Page 44 of Risking the Pucking Defense

This restaurant is my treat. I come here after hard weeks and indulge in some of my favorite foods.

And while this week hasn’t exactly been hard, in the grand scheme of things, I'm drained. And I know I only have one person to blame for that.

Forcing myself to ignore his message for now, I pick up the lobster crackers and set to work. I may no longer fancy it as I did earlier, but there’s no way I’m letting this baby go to waste.

When the server clears my plate a while later, I’m still thinking about that message, and I’m achingly aware that I need to respond.

There’s a good chance he’s already seen that I’ve read it, and the last thing I want is him thinking I don’t care.

It’s probably what I should do, but after what he’s been through, I can’t.

Hailee: Hey, I’m good, thank you. How are you? Thanks for the invite, but I’m busy tonight. Got a date with a lobster.

I almost delete it and start again, but then I remember that I have no reason to overthink it, and I hit send.

I stare at the screen, expecting it to be seen immediately, as if he’s waiting for me, and a little disappointment trickles through me when it’s not.

A self-deprecating laugh tumbles from my lips. Why would he be waiting for my message? He’s hanging out with his friends.

After finishing my wine and paying for my meal, I put my cell into my purse and walk out of the restaurant with the intention of turning left and heading home. But my legs don’t comply with my brain, because I quickly find myself turning right and moving closer to the beach.

They’re farther down, I could tell that from the video from Brooke, but the second I see them in the distance, I stop for fear of being caught.

They’re all sitting around with boxes of pizza surrounding them, booming laughter spilling into the evening air.

Watching them reminds me of the sitcoms I used to watch as a kid. The ones that made me believe that one day, I’d find myself in the middle of the most incredible group of friends who would choose me day in, day out, and always have my back.

It was nothing but bullshit. Or at least, it was for me.

I never found that as a kid, and now that I’ve hit thirty, I certainly don’t expect to.

I stand there watching them for the longest time as the sun sets into the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful orange.

When they look like they might be packing up to leave, I spin on my heels and race away. Being caught watching them from a distance and not even attempting to join them would be mortifying.

Hitching my purse higher on my shoulder, I embark on my walk home, hoping the peace and fresh air will bring me some clarity.

But as I let myself into my building, I discover it hasn’t done all that much. All I can think about is whether there’s a reply waiting for me.

Refusing to look, I abandon my purse and distract myself by cleaning my kitchen. It doesn't need it—I have a cleaner come in every week to take care of everything I’m always too busy or too tired to do—but sometimes, I have to pull on my rubber gloves, grab the bleach, and just go for it.

I scrub every surface within an inch of its life before embarking on my bathroom. By the time I’m done, everything is sparkling, and I’ve got sweat beading my brow.

I slump back against the bathtub, drop my arms to my sides, and take a breath.

Everything is going to be fine.

Training camp will start, then the season will begin, and life will return to normal, where I’m focused on my job, keeping the boys out of too much trouble, and not constantly thinking about a certain rookie.

With a groan, I gather up all my supplies and put them back under the kitchen sink before returning to my bedroom.

The packed suitcase I’ve abandoned in the corner taunts me.

“Fine,” I huff, marching toward it.

I need to start getting everything together for my first trip with the team anyway.

I lift it onto the end of my bed, undo the zipper, and flip the lid open.