Page 165 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

Looking back now, I know I should have. Who’s to say we wouldn’t have reconnected? I spent so much time worrying that it would have ruined everything, but what if it made everything better? What we’ve got now is incredible, but it could have been more. Would she have trusted me faster if she knew? Or is the boy from all those years ago too much of a distant memory?

“She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?” I ask reluctantly.

“She’ll understand.” It’s meant to reassure me, but all it does is scare me more, because what if he’s wrong? What if tonight is the end?

I’m not ready.

Not even close.

Darcy forced me to take it a little easier when we got back to the weight room, but as much as I wanted to continue punishing myself, I knew it wasn’t going to help.

Tonight has the potential to be painful enough; I don’t need every movement to feel like agony.

Once we’re done, I have an appointment at the hospital to check on my progress, and then I finally head home.

I’ve still got two hours until I told Sienna I’d pick her up, and that’s two hours too long.

There are a million and one things I could do to distract myself. The most pressing are the unopened emails sitting in my inbox. There are more than a couple from my agent; he’s also left voicemails demanding I call him back, too.

Before my injury, I never used to ghost him, was never nervous about what he might want to talk to me about. But the fear of hearing news about my career I don’t want stops me from opening those emails or answering his calls.

So instead, I do something that has the potential to hurt even more. I begin scrolling through hockey content online.

While a lot of it is bullshit, there are a few bloggers and journalists who write interesting stuff. But every time I see anything even close to trade gossip, like a moth to a flame, I allow myself to get closer.

I’ve found myself doing it less and less recently—Sienna has been the perfect distraction. But with our time together on the brink, I can’t help falling back into old habits.

Thankfully, once again, my name seems to be kept out of the rumors. I guess people have forgotten about me as the season continues, and I’m not sure if that hurts more or less than fans questioning my position with the Vipers.

With the time slowly edging closer to when I said I’d be at Sienna’s front door, I take a shower, pull on some slacks, a shirt, and grab a sweater and a coat. Just in case a miracle happens, I make a point of tidying up my apartment as I make my way toward the front door, because if my worst fears don’t play out tonight, I have every intention of bringing her up here for the first time.

I love hanging out at her apartment, and maybe it’s selfish of me to take her away from somewhere she’s comfortable. But I want to see her in my space. I want to know what she looks like lounging on my couch, moving around my kitchen, and, more than anything, I want to see her in my bed.

With one final look around my apartment to make sure everything is in place, I grab the flowers I picked up on the way home from the arena and finally head out with my heart in my throat and dread sitting heavy in my stomach.

She’ll understand. Won’t she?

46

SIENNA

I’ve been on edge all day, and it’s because of Calvin this morning. He was…he was weird. I get that going on a date when you’ve only ever been a fuckboy must be a little strange. It would be normal for him to be nervous. But it was more than that. Honestly, every time I’ve checked my cell today, I’ve been expecting to find a message from him canceling tonight.

I’ve spent all day with a heavy ball of dread sitting in my stomach, and I haven’t done a very good job of hiding it, either.

Lessy, Savvy, and Rachel believed it was just nerves. But Bea knew better. She could sense my unease, but because I have no idea what’s going on, it was hard to explain how I’m feeling.

And now that I’m standing here, waiting in my living room, the nerves are hitting even harder.

I still don’t know what we’re doing. The only clue I’ve been given is to wear warm clothes, and that doesn’t really narrow anything down. Maybe whatever we’re doing is going to be outside.

I’m wearing knee-length boots, thick leggings, a heavy knit sweater with a tank beneath it, and I’ve got my coat, scarf, and bobble hat. It’s overkill in LA, even in the winter, but I want to be prepared.

At 7 p.m. on the dot, my buzzer goes off, sending the butterflies I’m barely controlling in my stomach into chaos.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I tell myself.

Everything with Calvin has been surprising but easy so far. Other than his weird demeanor this morning, I have no reason to believe anything else.