damn whether I’m getting enough sleep. “I’m not tired,” I tell her. “But you watched the game, huh?”
“We all did. Jamie almost punched the TV when that jerk tripped you in the second period.”
My heart does a happy flip. Jamie watched the game. He got mad when an opponent tripped me. That has to mean something, right? Like maybe he’snotgoing to dump me?
Cindy’s uncanny mind-reading abilities must have been triggered by my moment of silence, because she says, “He was very proud of you tonight.”
My throat squeezes shut. “I…didn’t even score a goal.”
She laughs softly. “You don’t need to score goals to make him proud, Ryan. It’s enough for him to see you on that television screen, playing professional hockey.” She pauses. “Why don’t you just ask me whatever it is you called to ask?”
Mind reader, damn it. “Is he okay?” I blurt out.
“He will be.” Jamie’s mother goes quiet for a second. “I’ll admit, he’s not entirely himself, but I think that might have something to do with all the medication he was on.”
I furrow my brow. “The painkillers?”
“I was thinking of the steroids they gave him. I’m no doctor, but I can’t imagine all those meds not having any sort of side effects. He’s sad, a bit withdrawn, but I wonder if coming off the meds has contributed to that.”
Worry pokes at me again. God, I can’t stand the thought of my laughing, easygoing Jamie being sad and withdrawn.
“But the fresh air has helped,” Cindy says, her tone brightening. “He’s out with his father right now, actually, taking a night stroll. And he spent yesterday with the twins, helping Scottie pick out a new surfboard. Sometimes the best medicine for what ails you is just a healthy dose of family.”
My eyes feel hot. I thought Jamie wasmyfamily. I thought his family wasourfamily. It kills me that I wasn’t enough for him, that he had to seek comfort from the Cannings when I’ve spent weeks freely offering my comfort to him.
“I’m glad he’s doing better,” I choke out. “Just…keep taking care of him, okay? And don’t tell him I called to check up on him. He doesn’t…” I bite my lip. “He doesn’t like it when I worry. It pisses him off.”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s not true. I know he appreciates your concern. It just shows how much you love him.”
She reassures me for a few more minutes, but I still feel like total shit when we finally hang up. I miss Jamie so fucking much. I hate being apart from him, which is stupid if you think about it, because what’s really changed? Regardless of where he is right now, Toronto or California, we’d still be apart. I’d still be in Saint Paul on this road game.
I can’t wait for this season to be over.
“Buy you another round?”
The male voice startles me. I steady myself before I fall off the stool, turning to see a blond guy sitting beside me. He’s gesturing to my empty glass. I don’t remember downing this second drink, but a third isn’t an option. Frank would lose his shit if someone reported seeing me sloppy drunk at the hotel bar.
“No thanks,” I say absently.
The guy keeps watching me. He’s in his early thirties, handsome, and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s checking me out. And not in a “Are you NHL player RyanWesley??” sort of way. His gaze conveys pure sexual awareness.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he drawls.
I grit my teeth. “Talk about what?”
“About whatever put that ravaged look in your eyes.” One muscular forearm rests on the bar as he twists around slightly, angling his body so he’s facing me. He’s in a dress shirt and trousers. I suspect he’s a businessman. “What was it? Messy breakup?”
My molars nearly turn to dust. I’m grinding them that hard.
As my silence continues, he chuckles and leans even closer. “I’m sorry. I know I’m coming on strong. But…” He shrugs. “I know who you are. Ryan Wesley, right? I’ve seen your mug everywhere these days, so I know your deal, that you have a boyfriend and all that.” He sounds a bit sheepish. “But that look on your face…it tells me that maybe youdon’thave the boyfriend anymore…?”
I don’t answer. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Hitting on me even though he’s aware I’m in a relationship is a bold move. Unfortunately for him, it’s not the kind of boldness I appreciate.
He proves to be even bolder when he reaches out and touches my wrist, stroking lightly. “And if that’s the case, then I’d be more than happy to—”
