“Thanks,man. Not tonight.”
Becketthad a standing date with the trainer to work out his kinks. No amount oftraining could have prepared him for playing again, and though he’d been suckingwind by the end of the third period, he was improving with each game. Tonighthe’d logged fourteen minutes and had been credited with four hits, in additionto the assist on the winning goal when he’d cooked a puck from the blue line.He’d gotten second star of the game. God, it was good to be out there again! Ifonly he had someone special to celebrate with.
As heworked on the blade, he pictured leaving the locker room and finding Andiewaiting for him, all bright-eyed and smiling her gorgeous smile, dimple andall. Or pulling into a garage, walking into a house carrying a fresh bouquet offlowers, and drawing her into his arms and into the bedroom.
“Stupidfuck,” he muttered to himself. What an exercise in frustration his fantasy was.With no word from her in nearly two weeks, he’d laid off, given it a rest,still clueless as to why she’d dumped him. No, not dumped. Amisunderstanding. But what?
By thetime he’d showered and dressed, he was one of a handful of guys left. Despitethe late hour, fans still braved the damp cold, waiting for their chance at anautograph, a piece of memorabilia, a fuck. As was his habit, he scanned thepuck bunnies—one held a sign for him—and stopped to autograph a few thingsthrust at him by kids, dads, other devotees. The woman with the sign calledout, “Take me home, Beckett!” Another yelled, “Me too!” They were young,pretty, and all looked alike. Not a chance. He offered them a “Have anice night,” shouldering his way past the small crowd to his car.
In theapartment provided for him, he reheated takeout chicken parm and threw back aglass of chocolate milk while he packed for tomorrow’s road trip. They wereheaded out west for a four-game swing. First stop, Denver. He’d arrangedtickets for Andie but hadn’t heard a word. His stomach did a quick jitterbugwhen he imagined seeing her.
By thetime he hit the ice in the Blizzard arena the next night, he knew she wasn’tcoming. With no answer from her, he’d let the tickets go. Locking the burnaway, he played his ass off, and though they lost, it was the best cure heknew. As he exited the arena, three women screamed that they loved him. Youdon’t even fucking know me.
Scrollingthrough his phone on his way to the team bus, he stopped short. A text from Andie,apologizing for the tickets, saying she needed to talk to him. Could he meether tomorrow before he flew out? His gut coiled in a series of knots. Hellyes. Wait. She’d treated him like crap, so hell no.
On thebus, he sent his reply. I’m free after morning skate before the planeleaves. Tell me when and where.
Jesus!Did he stand a chance of solving this … this, whatever it was?
Thatnight, his bed was a thrashing ground with him twisting in the sheets, and itwasn’t because of his teammate’s foghorn snores. His mind churnedquestions—things he wanted to say, things he needed to know—while his stomachchurned acid.
Theirony wasn’t lost on him that, for the first time, he was on the other side ofa breakup, and like the women he’d discarded, he wasn’t sure why he foundhimself there. He just wanted Andie back. What did he have to do? The answerswould come tomorrow. Was he prepared to hear them? What if it was game over? Hewas struck by another incongruity: he’d had to hit absolute rock-bottom, lose everythinghe’d once thought valuable, in order to understand what was trulyprecious. Her. And now that he had the best part of his old life back, she wasgone.
Whycouldn’t he have the game and her?
Thenext morning, the Uber driver let him off in front of Dazbog, where he’d hadthe first of many long conversations with her. He spotted her right away. Shestood by the front door, her dark copper hair glinting gold in the sun, andwhen she locked eyes with him, warmth surged in him. She was dressed like she’dbeen running errands or crawling over some construction site. No makeup, hairpulled back in a wavy ponytail, her petite frame in jeans and a sweatshirt. Herskin was pale, but she was gorgeous. He swallowed hard. Pulse racing, his palmsgrew clammy.
Shegave him a wary look as he approached, but he leaned in and kissed her cheekdespite her flinch.
“Thatbad, huh?” he said.
“Howare you, Beck?” Her voice was clipped, all business. When she bought theirdrinks, he didn’t argue. Instead, he found the quietest corner, relieved theplace was light on customers.
Theysat across from one another, and she dunked a teabag as he slurped his hotbrew.
“Inever congratulated you on your contract,” she began. “How does it feel to berunning with the big dogs again?”
“Woof,”he replied.
Shedidn’t smile.
“Itfeels good being given another shot.” He stared into those beautiful greeneyes, hoping for a reaction to his comment, but couldn’t read what whirredbehind them. “So, Andie, how have you been? We haven’t talked since Vegas.”
Sheshrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Andthe roofing business? How’s that going?” The conversation was beginning tomimic the first one they’d had here.
Hershoulders lowered an inch. “Good. I’m on a learning curve, still getting usedto climbing around on roofs.”
Severalheartbeats dragged into minutes, feeling like hours.
“Sothis is your party. What did you want to talk about?” He took another sip. Thecoffee didn’t sit well, but he needed time to puzzle out what was happening. Hebit back the most important question: What the hell had gone wrong?
Shelooked down at a scratch on the tabletop, studying it with an intensity itdidn’t warrant. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah?Like why you walked out on me without a word?”
Eyeslifted to his; a little storm brewed there. “I didn’t walk out on you. Youwalked out when you rekindled an old relationship the first chance you got. Youjust can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”
Herwords were raw and full of venom, and they stung as if she’d physically slappedhim.
“It’sbeen in my pants since I
