Page 92 of Something Like That

“Umm, I’ve got to go,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket. His voice had a hollow quality to it now, like he was saying the words, but there was no feeling behind them. Like they were empty. Like he was empty.

He refused to look at her, staring over her shoulder, most likely out the bedroom window. It made her want to cry, or maybe scream. Anything to get him to show some emotion. She wanted him to be frustrated or hurt or sad. Angry, at the team, or maybe the universe. Anything but the broken man in front of her.

“Nick.” She reached for him but he stepped out of the way. It was like a punch in the kidney, quick and sharp. She swallowed down a gasp, refusing to let him see how much it hurt.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll be okay getting back to your hotel?”

She nodded, even as her soul screamed in denial. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked hard a couple of times, hoping the shadows would hide them.

He stared at her for a minute, the light from window behind her highlighting the devastation and heartbreak in his eyes. He looked so lost.

She wanted to badly to go to him, to hold him, and tell him it was going to be okay. They’d get through this together. The urge was so strong, so overwhelming, that she grabbed handfuls of her skirt to stop from reaching for him again.

He took a breath, and for a second, she thought he was going to say something. But he just inclined his head and then spun and walked to the door. He pulled it open and paused, his back to her. His shoulders were stiff, the lines of his back rigid.

“Goodbye, Alex.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. And then he slipped into the hallway and shut the door softly behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

Nick pulled on the San Francisco Barons jersey, his heart bouncing around his chest like a warm puck across the ice. He wiped his sweaty palms on the bottom of the jersey and picked up his gloves.

He probably should be thankful for the nerves, the way his stomach was twisted into a knot so tangled, he wasn’t sure where it began or ended. It was the first thing he’d felt since he got the call that he’d been traded two days ago.

Two days since his dad’s funeral, and his final time with Alex and somehow, it felt like a lifetime. He hadn’t even had a chance to return home to New England to get his stuff before he was required to check in with the Barons. Not uncommon in these situations.

His meeting with management and the coaching staff had gone fine, and the guys had been friendly and eager and all of that. He’d tried to at least act excited, but he wasn’t sure he’d pulled it off.

They’d wanted him to attend the full team practice today, so they could assess his fitness and see how his knee was doing in action. He’d completed the off-ice conditioning with the team with no issues, going through the motions like a robot, trying not to think of Alex and compare their drills to the ones she’d created for him. Then the coaching staff had requested he attend the optional skate this afternoon, so here he was.

But, the smell of the dressing room was all wrong. The walk to the ice was all wrong. The size and shape of the arena was all wrong.

Then again, maybe he was all wrong.

Just going through the motions was not the best head space to be in, but he couldn’t muster the energy. It was over. There was no way—without a miracle—he was going to win the championship. Not while playing on such a young, inexperienced team. While nothing was impossible, and there was always a small chance the team could rebound next season, it was unlikely.

He’d never get to prove to everyone he wasn’t a massive fuck up. It was already too late to show his dad he’d deserved all that time and energy his dad had put in when he was a kid. And now, he couldn’t even win a championship in his dad’s memory. It had all been such a fucking waste.

“You ready?” Kyle Cameron, the kid sitting next to him, gave him a thump on the shoulder.

“Yup.” Nick pushed to his feet. The weight of his equipment felt right, even if nothing else did.

He and the others here for the skate headed out of the room. The only comforting thing about all of this was stepping on the ice. On the ice, everything else melted into the background, and he felt like himself again.

Just like he’d felt when he was with Alex.

No, no, he was not thinking about that, not right now.

She’d made her choice.

It wasn’t him.

That she’d flown to Nebraska for his dad’s funeral, and let him make love to her—because that’s what it had been, making love. Not scratching an itch or a pity fuck, even though it had been on his bedroom floor, even though they’d been fully clothed, even though a small, secret part of him had hoped it might mean more—it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He’d never be good enough for her.

That hadn’t changed, had actually become clearer with his trade. He understood why she didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a loser. Plain and simple.

The coach blew the whistle. The guys lined up to go over the drills. He forced himself to focus.