We eat until we can’t fit any more in, and, looking utterly wiped out, I send Bea to bed.
As I begin tidying up, she pauses before slipping around the corner to her bedroom.
“Everett,” she whispers.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find her standing there with her fingers nervously twisted in the fabric of her T-shirt.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” I ask, hope surging through me that she’s going to ask for a repeat of last night. I can’t deny that I slept better than I have in a long time with her curled up beside me.
“I …um…” A smile twitches at my lips, excited to hear her invitation. But when she finds the words she’s looking for, I’m left cold. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m…uh…not really sure I was…I’m sorry.”
Before I can respond, she darts around the corner and disappears from my sight.
I sleep like shit,and I’m a miserable fucker from the moment I crawl out of bed late the next morning.
Bea was ill again, but instead of rushing into her bathroom as I had before, I hesitated.
Her apology last night repeats over and over in my head, reminding me what she said she didn’t want out of this arrangement.
Me.
Pain wraps around my chest, squeezing tight. She’s willing to use me as much as I am her. But she’s only in this for the money and the support. She’s not in it for me.
I stay hidden as she gets ready for work and then disappears, leaving the apartment cold and empty.
Eventually, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and set about my day.
I spend a few hours in the gym, hoping that I can banish my mood, but as I sit at the island with my laptop later that afternoon, going through emails, it becomes more than obvious it hasn’t worked.
I was feeling better, and I put it down to spending time with Bea. But right now, she’s closer than ever, literally right under my roof, but I’m spiraling again.
It’s late afternoon, and I’m lounging on the couch with a baseball game playing on the TV, when a video call lights up my laptop.
My first reaction is to reject it. It’s probably what they expect me to do. But for some reason, when I move my mouse, it’s not to hover over the red disconnect button; instead, I hit the green one.
“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Mom cries the second her and Dad’s images appear on the screen before me.
“Ha, you’re funny,” I mutter before sipping on my coffee.
“How’s it going, son? Are you managing to relax and recoup?” Dad asks, all too aware of how exhausting a full hockey season is, especially when you go all the way in the playoffs. The only thing I’m not sure he understands is just how hard it is for me to break routine. I rely on the constant demands on my time during the season. It stops me from getting too much in my head— or at least, it used to. This last season was a whole new beast. Losing like we did in Seattle fucked me up. I’d hoped that my trade would have banished it, but it’s still lingering.
“Yeah, you know.”
“You should book a vacation. Parker and Linc are glowing after theirs.”
And we all know why.
“Yeah, I’ll see if I can squeeze one in. I’ve got quite a few things up in the air right now.”
“Oh yeah? Things have been a little quiet, from what we can tell,” Mom says suspiciously.
I can’t help but groan. “Have you been stalking me online again?”
“Well, a mother has to do something when her son chooses not to keep her in the loop,” she chastises with one brow raised.
She’s teasing me, I know she is, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from knotting like I’m disappointing them yet again.
“We did see you out with a woman,” Dad says. It seems the news of my date with Bea has reached them, wherever they are right now. Parker keeps up with their jet-setting, but I lost track a long time ago.
