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  “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

  “I know!” he grits with frustration. “It’s fucking stupid because there wasn’t anything of substance about our conversation and the sex was in my fucking truck and way too short. What is there to continue thinking about? But I’ll be damned if those hazel eyes aren’t haunting me every chance they get. I swear, if I ever see that woman again, she’s not going to be able to run away from me.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  We make our way back to the apartment where we find Meredith trying to fluff her wet hair. I’m surprised she’s ready. Why couldn’t she be that fast back in high school? We’d have more time to make out. She puts Leo in his crate and then we’re leaving for a fun dinner, where I notice her absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder often.

  It makes me think I was right. She’s been getting back into the groove of training and her body just can’t handle it anymore. If she keeps on, she’s going to do more harm to her shoulder. At some point, I’m going to have to mention it to her.

  Based on our last conversation, I’m dreading when the time comes for that. It’s there in the back of my mind that an argument over how I think she should stop her training and officially retire could possibly be disastrous to our relationship. Anxiety begins to build inside me. Meredith left me to pursue her career.

  Who’s to say she won’t do it again when I tell her I disapprove of her trying to make her comeback? She’s so damn determined to try. She’s made a decent enough attempt and it’s not working. This stays on my mind into the next morning. When Meredith leaves for her PT session, I call the therapist I referred her to.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, this is Noah Ramsey; I sent Meredith Quick to you.”

  “Oh, yes. How can I help you?”

  “Are you able to tell me anything about her sessions?”

  There’s a brief pause. “Your name is listed as someone I can discuss her progress with, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. She hasn’t been to a session in two weeks.”

  Fuck. “Does she have an appointment with you this morning?”

  “No.”

  Damn it! “Based on working with her, do you think her shoulder can handle her returning to play professionally?”

  The woman clears her throat. “No. I told her this as well. She can do a few things, but if her shoulder could handle her playing pro again, her PT would have ended by now. Frankly, I think she could use some more sessions. If she starts trying to get back into shape and ready to play, she’s going to damage her shoulder more. What strength she’s recovered will start to disappear and she’ll start having issues again.”

  “Thank you for answering my questions.”

  “No problem.”

  We hang up and my worrying expands greatly. She’s stopped attending PT. She’s probably training instead. Somehow, I’m going to have to bring this up to her at some point. I just hope I don’t lose her when I do.

  Friday is here before I know it. Aside from hockey, I spent time with Leo while Meredith was at work and sneaking off to train. Once, I went to a tennis match and watched those girls play hard. It was fantastic to watch Meredith in her element. I’m really hoping I can convince her to offer private lessons. She can do that, even if she doesn’t play. I wish she’d agree to do that and start obsessively planning how she would do it. It would be a relief to watch her plan things again.

  That is such a huge part of Meredith’s personality. She would even try to plan things for me when we were together in high school. That was one of her reasons as to why I shouldn’t get her name tattooed on my chest. She thought I was being impulsive and that freaked her out just as much as if it was her who woke up and wanted to get my name tattooed onto her body.

  There was nothing impulsive about it. Well, there was a little bit. The difference is any impulsive decisions I make are based on my gut reaction, which usually pays off. Meredith often makes impulsive decisions because she’s scrambling for a short-term solution to make her feel better. Like coming here and then getting Leo. Luckily, those paid off for her.

  Tonight, we’re playing a team from Texas. It’s going to be a tough matchup. Meredith is supposed to leave practice to have dinner with Sylvia and Theresa before coming here and catching a ride home with me. I’m glad she’s making friends with some of the women. She’s enjoyed taking a photo of us every other day for my social media thing, too, sometimes posting on her own instead. They’re trying to talk me into Twitter, but I keep saying no. One account is enough for me right now.

  Pregame rituals are soon over and we’re standing on the ice, waiting for the national anthem to be sung. I bend my head with my eyes closed as if in prayer. For a brief moment, a touch of guilt plagues me. Being able to stand on a slab of ice with the logo of a pro team in the middle, with that same logo on my chest, is a dream come true for me. Every time I put on clothes with such a logo on, be it a uniform, a hoodie, T-shirt, or gym shorts, a thrill runs through me. It never gets old.

  Meredith doesn’t have this.

  My guilt dissipates knowing she’s found an alternative that makes her equally happy, even though she’s clinging on to her pro career.

  The moment that last note begins to fade, my mind turns to hockey and my job. It’s like a cue for my body to start pumping adrenaline. The crowd roars as we prepared for the center ice face-off. Admittedly, there’s a lot of green, but there seems to be an equal amount of navy as well. It’s a fast game right off the bat with us going from one end to the other and back, chasing whoever has the puck.

  Unfortunately, our speed isn’t very fast, especially not compared to the opposition. I take a seat on the bench since my shift has ended and two seconds later, I see Savage scrambling to get back into position. It takes him a second too long. The puck bounces, wobbling from side to side and dances across the red line.

  Down one-zero.

  Not a great start.

  THE GAME DIDN’T start well and it continues to go poorly. The other team is just better. Noah doesn’t really deserve his nickname tonight. He’s getting rammed way more than the other guys. There’s sure to be some bruises popping up tomorrow.

  During the second intermission, I get a call from an unfortunately familiar number.

  Vance.

  Seeing his number makes me close my eyes and sigh.

  “You okay?” I hear Sylvia ask.

  “Yeah, I just need to take this.” I stand and walk into the hallway. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” he says.

  “What do you want, Vance?”

  “I feel terrible.”

  “You should,” I curtly respond. “You didn’t need to call and tell me that.”

  He sighs. It’s a sigh I know well. Funny how he can go from feeling terrible to being agitated by me. “I’m trying to be nice.”

  “I don’t need you to be nice, Vance. You broke up with me simply because I was going through the hardest time in my entire life at that point. Then, when I came to tell you something you should know, you called me a liar because you were so far up your own ass that I just had to be lying. You should feel terrible and guilty and downright disgusted with yourself. I’m sorry if I can’t manage to conjure any sympathy for you and your actions.”

  “Maybe I was wrong—”

  “Maybe?”

  “But you should’ve told me what happened instead of having me hunt you down to find out.”

  My spine straightens and I wish he was here, so I could punch him. There’s a touch of hysteria in my tone from the fury beginning to consume me. “I was supposed to tell you about something you didn’t even think was real? Are you kidding me? As far as you were concerned, there was no baby, so why would I tell you that you got your fucking wish?”

  “I didn’t wish the baby didn’t exist,” he says, but I interrupt him again.

  “Bull. Shit. You said you didn’t want anything to do with my fake baby.” The last part comes out in a vehement whisper because som
eone is walking by.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Now, Vance, now you don’t mean it. You sure as hell meant it when you packed my bags and kicked me out. I’m wish I could say I’m sorry that you grew a conscience, but I’m not. I hope the guilt eats you alive and swallows you whole. You deserve it.” I hang up and walk back to Sylvia before I have a chance to feel guilty about it.

  The third period has started, and we’re down four to one. At least the guys seem to have their legs under them now. I don’t know how much good it’ll do them, but anything can happen.

  “Are you okay?” Sylvia asks.

  I give her a false smile. “I’m fine.”

  She studies me for a moment before resuming the topic we were discussing. “So, a group of us is planning a charity fashion show for the end of January. Do you want to be involved? It’ll be on a Saturday night. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but you can be as involved as you want to be.”

  My first instinct is to say no. I should be ashamed of myself. What kind of person says no to helping out with a charity event? But if it is on a Saturday, then I don’t have to worry about interference with my job. In the back of my mind, I’m also thinking of how I don’t know what I’ll be doing then. However, Sylvia said I don’t have to get too involved.

  “Sure,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “Just tell me how I can help, and I’ll do my best.”

  Practically the only friend I have smiles big. “Awesome! It’s going to be so much fun. We’ll wear clothes we have to return and get our makeup and hair done professionally. It’ll be great.”

  She goes on to explain what has already been accomplished. The game ends without any additional goals being scored. Sylvia heads out early since she needs to go home to the twins. A few of the other wives leave, so I don’t have anyone to talk to. Sylvia and Theresa are are only two who have befriended me so far. Sylvia is definitely the most friendly of the bunch, though.

  My mind wanders to my conversation with Vance. Why do I feel bad about what I said? I can’t be that nice of a person. Everything I said was true. Maybe now that he’s let me know he feels bad and is mad that I didn’t tell him sooner, he can move on without needing to contact me again.

  “Mere?”

  I jump at the sound of Noah’s voice, turning in my seat to see him as he leans down to kiss me. “Hey.” I smile once he pulls away.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” I stand and take the hand he holds out. “Sorry about the rough game.”

  “They happen,” he replies simply. “What were you thinking about? Before I got your attention?”

  “Vance called me.” His hand reflexively squeezes mine, so I decide to continue before he can get riled up. “He said he felt terrible, I got mad and said some things, he said I should’ve told him sooner, and I told him he deserved all the guilt he felt and hung up. It’s bothering me for some reason.”

  Noah stops us from walking just before we reach the elevator. “If he happens to call again, ignore him. You officially have no reason to be in contact with him and he you. Don’t let it bother you. What’s happened happened. You’re here, you’re with me, and we’re moving forward; that’s all you need to focus on.”

  I roll my eyes to lighten the suddenly serious air between us. “I didn’t need that reminder, Noah. I was just answering your question.”

  He presses the button for the elevator while letting go of my hand to sling it low around my waist. He squeezes. “I know what you were doing, and you did need the reminder because you said it was bothering you.” The doors open and we step into the elevator. “Catch me up on your day,” he says, making me smile at his ability to change the subject.

  “Dinner was good. Sylvia decided to wait until the last minute to ask me to help out with the charity fashion show the women are putting together.”

  “Are you going to help?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  My answer gets me a smile. “Good.”

  “Sylvia said you would be there.”

  “Yeah, they’ll make us go.”

  I laugh as we step off the elevator. “Make you? You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “It’s not; just saying it’ll be strongly suggested we go. There’s three things that will bring all the guys together: hockey, a party, and something for charity. No one will mind attending.”

  That relieves me. It’s almost like I’m three years old and can’t do anything without someone doing it with me. At that age, it was one of my parents. Now, it’s Noah. With this instance, at least.

  “How was PT?” he asks once we’re on the way home.

  His question shouldn’t make me uneasy, but it does. PT would probably be fine if I’d have gone. “I didn’t go. I’m finished with it.” Which is true because I’m done with it, whether or not the therapist thinks so or not.

  “So, what’s the plan now?”

  “To keep training and get back into shape.”

  “Is that a realistic plan? You’ve been rubbing your shoulder a lot lately. The PT thinks you can handle it?”

  “Of course,” I lie.

  “Mere,” Noah starts and it sounds like he’s controlling his anger. I glance over at him to see a clenched jaw and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t lie to me. I know it has to be hard to realize it’s time to retire, but you need to reach that point. There is no use in making your shoulder worse, to skip your PT sessions, and then to lie to me about it. Your shoulder has been bothering you because you’re pushing yourself for something that isn’t going to happen.”

  “You don’t know that! If there’s a chance, I should try.”

  “But there’s not a chance, Mere!” he fires back. “You’ve regained some strength in your shoulder, but it’s still too weak to deal with what it takes to play professionally. You know this because you’ve been in pain. I’ve seen you rub it and take pain relievers when you don’t think I’m paying attention. It’s time to officially retire.”

  “How do you even know I’m skipping?” I ask to avoid thinking about what he said.

  “Because I called and talked to the physical therapist when I first noticed you rubbing your shoulder. And let me say that I’m thrilled you chose to hide it and lie about it.”

  “What if it was you? What if—” He doesn’t even let me finish.

  “If it was time, I’d walk away, and I damn sure wouldn’t lie to my future wife about it.”

  Finally, I shut up. He doesn’t know what he’d do, considering he hasn’t faced that kind of decision yet. I’m done talking about it. It’s not his decision to make whether I retire or not. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have lied to him. I knew that the moment I first did and immediately felt guilty about it. But this has to be my decision and I’m not ready to make it.

  That’s seriously what it comes down to.

  I’m not ready to let my career go. I’m not ready, and the thought of officially making that decision scares me a hell of a lot more than the thought of injuring my shoulder more.

  The last thing I want or need is for Noah to start pushing me.

  We’re silent the rest of the way home. The first thing I do when we get there is get Leo and take him for a walk. Come Monday, I’m calling my coach and bringing him here. My shoulder is fine. Yeah, it hurts and I’ve noticed some numbness, but if I miss any more time, it’s going to be worse than it already is.

  The longer I’m out, the harder it will be to return. I need to do that one last thing before I can accept my fate.

  Where all I’m able to do is be an assistant coach or offer private lessons.

  How can I give up on what’s been my life’s purpose? On what I gave Noah up to pursue? Our time apart might as well be a waste if this is how my career ends. How do I accept defeat? I just can’t wrap my mind around it. Impulsively, I go ahead and text my coach. It would be a relief that he responds right away if not for the message.

  Coach: It’
s been so long, I assumed you were unofficially retired. Updates from your PT in Pittsburgh said it was unlikely you could return. Has something changed?

  I sigh as I walk back in the apartment.

  “Are you leaving?” Noah asks from the couch. He looks like hell. What happened while I was walking Leo?

  “Why would I?” I unhook him from his leash.

  “You couldn’t play tennis and be with me last time, so considering I don’t support what you’re doing, I’m assuming you’re going to walk away again. This probably isn’t your ideal place to train anyway.”

  All I can do is stare at him. He knew my game plan was to go back. However, I’ve told him that I want to be with him and that I wasn’t ever walking away again. He insists on ignoring that in instances such as these. His question doesn’t deserve an answer. I pick Leo up and storm into the guest bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

  He has some nerve to ask me that. After all we’ve been through, after everything I’ve told him, he still thinks I’m going to walk away. I’d rather retire than do that!

  “It’s a legit question, Mere,” I hear from the other side of the door as I sit on the edge of the bed, petting Leo.

  “It’s Meredith, and no, it’s not!”

  “Yes, it is,” he opens the door, but doesn’t come in any further. “If you’re going all in on your career again, why wouldn’t I think you’d walk away from me? Especially since I’m telling you I don’t support your decision. I think I have the right to know what I’m facing and what we’re facing. I thought I had you back here with me. There’s a difference between that and long distance. Have you even thought this through? Thought about what it may to do us? To your shoulder? Are you just going to quit at the high school, even though you committed to be there for the year? Are you okay with leaving Kira and the other girls you’re helping? Have you planned this?”