Blakely:Do me a favor, at least call her today. Out of all days, call her today.
Call her.
Hear her voice?
Dip into the one thing that I crave . . . no. I can’t.
I set my phone down and finish eating my eggs. Focus on the game. We have to win tonight.
We can’t lose. If we do, we’re out. That’s the end of the season, and if the season ends, then I have to face the one thing I don’t want to right now: my feelings for Penny.
* * *
The locker roomis eerily quiet as we prepare for our game. We’re an hour away from the puck drop and are now finishing treatments, warming up, and attempting to get our heads in the right mindset.
I haven’t spoken to Penny since her last text last night, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Should I have spoken more to her? Did I do the right thing?
Should I have called her like Blakely suggested?
Pacey walks into the locker room after getting his hamstrings stretched. He’s been sore lately so he’s been spending extra time in the training room.
Instead of walking over to his assigned locker, he walks toward me and takes a seat. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he says, “So what did you do for her today?”
Huh?
“Do for her today?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
Pacey slowly turns toward me. “For Penny.”
I wrack my brain for what the hell he might be talking about. Blakely’s comment about calling Penny comes to mind. What the hell is today? Did she have a doctor’s appointment and not tell me?
“I’m assuming you sent her something,” Pacey adds.
Sent her something?
Dread creeps up the back of my neck as my mouth goes dry.
“Dude . . . I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pacey’s brows narrow. “It’s her goddamn birthday, and you didn’t send her anything? You said you care about her.”
“It’s Penny’s birthday?” I ask. All the color in my face completely drains. “She didn’t say anything to me. I had no fucking clue.”
Then again, you shut her off before she could even say one word to you. She tried striking up several conversations with you yesterday, you fucking moron, and you didn’t engage.
“Holy fuck.” I scramble in my locker to find my phone, and when I have it in my hand, I move past a fuming Pacey and straight to the phone room designated for the guys to talk to their families without the raucous of the locker room in the background.
Half-dressed for the game, I shut the door behind me and quickly dial her phone number. I listen as it rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Hey, it’s Penny. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, but leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.”
Beep.
I hang up, not bothering with a message.
