I take off down the hall, and even though I’m still in skates and gear, I slip left into the bathroom instead of into the locker room.I really wish I were showered because Harlow is right, I stink, but she’ll be gone by the time I’m ready.
It’s the same small bathroom I saw her in the day before I signed with the team.And thankfully, the stalls are empty, and there’s no one in here but Lola, who is at the sink.Our eyes lock in the mirror.“Where’s your biggest fan?”
“I have no idea,” I say, and my eyes drift to the jersey in one of her hands.She’s in the hoodie now.I have no idea if it belongs to Callan or Landon, so I ask, “Whose hoodie?”
“Redov.”
It’s like she dropped an iceberg into the center of my chest.My heart and all the blood running through it go cold.“I could have given you a hoodie.”
She turns from the mirror to look me dead in the eye.Her chin is pushed up, her eyes narrowed, her arms crossed.She is pissed.“That would require forcing you to talk to me, and I didn’t want to do that.”
“I don’t need to be forced?—”
“Why haven’t I heard from you since the West Coast road trip?”
“Because… I just thought maybe we should… take a step back,” I say.And then I step closer to her.On my stupid skates.Wobbling like an hour-old penguin or some shit.
“Oh, you did?”She glares harder.“Why?”
“Because… can you take off that sweatshirt?”Her eyes go wide.“I mean… just wear my jersey home.”
“It’s Candice’s jersey.”
“I’ll get her a new one.I’ll even sign it.”
“Do it with your phone number.She’ll love that.”Lola can be the snarkiest woman alive when she’s pissed, and it does nothing to turn me off.
I take one more tentative step.She looks me up and down.“You stink, and you’re ridiculously tall and unstable on those things.You’re probably ruining your blades.”
“Don’t give a single, solitary fuck,” I reply, my voice low and husky.“I saw you in my jersey and something in me…”
“Oh my God, what a stupid patriarchal, misogynistic, caveman response,” Lola huffs out, but what she doesn’t do is move away from me.“And let me guess, now that I’m in Redov’s jersey, you’re suddenly possessive.”
“Yeah.I hate it.Take it off, and I’ll give you something of mine to wear.”
“Are you mentally ten?”
“Maybe,” I reply.
“You ghosted me.You don’t get to dictate what I wear.”She puts her hands flat on the front of my sweat-soaked jersey, and I brace to be pushed away.But she doesn’t push.“And for the record, even if you were my fucking husband, you wouldn’t get a say in what I wear.”
“If I were your husband, you’d wear my jersey every game,” I blurt out.“And I would take you home and fuck you in it until you saw stars and couldn’t stand up.”
“Damnit, Theo Luc Richard.You may be a hockey prince, but you’re the king of mixed signals.”She finally pushes me, and I stumble back, almost losing the edge I’m teetering on and tipping over.I manage to stay upright.“I deserve better than that.”
She grabs the jersey off the counter next to the sink and steps around me toward the door.“You do.That’s why I stepped back.”
“What?”She pauses at the door and looks over at me.
“You deserve better.I’m in a precarious spot.I could relapse,” I begin, and everything about this feels wrong, but I can’t offer her anything, and she needs to realize that.“I can’t be good for anyone.I’ve got too much baggage and too many things that could fuck up my life.I can’t bring you down too.I mean, I wouldn’t gaslight you like Ryan Fucking Cordon or ever purposely make you feel unwanted or?—”
“You did, though,” she interrupts, and my mouth hangs open, mid-sentence, words evaporating on my tongue.“You just ghosted me.After you made it seem like you wanted more.After I told you… I can’t have kids.”
What?I open my mouth, but the words get clogged in my throat because how did I not think that’s how this would look to her?I shake my head and take a step in her direction, but she puts out a hand to stop me.“We were… it seemed like we were becoming more than a situationship, but then I… Look, I know, I get it.I’m not a good bet long term.I just thought… Never mind.”
She reaches for the door again and, even though I said I wouldn’t burden her with my pathetic problems, the words tumble out of me anyway.Because I can’t just let her think this has anything to do with her fertility issues.“My friend Mila.She relapsed.I was in rehab with her, and we ran into each other in Vegas, and… she overdosed and died.And then my teammates… my former teammates took me out and the stories they told… I didn’t even remember most of them, and it’s humiliating.They didn’t mean it that way, but it’s how they made me feel.I can’t… be someone’s boyfriend when the odds of me fucking it all up are so high.It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Life’s not fair,” she counters.Her eyes find mine, and we stare at each other for a long, painful moment.When she speaks again, her voice is soft.“You just disappeared, and that made me feel unwanted and… honestly, it made me feel as bad as Ryan used to.”
