I crouched down, scratching them behind the ears. “Hey, there. Hey, buddy.”
Bacon licked my cheek, and I chuckled. I stood and headed for the family room. “Bryn?” I called again. In the bedroom, I found her suitcase, packed and ready to go. The bathroom was empty. I frowned. “Bryn?”
“In here,” she said, and I followed the sound of her voice to the guest bedroom.
I found her in the closet, a mound of Derek’s jerseys and paraphernalia spread out on the bed. “Hey, angel.” I pulled her in for a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “What are you working on?”
“There’s a charity auction coming up to raise awareness for SADS, and they asked if I’d donate something of Derek’s.”
“That’s generous of you.” I took a seat on the edge of the bed, one of the few spots not covered by his jerseys or other mementos from his career.
She lifted a shoulder. “Seems like the least I can do.”
One of his Dartmouth jerseys caught my eye, and I picked it up, smiling. “Oh man. This brings back memories.”
“From winning the Frozen Four?”
I nodded, setting it back down gently. “One hell of a win.”
“That it was,” she said with a wistful smile.
“Are you sure you’re okay with parting with some of his things?” I asked, knowing it couldn’t be easy.
“It’s for a good cause,” was all she said in reply. She went back to the closet, returning the Dartmouth jersey to the rod.
“Speaking of a good cause,” I said, wondering how my news would go over. “Coach called me into his office today to talk about the fight.”
She stilled, her shoulders bunching. And then she resumed sorting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “What about it?”
“Apparently, the NHL reached out to him.” When she turned to face me, I was struck by how exhausted she looked. I stood, going over to her, cupping her cheek. “Bryn, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Just tired,” she said, brushing away my concern.
“Did you follow up with your doctor?” I asked, aggravated that we still didn’t know why she’d fainted, other than a vague diagnosis of “stress.”
She glanced away, busying herself with something in the closet. “I scheduled an appointment.”
“Good.” I stepped closer, rubbing her shoulders. She moaned, closing her eyes and sinking into my touch. I guided her over to the bed, continuing to massage her tight muscles.
“That feels so good.” She tilted her head back.
“Maybe you should stay home from the conference.” I leaned forward to rasp in her ear. “Call in sick and let me take care of you.”
“While I love that idea…” She moaned again when I hit another knot of muscles. “You have a game tomorrow night.”
“Maybe I’ll call in sick too,” I said.
She laughed. “Frasier, when have you, or any of the guys, ever called in sick?”
We both knew the answer: never. Unless we were dying, we were on the ice.
“Okay, but—” I smoothed my hands down her arms. “I’ve missed you.” I pressed a kiss to her neck. And I wasn’t solely referring to physical distance. Lately, it felt as if she was pulling away from me, and I didn’t understand why.
“I’ve missed you too.” She gave me a peck. “But that’s what life during the season is like.” She shrugged, and then she stood.
Was that all this was?
I wasn’t used to having someone waiting at home for me. Someone I wanted to come home to. Even when I’d been with Sheree, it hadn’t been likethis.
