“He likes you. He cares about you. We all do.”
“Jesus fuck, you sound like Hutch now. Did you guys rehearse this shit?”
Locke laughs. “Uh, no. But it should tell you something that we’re all saying the same things, eh?”
I’m about to say something snarky when his phone buzzes. His face lights up as he looks at the screen, and I know rightaway it’s his girlfriend calling him. He eyes me, like he’s afraid I’m going to break down if he doesn’t give me attention, and I roll my eyes.
“Just take the fucking call, old man. I’m notthatfragile right now. I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates just long enough for his screen to go black, then he’s rising from his stall and marching away to call his girl back. I can’t help but reach for my own phone, wanting to do just the same. Then I remember I don’t have a girl, not really.
Still, I find myself pulling up the texts between Chloe and me. I scroll back through the ones we sent yesterday and bypass those that were exchanged over the last three years until I reach a time when things weren’t so damn complicated between us.
There are silly pictures and emojis and GIFs…I love yous. There’s a stark contrast between then and now, and I’d do anything to get back to before. I contemplate sending her a text now, but I have no idea what I would even say. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow? Hope you’re doing well? I wish you were here?
Fuck, that last one hits hard, probably because it’s the most honest one. Idowish she were here. I’ve almost forgotten how good it feels to have someone in the stands cheering for you. I’d do anything to have that back.
“All right, boys,” Coach Smith says, and I look up, surprised to find most of the room at attention, like they were expecting this.
I wasn’t. I was lost in a time when things felt so much easier than they do now.
“We’ve got a tough game tonight. We need those two points, and we need them cleanly, you know what I mean?” A round of cheers goes up, and I hope like hell we mean it. Overtime hockey is not an option tonight if we want to take the top spot in the Pacific. “But we can do it. I know we can. I feel it in my bones, and I need you to feel it too. That means put whatever bullshityou have going on outside the rink in a locked box somewhere and focus on what’s on the line tonight.” He looks right at me, and though I haven’t spoken to Coach since Chloe came back, I get the sense he knows exactly what’s going on with me. “Let’s get out there and play, huh?”
“Heard!” the room says before clapping twice.
I don’t miss how Coach’s eyes linger on me for another second before he leaves the room, handing things off to the captain to get us hyped. It makes me wonder if someone said something to him—perhaps Hutch—or if he’s just that tuned in to us and I didn’t realize.
Either way, it has me shoving all thoughts of Chloe aside and forcing myself to be in this moment right here. We have a game to win.
CHAPTER 9
CHLOE
Callum is late.
Or maybe he’s just not coming. I’m not sure which one it is, but I am sure I don’t like the voices in my head telling me it’s the latter.
We agreed to meet at a shop called The Coffee Spot, which had rave reviews, but we haven’t spoken since. It’s odd, waiting for my husband like it’s a business meeting. It all feels so…cold. Definitely not like two people who have been married for almost a decade.
Sitting in my hotel room last night, knowing he was only a few minutes’ drive away, just about killed me. But he played a good game, one of the best I’ve seen from him in a while, outside of their game in Vegas last week, when he got the black eye that looks like it’s almost done healing.
Still, I wanted to be there for him. I wasthis closeto buying a last-minute ticket, then I saw the price, checked my bank account, and laughed. So I took my tablet and the bottle of wineSeattle Dailyhad sent “for my troubles” to the tub and settled in to watch the game. The Serpents won, and it wasn’t by a small margin either. 5–1 was the final score, and Callum assisted ontwo of the goals. I’m surprised my neighbor didn’t report me to the front desk for all the noise I made for each point he got.
I tap my fingers against my phone, which is sitting on the table in front of me, and check the clock for the umpteenth time:2:10. Callum is officially ten minutes late.Five more minutes, Chloe, I tell myself.Give him five more minutes. If he doesn’t show, then you’ll have your answer.
Four minutes later, I see him running down the sidewalk, and a breath of relief whooshes out of me. His long legs eat up the concrete, and that chain he’s taken to wearing in the last few years bounces beneath his shirt with every step. Even mid-sprint, he looks good, and I briefly wonder if he spent as long as I did agonizing over what to wear. It doesn’t look like it with his jeans and a simple light blue long-sleeved shirt.
He skids to a stop just before the door, and I smile as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing the pieces back into place as he stares at his reflection in the shop window. He’s nervous too, and something about that eases my own worries.
Finally, he pulls the door open, then walks in with that same swagger he used to have when he’d walk into class. He looks left, then right, and his eyes snag on mine.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
I give him a small wave, and he makes his way over.
“Hey.” He pushes his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Want a drink?”
“Sure,” I answer, rising from the table and not telling him I’ve already had one while waiting.
