My steps fumble, and my lips part to argue with him, but I don’t. Instead, I continue walking until I find Andy.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” I tell him.
His smile instantly falls.
He stares at me for a long second, and his mouth opens multiple times, as if he’s going to say something but changes his mind. He pulls me to the side of the bustling hallway, his hand gently on my shoulder as he finally finds his words.
“You will be. Call me when that time comes.” He chews on his bottom lip. “But if you want it, call sooner than later because as much as I’d like to, I won’t be able to hold it forever. Especially with Hunter due anytime now. Once she goes on maternity leave, we’ll have to act fast.”
“I will. Thank you.” I stride past him and toward the elevator to bring me to the parking garage, feeling more defeated and exhausted than I ever imagined possible.
Maybe it’s for the best if the job goes to someone else, someone more reliable and stable. I feel like that would benefit the team more than having me, especially if this is how I’m going to act every time there’s a practice or game.
When I get home, shortly after my freak-out, I take Kyle for a quick walk before curling up with him on the couch. He’s pooped from our outing, and he cuddles up beside me, his massive head in my lap.
Tears nearly well in my eyes as I stare at him, so thankful he came into my life. I swear we don’t deserve dogs. They are literal angels.
He’s out within a minute, and now that he’s sleeping on my lap, I’m legally not allowed to move. I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it works. So, instead of watching the next episode ofCriminal Minds, on my one thousandth rewatch, I’m scrolling on my phone.
An idea—a horrible one—pops into my mind, and my thumbs enact it before I can react.Oops.
Matt MacArthur’s Instagram appears on my screen, and it looks exactly like what you’d imagine a pro hockey player’s page to look like. His posts are all of him or his team on the ice, with an occasional photo with his parents or grandparents—I can’t tell.
I click on one of the three of them and read the caption:I wouldn’t be anywhere without the best parents in the world.
Parents—got it. They’re older than I would have imagined, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but they look to bearound the age of my grandparents. My mind starts spinning, trying to paint the picture of their lives. I zoom in on his face, realizing how pretty of a smile he has.
A heart appears on the screen, and I audibly shriek, unliking it as fast as possible.
Oh, great! Good job, Shay!
Instead of scrolling any further and getting myself in trouble by accidentally liking another post, I scroll back up to the top of his profile, and my thumb opens our messages.
Good God, I need to get a grip on my dexterity. Matt and I have never communicated, so of course, it’s empty?—
What the hell?
It’s not empty.
There’s a message request from Matt, and as I read his words, my chest flutters, and my breath quickens nervously. Clearly, he wrote this when he was a bit intoxicated, or he’s horrible at spelling. I check the time it was sent—three a.m. Yeah, probably drunk.
Matt: Shay, you’re a badass and so fuckong beautiful. I’d livr to take you out sometime.
Matt: We coulf go to the aquariub.
Matt: Or to The Penalty Box for a drinl.
Matt: I’m here now, just come here.
Matt: Why wait when I already know we’re soulmates?
Then he proceeded to send his phone number and a smiley face.
I giggle, biting down on my thumb. What the heck was he thinking? Or maybe hewasn’tthinking, which is the problem.
How long ago was this? I find the date it was sent—over a year ago.Damn.
I take a screenshot of the message, not entirely sure why, but maybe I could use it as blackmail if he ever threatens to share my vulnerable moment in the equipment room.
