Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(87)

Tink.

When I picture the rest of my life five years down the line, I can’t help but insert her in it. My brain does it automatically. She’s everywhere.

What if I make it to the league? Wake up next to Seraphina before hitting the arena for practice. Come home after and see her again if I’m lucky. Call it a night after a local game and come home to her, or Facetime her from the road.

What if I end up down on the farm team? Pretty much the same, only with a lot less money and fame. Seraphina’s still there.

The longer I play What If, the more one thing becomes painfully clear: I can live with it if my career doesn’t go where I want it to. But I can’t live with not having her.

It’s completely illogical considering we haven’t talked about a future. She’s not even my girlfriend, if we’re being strict about labels. Somewhere along the line, my mind realized that she’s it for me, and now it refuses to accept otherwise.

Then it hits me that a good portion of what’s been stressing me out has nothing to do with hockey at all. I’ve been committing some world-class projection. Because my worst fear isn’t what I thought it was.

It has nothing to do with hockey at all.

It’s losing her.

And like an asshole, I’ve been blowing her off all week for things that not only aren’t her fault, but they also have nothing to do with her. Fuck. What did she want to talk to me about on Saturday? I was too caught up in feeling sorry for myself, and I should’ve told Mark to wait. The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is apologize.

Over the intercom, the flight attendant announces we’ve reached cruising altitude. This means I can put down my tray and pull out my laptop to watch game tape, like I always do.

Instead, I scroll through my photos. I start with the first selfie she ever sent me when I was on the road. Then I keep swiping into the rest. Seraphina naked in my bed, the covers strategically hiding her body. A random mirror selfie I snagged of us brushing our teeth one morning. Another selfie she took of us kissing. A shot of her clutching a cup of coffee outside, her cheeks rosy from the cold. One of her pretending to bite my face the night we went out for dinner at Rouge. Even now, that one makes me laugh.

We look so fucking happy.

Scrolling back, I set the first photo she ever sent me as my wallpaper and lock my phone. Then I hit the side button to keep the backlight on, tracing every single line and detail of her face. Big brown eyes I could get lost in. Plump lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow at the top. A cute little nose that scrunches up when she laughs. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

She’s even more beautiful beneath the surface. Quick-witted and smart. Silly and bold. Caring and patient, even when I don’t deserve it.

As I stare at the picture in my hand, everything clicks. It’s like putting on glasses and seeing things clearly for the first time.

I’m not just falling for her; I’m already there. Have been for a while.

I love her.

That final realization hits hardest of all, and it runs through my head on repeat for the rest of the flight.





CHAPTER 33





ONE IN TWO





SERAPHINA





Monday morning has taken an unnerving turn.

From: [email protected]

Subject: North End Medical Center Patient Portal Update Message: A new test result is available in your patient portal. To view it, click here or download our app here.





Overwhelming nausea barrels into me as I read the email again.

This has to be some kind of technical error. The nurse I spoke to this morning said they don’t give test results of this nature over the phone, and that’s why I received an emailed appointment confirmation over the weekend.

Given that, it makes no sense they’d upload my results onto the internet for someone to see by themselves. Unless this is a good sign. Maybe it means it’s negative. There would be no harm in putting a negative test result up for the patient to see before their appointment, right?

Hands shaking, I navigate into the app and enter my login information. Before the landing page can load, I lose my nerve and swipe out.

I should wait.

My heart thunders in my ears as I stare at the screen. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I know I shouldn’t look, but I won’t be able to accomplish anything until I see that result.

Fifty-fifty.

One in two.

I hold my breath, watching the little rainbow wheel spin around and around as the page loads.

Please be negative. Please be negative. Please be negative.

It’s not.





CHAPTER 34





PRIORITIES





TYLER





The remainder of my flight feels like forty hours instead of four. I text Seraphina when I land, but she doesn’t answer. Again. She hasn’t answered me since last night. I’m well past worried.

Baggage claim takes for-fucking-ever. I low key resent every person whose bag appears before mine on the carousel. My equipment bag finally emerges on the conveyor belt, followed by my luggage. Grabbing it, I turn and haul ass to the parking garage to get my car. As I make the drive home, all I can think of is those last thirty seconds of a shutout when the pressure is more intense than it’s ever been—everything comes down to the final second where you either walk away with the win or get denied that big moment.