Page 18 of Line Change

Chapter seven

Sebastian

“Did you hear me?” Wes leans closer to me.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were expecting an important call.” My brows go up. “You’ve checked your phone no less than six times in the past five minutes.” He tips his chin toward my phone.

Shit. I didn’t think anyone was paying attention to me. I texted Sutton a couple of times to check in, but I haven’t heard back from her. Logically, I know she’s probably just busy, but the illogical part of my brain says something is wrong.

Wes clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to respond.

I should have known that in this team of nosy busybodies someone would notice, and of course it’s him, the nosiest busybody of all. I love these guys and this team, but sometimes I wish we weren’t this close. Like my teammates when I was playing in Buffalo. We’d go out for meals while we were traveling and have a few team-bonding activities throughout the season, but for the most part, everyone kept to themselves. Yeah, there were a few friend groups, but I wasn’t part of any of them.

Then I got traded to the Storm and, boom, became part of this group of guys who are more like family, which took some getting used to. It’s nice to have guys to talk to and hang out with. I didn’t realize how much I was missing the type of friendships I had when I was playing in the AHL, teammates who feel more like brothers. Helps me feel less alone. But again, they’re too nosy sometimes.

“No. Not really.” I set my phone down, running a hand through my hair.

He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t say another word. I focus on finishing getting dressed for morning skate.

Once I’m dressed, I check my phone one more time and, seeing that I have no new messages, I turn it off. Once I get back to the hotel this afternoon, I’ll call her. That’s what I’ll do.

Morning skate flies by, and before I know it, we’re boarding the bus to go to the hotel before our game tonight. I’ve barely closed the door to my room before I’m calling Sutton.

“Hi,” she says when she picks up.

I sigh, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “Hey you.”

“What’s up?”

“Wanted to check in on you. See how you were feeling …” I toe off my sneakers and lie down on the bed.

“I’m fine. Your house is good too. The cats haven’t destroyed anything and nothing has flooded.”

“I’m not worried about my condo,” I reassure her. “I’m worried about you.” I tuck my arm behind my head and rest the phone between it and my ear.

She doesn’t respond, and we sit in silence for a few seconds. I open my mouth to say goodbye when she starts talking.

“Since I have you.” She giggles nervously. “Were you serious about me living with you for the foreseeable future? As in more than a few weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Okay, as in she’s going to live with me permanently, or okay, she understands I was serious? “I think I’m going to take you up on your offer. I—the housing market is a mess, and—”

“You can stay with me as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” More silence. “I want to contribute. Pay rent, I mean, and utilities.”

“No.”

“I can’t freeload off of you.”

“You’re not freeloading.”

“Sebastian,” she whines, and I scoff.

I can’t take money from her. I can’t. She’s going to be raising a child on her own soon. That’s a bloody huge burden. But I get the feeling that if I don’t agree to her paying rent, she won’t let it go, or worse, she won’t stay with me.