Which, by the way . . . when is that going to be?
She’s awake, I know that.
Could she be in the bathroom again? Could she be . . . airing out? winces Don’t want to disturb that process.
But what if she’s feeling sick again?
Maybe I should go check on her.
Errrr, but what if she’s changing or something? Or taking a shower?
Walking in on her doing anything like that might absolutely abolish any of our forward progress, especially after the fart text. I’d better just stay put and wait for her to emerge.
Checking highlights from yesterday on my phone, I note that the Polar Freeze are doing annoyingly well this year, and they are a force to be reckoned with. They arrive in a few days for a game, and I know there will be bloodshed out on the ice. I’d say they’re our biggest rivals because many of us have a history with the players on the team.
Me in particular.
I played with a guy in the American Hockey League, Remi Gasper. Fuck, I hated him so much, and the feeling was . . . is mutual. We have never gotten along.
Hell, I haven’t told anyone this ever, but the night Holden Holmes passed away, Halsey’s twin, we were out at the bars enjoying a few beers when Remi walked in. Seeing him immediately made me turn red. The guy plays dirty on the ice and will try to get away with everything. That night was no exception. He was making cheap shots at us, saying some bullshit things about our skills, and having no ability to let the insults roll off me, we got into it. Words were said, fists were thrown, and before I knew it, we were kicked out of the bar. Holden wasn’t a part of it, though. He kept away from the fight and ended up staying at the bar. A few short hours after, he got in his car accident. Had Remi and I not fought, there’s no doubt in my mind that Holden wouldn’t have chosen to drive home that night . . .
Fuck.
Just thinking about it makes me sick as Holden and I were pretty close. I still live with the guilt over that night, another feeling I work on with my therapist.
After that, I was hoping Remi would have some career-ending injury, but instead, he’s a defenseman for the Polar Freeze. Every time we’re on the ice together, cheap shots are thrown, and a guaranteed fight will break out. The fans, of course, eat it up. I fucking dread it.
I’m knee-deep in checking out highlights from the Freeze’s game last night when I hear a throat clear from down the hall. I look up from my phone and spot Penny wrapped up tightly in a fluffy, floor-length robe, long plaid pants, and from what I can barely see, a high-neck shirt. The only skin showing is her hands and face. Even her feet are covered by black slippers. We’re a long way from that hot-pink dress.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” I ask.
“Fine.” She pushes her toe into the floor, not making eye contact with me. “I, uh, I see that you have your phone.”
Oh shit, she figured it out.
“I do,” I say. How should I navigate this? Should I tell her I read the texts? Should I act like they never happened? I know one thing is for sure . . .
Don’t.
Fucking.
Laugh.
No matter how hard you want to. Do not laugh.
Also, don’t ask about Dr. Big Pecs.
“I see.” She moves a step forward. “Have you, uh, have you had your phone all morning?”
“I have,” I answer.
“Sure, of course you have.” Another step forward. “Did you happen to receive any text messages this morning?”
Now what should I do? Play dumb? Or tell her I read everything from the blasting of farts to the man with the pecs? The thought of ignoring it all is really appealing, but I don’t think she will believe me. Plus, we said we should be honest with each other. So I guess we’ll be breaking the ice this morning.
“I did receive some text messages. Some informative ones.”
Her lips purse together as her hands join in front of her, fidgeting.
“Did they happen to be from me?”
Solemnly, I nod. “I’m afraid they were.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a harsh breath. “Excuse me, I need to go stick my head in the toilet and wish this never happened.” She turns to head back to the bedroom, but I’m out of my chair in no time and stopping her from moving forward.
“Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing that you should be sticking your head in a toilet over, that’s for sure.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Really? You don’t think anything was embarrassing at all about those text messages?”
The corner of my lips pull, tugging, desperately attempting to make me smile, but I don’t allow it. Keep it the fuck together.