Back to Me

by Lindsay Paige

  My phone rings in my pocket with a call from Meredith’s mother, Hope.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Noah, hey. How are you?”

  “Good. How are you?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Worried. I was calling to tell you that my daughter has apparently lost her mind. I tried to reach you earlier, but got your voicemail. Meredith is in Raleigh. She texted me this morning, saying she needed to get away, and that she was flying down there. She’s been miserable since she’s been home, Noah. Absolutely miserable. I don’t know why she’s there or if she’ll reach out to you, but I wanted to tell you in case you wanted to get in contact with her. Just in case she needs help, at least.”

  “I actually caught the same flight home that she was on. I came to visit Ashley.”

  “Oh, of course. I need to call to congratulate her on that beautiful baby.” She briefly pauses. “So, you talked to her? How is she? Is she staying with you? Did she say more about why she was there? I’m worried about her, Noah.”

  “Me too. She only told me the same thing she told you. She wouldn’t give me many details when we talked. She’s at a hotel right now. I offered her the spare bedroom here, but she wouldn’t stay. I let her borrow my car, though. I’m going to try to talk her into having dinner with me.”

  “Good. She hasn’t texted me since she left for the airport. Did you get her number? She changed it once her engagement was called off.”

  “No, I didn’t. Hold on a sec.”

  She waits as I pull up my contacts and then she gives me Mere’s new number.

  “Keep an eye on her, Noah, please. I don’t know what’s happened because she won’t talk about it. She used to tell me everything. Anyway, I’m hoping she went to Raleigh to see you. Maybe she’ll let you in since she’s shutting everyone else out.”

  I won’t tell her that she’s shut me out so far. “I’ll try, Hope. I’ll do my best.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “You still love her, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I love the girl I knew, at least. I loved her so powerfully that I’ve been hoping she’d be mine again one day. However, I’m not sure if that girl is still there or if I’ll fall in love with the ways she’s changed since the last time I was with her.

  “Good, because I think she needs someone to love her, truly love her, not like that ass she was engaged to. Between you and me, I never did like him, but that’s beside the point. Call Meredith and have dinner with her.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  Not that it does any good. She doesn’t answer when I call. Knowing she hates voicemails, I decide not to leave one, but to text her the reason I’m calling.

  Me: Just wanted to ask you to dinner. Please say you will.

  When she doesn’t respond right away, I grab my duffel bag from where I dropped it by the door when I left to run after Meredith. I unpack and start a load of laundry. I have a few days until training camp starts, but I’ll be hitting the rink for some unofficial ice time. I’m so ready for the start of the season, which is looking promising.

  The Carolina Rebels last won the Cup thirteen years ago. Last year was the first since then that the team made the playoffs. The timing couldn’t have been any better. It seemed like the Rebels were losing fans by the handful, only the extremely faithful and loyal sticking around. There would be numerous empty seats every game. Sometimes, when the crowd was large, it was because we were playing a popular team. Those games would bring out more of our fans, but also a lot of the opposing team’s fans.

  Us not only making the playoffs, but fighting hard in the first round and going seven games, has to pay off with attendance this season. If not, oh well. That’s not really my concern, but having our own fans support us would be nice. It’s only my second season with the Rebels, and I’m definitely looking forward to it. I wasn’t so sure I’d truly be happy here when I learned of my trade. It’s worked out well so far, though.

  Hockey aside, I definitely wouldn’t mind finishing out my career here. I love North Carolina, humidity and all. The weather is great. Hot in the summer and cold in the winter, although the cold is different here than back home in Pittsburgh. My first year as a Rebel has been great in many ways, so if we can become a contending team again, that would be even better, would definitely make me want to stay here even more.

  I’ve finished all my laundry, including putting it away, when my phone dings with a text.

  Meredith: Sorry, I took a nap and then I had to call my mom. I’m starved. Dinner better be good.

  Me: It will be because I’m cooking. Do you want me to come get you or do you want to drive back here?

  Meredith: I’ll drive. Give me enough time to shower first.

  I get started on our spaghetti dinner. I’m kind of surprised she’s accepting my offer, and I wonder if her talking to her mom had anything to do with it. Either way, I don’t care. She’s coming and that’s enough to make me happy. One big “what if” keeps circulating in my mind as I cook.

  What if she does want me back?

  We obviously can’t pick up where we left off, but could we salvage what we had to start another relationship? Do I want that?

  Who am I kidding? That’s a stupid question.

  This is Meredith Quick we’re talking about.

  Her name is forever inked on my chest.

  My feelings for her haven’t diminished in the least.

  I need to stop thinking about it before I get my hopes up for nothing. The last thing I want is for the one woman I’ve wanted to be in my life to reject me once again.

  I’m mixing the noodles in with the sauce when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I call. “Can you grab the garlic bread from the oven?”

  “Sure.” I hear her set her things down before she grabs a nearby potholder and pulls out the pan. “Smells good,” she comments. “I hope it tastes as good.”

  “It will.”

  We’re quiet as we fix our plates and drinks and then sit down at my table. Mere wastes no time tackling her first topic of choice.

  “So, Mom called you.”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “She was worried about you and she wants me to keep an eye on you, be here if you need me.”

  She watches me for a moment before picking up her glass. “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  That seems to be an acceptable answer. “What happened with your girlfriend?”

  “Ex-girlfriend,” I correct. “She left after you did.”

  “Ex?” she questions. Is that hope in her tone? “Why? How long were you together?”

  “Only since May. We argue more than anything else. I was planning to do it once I returned. Why are you here, Meredith?” That’s a way better topic than Erica.

  She feigns innocence as she answers with a dubious look, “You invited me for dinner, Noah.” I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “Can’t we just have dinner first? Talk about hockey or something. Or we don’t have to talk at all.”

  I can give her a few more minutes of peace. “What about hockey?”

  “Tell me about your career. I...I didn’t follow you, but Mom would tell me when you were traded to a new team.”

  Not going to lie, that stings. I’m not prepared at all to hear that when she left, she wasn’t curious enough to learn more about my life than that. Mostly because I definitely followed her career. Maybe a bit obsessively. I kept up with her matches and got those alerts to have any articles mentioning her sent to my email. I always knew what was going on, and she only knew when I moved? The hurt must show on my face.

  “It was too difficult, Noah,” she explains quietly. “If I was to truly leave you behind, then I couldn’t allow that indulgence. I’m hoping to finally see you play a game this season, though.” Her tone turns hopeful. “How is it different than when I last saw you play?”

  “It’s more physical and the arena is bigger. I could probably give you a tour some time.”

&nbs
p; “I’d like that. I’ll help.”

  She stands to help me put the leftovers away and to place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Once done, I lead her into the living room. Dinner is over and it’s time for her to talk. We sit next to each other on the couch. Meredith pulls one leg up as she turns to face me.

  “Talk to me, Mere,” I urge.

  She bursts into tears, a sob ripping from her throat. Without thinking about it, I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her. I barely have time to take a second to appreciate the fact that she’s in my arms before she starts blubbering her story with her head on my shoulder.

  “Everything’s wrong, Noah. I had a plan and it all blew up in my face. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t play tennis and might never get back to that point. I didn’t finish college. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how to, or if I can, recover from this. What if I have to retire? Even my backup plan has gone to shit. I can’t coach if I can’t even play or demonstrate. I can’t get a good job if I don’t have a degree, not that I would even know what I want to do. I was supposed to play until I was ready to retire and then start coaching or something. I was supposed to get married and,” she chokes as she continues, “have kids.”

  She lifts her head to look at me. “I was even thinking about reaching out to you, but then I met Vance and...” Meredith shakes her head. “When I look back and try to figure out how I messed up, how my plans got so screwed up, I keep thinking it’s because I walked away from you. I don’t regret that so much as I should’ve come back to you sooner. Then none of this might’ve happened.

  “God, I really am pathetic,” she says, wiping her tears away harshly as she tries to move from my lap. I hold her firmly in place; no way in hell is she leaving me. “I’m crying and freaking out because nothing worked out the way I wanted. I’m practically worthless now. If my shoulder doesn’t recover, then I don’t have a job or a plan for the future, and I’m so lost it hurts. I hurt. I hurt in so many unimaginable ways, Noah. Am I crazy for thinking you can make me better?” she finishes, holding her breath as she stares at me and waits for an answer.

  I cup her face. It’s unbelievable to think she’s here with me, in my lap, in my arms. “No,” I reply softly. “You’re not crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy, worthless, or pathetic,” he tells me firmly, but in the back of my mind, I hear Vance convincing me that I am. “You can get through this, Mere. You just need a new plan, or to go with the flow for once.” When my jaw drops at the absurdity of that idea, he laughs. “There’s the Meredith I know.”

  I slap his shoulder. “This is serious, Noah. What am I going to do?” My voice cracks with my question. “I’m going through all of this PT, but for what? There’s still a long road ahead of me, and who’s to say I’ll be able to play at the end of it?”

  “Why don’t you wait and find out? It sounds like you’re already giving up.”

  I am, but with good reason. “My shoulder doesn’t feel right. I doubt I’ll be able to play again,” I whisper, hating the words and hating that I’m even admitting it’s a legit option. “The strength isn’t there anymore. Hell, I’m too scared to even try and find out if everyone is right about my career being over.” And I mean everyone has told me it’s over.

  “That day is coming for all athletes, Meredith,” Noah gently tells me, like that might make me feel better. It doesn’t. Not at all.

  “It’s too soon,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t understand. He should! It would be a long road if he were to get injured and then have to slowly work his way back. Everyone knows that the longer you don’t play, the harder it is to get back to where you were. The difference for me is that I’m so discouraged with how things have turned out so far that I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to get back to that point. I’m nowhere near where I should be with my recovery. Not to mention that I’m losing my mind in the meantime. To distract myself, I play with the hair at the base of his neck.

  “Why didn’t you finish college?” he asks.

  “I was busy and it started to feel like a hassle, so I took a break. I never went back to finish.”

  He nods like he understands. “I ended up taking classes over the summer to finish my degree. You can go back to school.”

  “Why? To get a degree to coach a game I might not be able to play? I probably don’t even have that much in me.”

  “Hey.” He uses his thumbs to wipe away two fresh tears. “You don’t have to figure it out right this second. It’s too late to start this semester anyway. Think about what you might want to go back for, if you want to at all. Get a job in the meantime if you want.” Noah lets his hands slide down my neck, over my shoulders, and down to my hands, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Think you can do one of those?”

  “Yeah.” He’s right. I don’t have to know right this very second, but I’ve been trying to figure it out since I came home and I’m still no closer to an answer. I need to be prepared for the biggest “what if” I’ve ever faced in my life.

  “Now,” he takes a deep breath, “what happened with your engagement?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing we could skip over that entirely. Where’s Noah’s skill for changing the subject when I need it? His brown eyes are waiting patiently when I reopen mine. “He left me,” I say simply.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you need to know? That’s not my issue,” I semi-lie. Vance is partly the issue, but not in the way Noah probably thinks. I got over my broken engagement months ago. It was what happened during and soon after the engagement that I’m struggling with.

  “Really? Then you’ve talked about what happened with your mother?” My silence is answer enough for him. “Tell me.”

  “You want to know?” I ask, unable to keep skepticism from my voice. I certainly don’t care to hear about any relationships he’s been in since I’ve been gone. I might’ve walked away, but I can’t stand the thought of him being with anyone else.

  “No, I don’t, because it kills me to think the girl I’ve always wanted was so close to never being mine again. I want you to talk about it, though, so I don’t mind listening.”

  My forefinger begins to trail over his shirt where the letters of my name are hidden. I wish I could see it again. It’s not just some black script; it’s my handwriting. He had me write my name for the tattoo artist because he didn’t want a random, generic font. I don’t want to tell Noah the full truth, not yet at least, which means I need to figure out what I’m going to say.

  “Mere?”

  I lift my eyes to his. “He loved me, but he wanted a wife he didn’t need to take care of, a wife who was independent and self-sustaining. It seemed clear to him that I needed to retire, which left me with no immediate new plan, so I was leaning on him too much. The ugly side of him started to show and our relationship fell apart. He left me soon after.” There. That’s mostly the truth.

  Noah analyzes me for a moment. “The ugly side of him? Did he hit you?” Already, there’s an underlying current of rage waiting to be unleashed if I say yes.

  “No,” I rush to say. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then explain that part to me.”

  “He was mean sometimes, that’s all.” Never had he spoken so viciously to me as he had in the final month of our relationship. It was as if all the stress I was feeling transferred to him and turned him into a sharp-tongued bully.

  Noah’s eyes widen slightly. “Those words you said earlier, pathetic and worthless, he said that to you, didn’t he?” I shrug and Noah curses under his breath. He takes a ragged breath, cupping my face again. “Why are you here, Mere?” When I pull my brows in, he adds, “I want you to say it. I want you to tell me the exact reason.”

  Before I can realize that I am in fact crazy, I whisper, “Because I want to be with you again.”

  I barely have time to inhale before his lips are on mine. Time has changed us in many ways, but none
so apparent as with his kiss. Before, I was kissing a teenager. Now? With the hard pressure of his lips, the expert force of his tongue as he pushes open my mouth, and how he steals my breath as his own, I’m definitely kissing a man. One who has been deprived of my air for far too long.

  Noah groans when I nip his lower lip, sliding his tongue back into my mouth. Everything seems to happen quickly when I moan as his hands fall to grasp my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist and moves us to lie on the couch. With one foot braced on the floor, his knee between my legs, he grabs the back of his collar and pulls off his shirt.

  This body was not nearly as fit then as it is now. Those abs probably go on for days. I lean forward to press a kiss to my name. My fingernails lightly scratch down his chest and then I fumble with the button of his jeans.

  Noah grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. He quickly unhooks my bra from the front and leans down; his mouth is giving plenty of attention to one of my breasts. What was I doing again? Oh, yeah. Trying to unbutton his shorts. It becomes like a race to shimmy out of our shorts. A condom seems to appear from thin air and then he’s pushing into me with a moan from me and an under-his-breath curse from him.

  One thing is for certain.

  Noah in the flesh is better than any memory or fantasy.

  We’re lying on his couch, naked and satisfied, with only the blanket from the back of the couch covering us. Noah is running his fingers through my hair and placing a kiss on the top of my head every few seconds. His chest lurches once with his chuckle.

  “You know, of all the times I’ve pictured where I’d fuck you if you were to come back to me, none of them were on this couch.”

  I laugh. “Then where?”

  “Against the door or in my bed. My bed is so much better than the one I had at my parents’ house or in my dorm at college.”