by Stacey Lynn
Before he can answer, I pull my door closed and back out of their driveway.
By the time I’m at the street, he’s thrown one cigarette into the snow and is digging a fresh one out of the pack.
Three days later, after a loss our second night in Pittsburgh, we win against Dallas.
I don’t score but I block the hell out of the goal for Maddox.
But I play well enough for Coach to lose the concerned look he gave me when I showed up at the arena.
We’re getting ready to board the plane to Charlotte where I’ll head back to my empty home and it’s the last place I want to be.
Somehow, seeing Madison gave me a little bit of what I wanted. Closure, in a form I don’t particularly like and am pissed off about, but there’s a sense of freedom that’s been lifted.
I’m no longer holding her dirty, dark secret as she calls it. Now, hopefully, she can get what she really needs from her family instead of internalizing everything.
I turn to Jason once we’re seated on the plane. “Listen, I know you’ve been gone a while, but—”
“George’s?” he asks and this is why he’s such a damn good friend.
“Yeah. If that’s all right. I could use a night.”
To get it all off my chest. To go home so tired and slightly drunk I fall asleep as soon as I get home.
“I’m here, man. Anytime.”
I hold up my fist and he hits his against mine. “Thanks, man.”
Chapter Eleven
Gigi
I’m worried and it’s stupid. It makes me stupid for being worried, and yet I’ve bitten off more fingernails from nerves in the last few days than I have in years.
Sebastian wasn’t at their game in Philadelphia a few nights ago. Announcers said it was a personal decision made by him and the coach, and that’s all he’d give.
He’s back tonight in Dallas, playing well, and while announcers are speculating during the game on his strange absence considering he’s having one of the best seasons of his career and he doesn’t appear injured, I’m still worried.
Which is what makes me stupid. Also, because I went for a hike yesterday back to Crowder’s Mountain. As if hiking to the top of the peak would make me understand what’s going on with him.
It’s none of my business, but I can’t help it.
I’m crushing on a guy whose marriage is going through a really serious time… I feel as small and icky as a cockroach I squashed outside earlier just thinking about it.
He needs a friend, not a girl who’d strip him down and take advantage of him if given the opportunity.
Not that I’d do that, but I definitely have spent some time imagining it since the hike we went on and he opened up to me.
Still, I’m foolish, being distracted by my libido and his sexy beard when I should be focused on enjoying one of my rare nights off. And this is how silly I am because I’m spending my night off work, at the bar, sitting on the opposite side of where I serve drinks. I’ve watched the game down here because I don’t have a television upstairs and now I’m chomping on some seriously awesome nachos, kicking it with my dad and Steve and surprisingly, there is a rather large crowd of guys about my age near the pool table who look like they’re having their own celebration.
Based on the wrinkled and rolled up dress shirts and collars that have lost their ties and the fact they’re all wearing black suit pants, I’ve placed a bet of fifty dollars one of them just got a promotion… and that they’re all lawyers.
Who else would come here and be uptight, few looking like they’ve had a pool cue shoved up their ass with the way they silently judge the bar’s appearance.
Hell, one or two, curled their lips at my newly dyed hair… platinum blonde with teal streaks.
It’s not my favorite, but it gave me something to do yesterday for a few hours so I didn’t spend more time alone, thinking of Sebastian. It worked, mostly because Mark, my hairstylist at The Color Bar Salon, is hilarious and keeps me laughing when I’m in his chair.
It stopped working when I realized my teal hair matches the Ice Kings team colors.
I changed out my nose ring to a little gold hoop and since it’s my day off and I’m not caring about dressing to impress anyone or help with tips, I have on a pair of peach-colored sweat shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt. I cut off the collar, so it drapes off one shoulder and shows my white bra strap.
Next to me, Steve and Dad are talking about the upcoming election and since we rarely agree on most matters outside believing everyone we meet should be treated with kindness and respect, I’ve left them to it and zoned out to St. Louis playing Minnesota in Minnesota…
Which is where Sebastian is from.
Where his wife ran off to when she left him.
Yeah. I need another drink.
“Dad!” I call out and when he turns to me, I swing my empty glass back and forth. “Any chance I can get another?”
“Better check her ID, George. Girl looks pretty damn young.”
“Shut it, Steve,” I tease the old jerk and stick out my tongue at him.
My dad slides the dirty martini in front of me, laughing. “You’re not driving, are you? I’d have to ask for your keys.”
I slide the glass and coaster close to me and take a sip. “The only driving going on here is you two driving me crazy.”
“It’s a two-drink night,” Dad says, losing his smile. “Everything all right?”
Just trying to forget a man who I have no business liking. Outside the cheap beer I drank a lot of in college because that was all we had, I’ve never acquired a taste for much alcohol. And when I do have some, Dad knows I rarely have more than one. I’m not surprised he’s noticed or that he asks.
“Kicking back and enjoying my night. Leave me alone with your fatherly concern.”
“Never,” he promises and leans forward to kiss my cheek. “Who’s winning?”
“St. Louis, heading into third period, up by one though, and Minnesota just had a great run right before. It’ll be close.”
“Look at you, sounding like you actually care about this stuff now.”
My dad’s teasing smile is laced with concern and I shrug. He knows me well. Better than I know myself, I’m sure of it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to assuage his fears right now. Not when I’m already so confused by my own feelings.
“Nothing else on the screens down here and I’m pretty sure if you turn off sports so I can watch that dating reality show I like, the boys in the back will revolt.”
My dad slides his glance their way, where all six are standing around the pool table, talking and drinking. I don’t know why he bothers. He’s been keeping an eye on them all night.
“Point taken,” he says. “You going to stay down here much longer?”
“Probably until the end of the game. Why? Need to go do something in the back?”
“Nope. It’s your night off anyway.”
“I’m doing just fine. You’re the old man here.”
Steve scoffs at the name calling, and Dad tosses the towel at him.
“Mind your own business,” he calls out, lifting a hand toward me as he heads toward the guys at the tables to clean their empties and see if they want another round.
I turn back to the game and a mindless game on my phone, keeping an eye as Minnesota pulls out the win with one more goal and keeping St. Louis from scoring again.
After it’s done, I switch to a glass of decaffeinated soda, pull up a photo editing app I have on my phone for when I take pictures and don’t have my SLR camera on me, and I get lost in the comfort of the familiar atmosphere and editing photos of my recent walk through Uptown.
It’s getting late, which means I’m still wide awake. The curse of a bartender and my usual night not ending until almost three in the morning. The lawyers… which I end up confirming right before one of them paid their tab and took the fifty bucks from Steve happily… are throwing on suit coats and draining the dredges of
their last beers when the door opens.
“It’s late, boys,” my dad calls out which grabs my attention to the newcomers.
A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s after midnight, which means it is really late. Usually that’s cause for concern. No one starts drinking that late… typically, they come from other places where they’ve either been kicked out or ran out of their own alcohol and too drunk to drive far.
“Never too late for us, is it?”
I recognize that voice. It’s booming, loud, and friendly. My dad’s friendly opener to them should have been my giveaway.
I crane my neck around two of the guys in suits who are sloppily trying to fix their collars and sleeves and see the guys who have walked in.
Sebastian. Jason.
They’re here.
Why are they here?
I’m still leaning back in the stool, both hands gripping the bar when they both spot me and for the first time I inwardly cringe at what I’m wearing.
I look like I’m in my pajamas and they’re dressed in fancy suits.
Of course they are. They probably just hopped off a plane… but why are they here?
“Hey George, Steve.” Jason lifts a hand and says something to Sebastian who nods.
He heads my way and lifts his hand and says my name in passing as he heads toward the back.
“Hey,” I say to Sebastian. For some strange reason, my arms are trembling. I rub them quickly and he follows my movements.
“Cold?”
“Oh. Um. No.”
Warming by the moment with him standing close to me, waiting at the bar while Dad finishes the tabs. “How are you?”
“All right.” One side of his lips curl beneath his beard that’s longer now than it was weeks ago but still nicely groomed. “No. That’s a lie. I’m pretty shitty.”
“Saw your game tonight.”
“Yeah?” I swear that lip curl turns into a smirk. “You watched?”
I point at the television behind the bar that’s now running hockey highlights of all the night’s games. “It’s what Dad had on when I got here.”
“Hmm.”
Dad comes over and Sebastian orders a couple of drinks, brews from Dream Chasers Brewery, a local brewery less than ten miles away. As he takes one, he turns so he’s facing me and then that smile I swear I saw behind his beard grows more noticeable behind his thick hair.
“Nice hair,” he says, and gives my bun a quick tug. “I like the new color. Teal matches my jersey.”
Had I been drinking my soda, I would have sprayed it all over his dress shirt. A furious heat rushes to my throat, up to my cheeks. “I wasn’t aware when I did it.”
That smile falters and his head cocks to the side. “Not a fan of the Ice Kings?”
He’s teasing me. Wow. I haven’t seen the side of him before. My body is still flushed with a strange, unsettling heat that feels like needle pricks deep in my pores.
Sebastian Hendrix is teasing me. Not scowling. Not being rude.
My mind cannot compute this.
“Not really,” I tease back. “Although I think maybe one or two don’t completely suck.”
He shakes his head as soft laughter falls from him. It’s so deep, so beautiful with a bit of gravel to it I almost fall right off my stool.
This is what Sebastian sounds like when he laughs and I want to hear it every day.
“You played well tonight.”
His laugh dims and whatever spark was in his eyes evaporates when he sips his beer.
“Wasn’t my best, but it’s been a hard week.”
I don’t ask why he missed the game. It’s none of my business. Reminding myself of that doesn’t help. The question is burning the tip of my tongue so badly I take a sip of my soda to wash it away.
“Hey Gigi!” Jason calls, sliding up next to Sebastian and grabbing his drink. He gives him a quick thanks, man before tugging on my hair like Sebastian did. “Nice hair. I like it. You working tonight?”
In ripped-up sweats looking like I just pulled them from a balled-up corner of my floor? Which, let’s be honest, that’s definitely where they came from.
“Night off, just came down to hang with Dad.”
“And watch our game,” Sebastian cuts in. “She likes us.”
“Only one or two of you,” I repeat.
“Which one is it outside me?” Jason asks, nudging my shoulder.
I lift my glass to my lips and hide my smile. “How do you know you make the cut?”
“Because I’m awesome.” He clinks his beer bottle to my glass and nods at Sebastian. “Talk. Now. Before I’m too tired to listen.”
“Right.” Sebastian’s lips press out and then roll together. He gives me a look that makes my heart squeeze painfully tight in my chest. “See you later?”
It sounds more like a question than a statement that I’m thrown. So I’m laughing pretty stupidly, trying not to hyperventilate at his nearness and his smile and his everything, that I end up choking out, “You know where I live.”
He smiles, shakes his head and follows Jason to a booth table on the other side and I turn back to the bar, dropping my forehead into my hand.
You know where I live? What kind of response was that?
Stupid, Gigi. Stupid.
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian
You know where I live.
Was that a tease? A taunt? An invitation?
A year ago, hell, months ago, I probably wouldn’t be questioning Gigi’s remark as I follow Jason to the booth. A month ago, I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it.
And yet, now, I’m remembering that tie-dyed psychedelic blanket thing hanging on her walls. The haphazardly stacked books all over the place. The canvases she’d started telling me about and the floors so covered in clothes I’m still unsure what color the wood is on her bedroom floor.
The bedroom… where I slept.
Passed out.
Whatever.
“So,” Jason says. “Tell me what happened.”
With Gigi? How does he know? It takes me a second to catch up and realize he’s talking about the trip to Minnesota and not what happened with the bartender.
Which is nothing… outside of passing out at her place and going on a hike with her. Totally innocuous activities.
I take a sip of my drink and kick out how cute her ass looked in those leggings she wore. “I didn’t really want to talk about it, I just didn’t want to go home.”
“Tough shit. I’m not missing out on another night with Tessa only to get drunk.”
Fine. He wants to hear the humiliation of what my marriage… or lack thereof, has become? I’ll tell him.
“Madison left before the holidays. I got served divorce papers on New Year’s. I just — before it’s done done, I needed to try. To make sure it couldn’t be saved. Or something. Maybe I just needed to say goodbye.” I take a drink of my beer to rinse away the vile taste in my throat. “You know I told you last fall we were having a hard time? That we were trying to get pregnant and it wasn’t working?”
“I remember.”
“Well in December we did more tests, and we found out the problem isn’t only Madison, but us together were going to make it pretty much impossible.” His brows furrow and God, I hate this. I’d rather choke on someone else’s spit than admit my guys don’t work right. “Doctor said I have issues, too, which would make getting pregnant pretty difficult even if everything was working correctly with Madison.”
“Shit.” He takes his own drink and grimaces. “That, that sucks, and I’m not blaming you. I get how that’d be hard to manage, but you didn’t have to hide it all, either. Not from all of us.”
“I know, but how do I walk into practice and announce, hey everyone, I’m sterile.” I laugh, but it’s cold and falls flat. Frankly, I could happily live the rest of my life and never have to talk sperm count. “Even with all that, I’m glad I went. She needs help and I hope her family can get it for he
r.”
“Help?”
This is the one thing I’ve always held back. From everyone until I briefly alluded to it in the locker room last week. No one can possibly understand what it’s like to watch your wife spiral downward, for days, weeks at a time sometimes, refusing to see someone for it. And every time I mentioned it, she grew angry.
I’m unsure if the infertility caused her depression or possibly exasperated something she never sought help for previously but either way, I’m hoping the parting words I shot to Ben the other night stuck.
I explain it all to Jason, through more beers George delivers when our first ones grow close to empty.
Jason responds with surprise, end-capped by curse words. He shakes his head at the appropriate moments. It feels good to get it off my chest. To finally share. Talking to Coach and him the other night was barely the tip of the iceberg. Seeing Madison looking so completely distraught and destroyed was the worst.
I have no doubt she means what she says about us being over.
Now, I’m not sure how to proceed with that. How do you let go of the only woman you’ve ever loved, who truly, disappeared before your eyes years ago? I meant what I said to her. Marriage was a commitment. Through the worst of times. And we certainly had our unfair share of those.
But don’t I also deserve to have the best?
Even if it’s without the woman I thought and wanted to be my forever?
It’s not something I’ve ever pictured, ever imagined, but it’s not like I can truthfully admit our marriage was a good one for years.
“I wish you would have said something earlier,” Jason says when I take a break, but really, I’m done.
What else is there to say?
“Why? So the whole team would have hated her less?”
“We didn’t—”
I lift a hand to stop him. I don’t have the energy for any more lies. Intentional or otherwise.
“You did. At least some of you did, and I get it. She changed. I changed. It’s just such a huge goddamn mess I can’t describe, and she wanted it to stay private… but it’s over. The divorce papers say sixty days.”