“I don’t know,” I mumble. This is supposed to be the best night of my life. I was a first-round draft for Tampa Bay. I’m living out all my wildest dreams, but it feels tainted. “Fuck.” I toss my water bottle across the room.
“Why the long faces?” Jake asks as he comes into the room. “You all just made it into the mother fucking NHL. It’s time to celebrate.”
Mikael nods. “He’s right, Eli. We’ve worked hard for this. We can figure everything out later.”
I shrug my shoulders, wanting to call Charlotte and talk to her, but remember that Jake took our phones before we left tonight. “Come on, boys, you just got the biggest news of your lives. It’s time to learn how to celebrate like a true athlete.”
I grimace, but could really use the night to clear my head and try not to panic about the future. Jake takes us to a club where they don’t even check IDs. We’re behind a red velvet rope sitting on a circular couch as a waitress starts doling out shots. The liquor warms my bloodstream, and the future seems to feel less chaotic the more I drink. It appears Anders and Mikael are having the same euphoria as we keep tipping back cocktails and try to celebrate making it into the NHL.
The night and day after feel like a blur, but I’m thankful that Jake always makes sure there’s a drink in my hand.
2 days later.
“Ugh, fuck. Close the curtains,” I grumble.
“Our flight is in two hours,” Anders says. He looks like shit. We all look like shit.
“What do you mean in two hours? Our flight’s tomorrow?”
He’s trying to open the safe and is cursing. “What’s the fucking code?” The thing keeps beeping, this horrible droning sound, and I cover my head with a pillow, wanting the noise to stop and for the sun to stop blinding me. I’ve never drank this much for so long in my life. I feel like and smell like death.
There’s a knock on the door, and Anders flips it open harder than he needs to as Jake strolls in, tossing us each a packet of Tylenol and Gatorade. “You boys are gonna need to work on your partying. Anyway, chop chop. We need to get to the airport.”
“We need our fucking phones!” Anders complains, and Jake laughs, getting down on his haunches, and enters the code. The safe whirls and opens, and Anders tosses us each our phones.
“What the fuck?” I grumble. I have at least fifteen missed calls between an unknown number and Charlotte’s number. “Do you have all these missed calls?” I ask, holding up my phone. Anders and Mikael nod their heads. “I’ll try calling her back first.”
I call the number, and it rings once before going to voicemail. “You call her,” I direct to both Anders and Mikael. Mikael calls first and nearly tosses his phone on the bed. “It rang once and went to voicemail, and her voicemail is full.”
Anders dials out and gets the same thing.
“What the fuck?”
“Girl troubles?” Jake says.
“Jake, if you don’t want to get punched in the fucking face, I suggest you leave,” I growl. He throws his hands up in mock surrender and leaves.
“Do you think she was just worried about not hearing from us?” Anders asks, scrubbing his face.
“We fucked up. We fucked up bad.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Mikael says.
I scoff and try to call the unknown number that called me multiple times.
“Hello,” the voice on the other side says, and their voice is vaguely familiar.
“This is Eli. Is Charlotte there?”
“Now you call back? Fuck you.” She hangs up, and I stare at the phone.
“What the fuck?” I bellow and dial the number again. She surprisingly, and thankfully, answers the phone.
“Listen here, you selfish piece of shit, I get you were living out your dream in Vegas. But Charlotte needed you.”
“Needed me?”
“Yeah, needed, as in doesn’t anymore. I’m not sure if she will change her mind. But you don’t deserve her. And until she reaches out to you, you need to leave her the fuck alone and let her heal. Until you can be the Alphas she deserves, stay the fuck away.” The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone for what feels like forever. Mikael and Anders both look solemn next to me.
