Page 107 of Puck Me Back to Life

Practice starts in an hour. I groan. Normally, I'd already be halfway through coffee by now. Instead, I've apparently slept like the dead. My shoulders ache pleasantly as I stretch. Every muscle reminds me that yesterday ended very differently than I expected when I woke up that morning.

Yesterday started with a trade announcement. It ended with Hayes asleep in my arms royally fucked and pleased.

Life comes at you fast.

I glance toward the bathroom. Empty. The shower isn't running.

The bedroom door stands open, revealing a quiet hallway beyond.

“Kai?”

No answer.

I climb out of bed, expecting to find him making coffee or standing in my kitchen reading one of the books he'd inevitably steal from my shelves. Nothing.

The condo is silent. His shoes are gone from beside the front door. So is his hockey bag.

I lean against the kitchen counter for a moment, surprised by the disappointment settling somewhere beneath my ribs. The logical part of my brain reminds me that the man has his own apartment. His own life. He doesn't live here.

The less logical part of my brain thinks he could've at least said goodbye.

I open the refrigerator, mostly out of habit, and immediately remember there's nothing inside worth eating. Still tragic. My phone sits on the counter where I abandoned it sometime during the night.

The screen lights up the second I pick it up. One unread message. Hayes. The corner of my mouth lifts before I've even opened it.

Went home to get a fresh set of clothes. Didn't want to wake you since you did all the work again

See you later xx

I read them once. Then again. Then a third time.

“...Little shit.”

The laugh escapes before I can stop it.

He's making jokes. Yesterday afternoon he'd looked like the world was ending. Last night he'd barely been holding himself together. Now he's teasing me before eight o'clock in the morning.

Progress.

I stare at the little “xx” for longer than I'd ever admit out loud. He's never signed off a text like that before. Most of our messages have been painfully practical.

Here.

Okay.

On my way.

Now I'm apparently getting kisses. I should probably play this cool.

Instead, I type back almost immediately.

I appreciate you finally acknowledging my hard work.

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

It seemed only fair.

I grin as I respond.