“Yeah, well, not everything in life is about being happy,” she says quietly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I prop up on my arm, glaring at her. “No? You think it makes me happy to push through hour after hour of grueling physical therapy? You think I’m happy to limit every single thing I put in my body, every choice I make on and off the ice? No. Sometimes I hate it so much I want to put my fist through a wall, but I do it. You know why? Because happiness isn’t about finding something easy. It’s about finding something that’s worth the pain. What’s worth the pain to you, Genevieve? That’s what you need to figure out.”
Her brow knits in a mix of contemplation and defensiveness, but her response is cut off by a knock at the door.
“What the heck?” she mutters. Strangely, she picks up her phone instead of answering the door and releases an audible groan. “It’s my mom,” she rushes out, slipping from the sheets and reaching for her clothes.
“At the door?” I ask in alarm.
“No, that’s probably Hadley trying to warn me since I didn’t respond to the messages.”
“Gen? You there?” Yep, Hadley. “Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay! Tell her I’ll be right down,” Genevieve calls through the closed door. She jumps up and bounces into her sweatpants. Now’s probably not the best time to tell her how hot she looks in sweatpants and a sports bra but yeah, I’m officially screwed as I harden again just watching her.
“Do you want me to sneak out? This room is what, a twenty-foot drop?” I ask.
Her urgent expression lapses into a grin. “Yeah right. You really think I want to be responsible for breaking your other knee?”
I laugh and swing my legs to the floor to start collecting my own clothes. “Then I guess I’m meeting your mom.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. Why don’t you just stay here while I see what she wants and get rid of her?” Her tone is light, but I see the trepidation behind her forced enthusiasm. Is she concerned for me or her mother? Maybe both? I don’t know her parents, but based on the shitstorm they manufactured for their daughter, I’m not a huge fan. Maybe that’s not fair, but right now I’m not overly concerned with what’s fair.
“Just wait here. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she says, leaning forward for a quick kiss. She lingers close, however, as if she doesn’t want to leave, and I can’t help searching her eyes in the silence. The dread I find in her expression is not something any child should experience in the presence of their parents.
“I’ll come with you,” I say gently. There’s a flicker of relief in her eyes that quickly dissolves into panic.
“No, that’s not a good idea. She’s…” She shakes her head. “Difficult. Judgmental.”
Ah. There it is. I won’t be good enough for their royal daughter. I don’t like that I’m not sure which of us she’s protecting. I’m not entirely certain it’s me.
“Please, Oliver,” she pleads, probably reading my frustration. “It’s not worth the battle with them. I’ll see what she wants and be back in a few minutes.”
“I have to get going anyway,” I mutter. “There’s a game today.”
Despite my resentment, I can’t help but smile at her surprised excitement. “The Trojans? You’re on injured reserve, though, right? Wait, aren’t they playing in Philadelphia tonight?”
Now I’m full-on grinning. “Did you stalk my schedule or are you a legit hockey fan?”
“For your information, I happen to be a huge Trojans fan. I may have even seen your back-to-back shutouts against the Riverstars in the playoffs.”
I lean back on my arms, studying her with renewed interest. “Did you now.”
She blushes and crosses her arms. “I’m not going to fangirl over you, Oliver Levesque, so you can wipe that smirk off your face. Even if you did have a one-point-four-six goals against average in the playoffs. Youngest player ever to post those kinds of numbers.”
My smile expands into a grin, especially when her gaze drops to my bare chest again. I settle back further to give her a better view. Her eyes burn hot for a second before she swipes my shirt off the floor with a grunt. “One-point-four-two, actually.”
“Get dressed, all-star. I’ll be back in a second.”
Like earlier in the day, my wait for Genevieve starts with the best of intentions. But one minute becomes two, two becomes five, and soon I’m staring at the time with a mixture of irritation and concern. I wasn’t kidding that the team plays today, and being on the IR doesn’t mean I flake out on the season. I’ve been sitting through meetings with the coaches and watching film since I woke up from surgery, attending every home game and watching every road game on TV. Tonight we’re playing Philadelphia, considered to be one of the top teams in their conference, in a nationally-televised game. With the time difference, I’ve probably already missed half the first period. Randy has been struggling in net since he replaced me, and I feel compelled to help as much as possible, even if it’s only tips on what I’m seeing. Not that anything would make it okay that I’m out, but this two-and-eight stretch we’re on certainly isn’t helping my mental state. After last year’s playoff run, this was supposed to be my breakout year, the season I established my status among the elite goaltenders of the league. Instead, I’m spending it in the weight room with Carlos.
I push away the dark thoughts, refusing to go there right now, and direct my pacing toward the door. Yes, she told me to wait, but inaction isn’t something I handle well. I currently spend enough time on the sidelines. Besides, they’re parents. How bad can they be? Maybe it’s time they meet someone willing to stand up to any bullshit related to their daughter.
I find my way to
