Chapter 15
BEN
“Idon’t want to rush you.” Sam’s tone implies that he very much wants to rush me. “But I should remind you that I am a child, so I can’t be here all night.”
I stare at the board, my fingers hovering over a knight, unsure if I’m about to make the right move or walk into another one of Sam’s traps. I swear he has the strategic mind of a general.
I lose my nerve again, dropping my hand back into my lap. “You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy humiliating me.”
Sam leans back in the wooden chair at his kitchen table, the legs creaking beneath him. “You’re not that bad.”
“But…” I hedge.
“But I think it’s best if you don’t give up the whole hockey thing.”
“Thank you for the sage advice, Sam.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I finally move the knight, pretending to be confident even though I’m sure I just handed him the game.
“Neeeeiiighhh.”
“Do you have to do that?” Sam asks, annoyed.
“What?”
“Make that noise every time you move your knight?”
“Seems like it.”
He shakes his head before studying my move. “Interesting choice,” he says, and that’s when I know I’m dead.
Before I can respond, he drops a bomb.
"Why did you and Maddy break up?"
I freeze, my hand halfway to my water glass. It’s a question I’ve asked myself hundreds of times. I should be used to it by now, but somehow it still manages to catch me off guard.
"Where’s this coming from?" My voice is carefully neutral, but I grip the glass tighter than necessary.
He shrugs. "She seems nice."
“She is.” The words come out quieter than I mean them to. She’s more than nice. She’s brilliant and fierce, sharp-witted and soft-hearted. She can command a room with a single look and make a kid feel like the most important person in the world with a simple smile.
But what does it matter?
I lost her.
And maybe I deserved to.
I miss her.
I know it's stupid. It doesn’t make sense.
I just saw her at the hospital yesterday—but I do.
I think I started missing her the moment she walked away.
We’d been laughing and teasing each other like we used to, falling into an easy rhythm that felt so natural.
For a few stolen moments, it was almost like the past hadn’t happened. Almost.
And then one of the ghosts from my fuckboy past had to show up.
I vaguely remember hooking up with Brie a couple of seasons ago.
Couldn’t even recall the city until she reminded me.
That’s how it had been for so long—city after city, game after game, nameless faces, fleeting nights.
It was a pattern, a routine. Go out with the guys, take a beautiful woman back to my hotel, wake up the next morning, and move on.
Work hard, play hard, don’t get attached.
And, for a while, it worked.
Back when I was living solely for myself. Back when I was thinking with my dick instead of my brain or, God forbid, my heart.
But I haven’t been that guy in a long time. And I don’t miss him.
It’s not like I’ve been celibate. I had a few hookups last season, a couple of one-night stands over the summer. But since Maddy came back into my life? I can’t even fathom becoming that guy again.
"There had to be a reason," Sam presses, unwilling to let it go. "Did you cheat on her?"
"What?" My head snaps up, eyes locking onto his. "God, no. Never."
I may have been selfish. I may have taken Maddy for granted, but I never would have done that. Christ. I’d been so in love with her that other women didn’t even exist to me.
Maybe that’s why yesterday rattled me so much.
Even though all my sleeping around happened after we broke up…even though she has a fiancé now, and there’s no going back…I still don’t want her to see me like that.
“My dad cheated on my mom.” Sam says it plainly, but he can’t hide the hurt in his eyes. “I overheard my mom and her friend talking about it one day when they thought I wasn’t listening.”
“I’m really sorry, Sam.”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but I know he does. I’ve only been hanging out with him for a few weeks, but I feel so protective of Sam. Every wall he brings down gives me a better picture of who he is and what he’s been through.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to find the right words to explain it to him.
“Things with Maddy were complicated. We were young, you know? Barely out of our teens. I had hockey and she had school. Things just kind of fell apart.” There are a lot of moving pieces in a relationship and unlike in chess, they aren’t all black and white.
Sam regards me thoughtfully for a long beat before speaking. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” I tell him.
“Oh, not about your breakup.” He smirks, moving his queen into checkmate. “About this.”
I blink at the board, realizing too late what he’s done. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Another game?”
“Set it up.”
“Have you talked to Maddy lately?”
First Sam and now Beth? Is today National Ask Ben About His Ex-Girlfriend Day?
After getting my ass handed to me in two more matches, I headed to Foster and Beth’s for poker night.
With hockey season back in full swing, it’s been a while since we’ve all had a Friday night free.
We leave tomorrow afternoon for New York, play Sunday, then fly home.
Hosting Boston on Tuesday. The usual grind.
"Yeah, we had the hospital visit for the foundation yesterday."
I wanted to reach out last night. Just to check in, to see how she was holding up. She’d looked overwhelmed, stretched too thin, and I’ve been dying to know if things got any better. But texting her? That would’ve been overstepping. I convinced myself it wasn’t my place anymore.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. I’m hanging out with her tomorrow, and I wasn’t sure—"
"I’m sorry," I interrupt, my draft beer forgotten as I spin to face her. "You’re hanging out with Maddy?"
My Maddy?
"Yes. I ran into her last week. Didn’t I tell you?"
"Where?" The word snaps out of me like a slapshot. How? When? Why? What the hell is happening?
"At yoga," she says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "She was coming out of class as I was going in. We’re going to take a class together and then grab a bite to eat. I hope you don’t mind."
I am not jealous that my little sister gets to spend time with Maddy and I don’t. I am not jealous that my little sister gets to spend time with Maddy and I don’t. I am not jealous that my little sister gets to spend time with Maddy and I don’t.
“Of course not,” I try to sound convincing as I grab my beer from the counter and will my shoulders to relax. “I think it’s great that you two are going to catch up.”
“Me too.” Beth hops onto a stool at the kitchen island. “I know how hard it is to move to a new city on your own.”
“But she’s not on her own.” I try to keep my tone level even though I’m fighting a wince. “She’s here with her fiancé, remember?”
“I guess so…” she trails off and I can tell there’s more she wants to say. I lean back against the kitchen counter, waiting for her to complete her thought. “I don’t know. When I hugged her, I got the feeling–”
“You hugged her?” Fuck not being jealous. I am positively sick with jealousy right now and I don’t care if that makes me pathetic. What I wouldn’t give for the chance to hold Maddy again.
“She looked like she needed a hug,” Beth sighs, clearly torn.
Before I can interrogate her further, my teammates interrupt us.
Will is laughing at something Austin said as they enter the kitchen, crashing our private conversation.
The doorbell rings and Beth leaves to answer it.
It must be Foster’s brother, Cody, the only one of our party not already here.
“You can’t be serious,” Will says, opening the fridge and grabbing two tall cans of beer.
“Dead serious,” Austin insists.
“How can you think that? I can’t accept that.” Will tosses him one of the cans before cracking his own.
“Well, it’s how I feel, okay?”
“Your feelings are wrong.”
Beth returns accompanied by Cody and Foster.
“What are you two idiots arguing about?” Foster asks moving between Will and the fridge. He grabs a non-alcoholic beer and hands it to his brother, who’s seven years sober.
Will points an accusatory finger at Austin. “He thinks ketchup chips are disgusting.”
An eerie silence fills the kitchen as all eyes land on Austin, the only non-Canadian in the room.
“Get out of my house,” Foster deadpans, signalling the rest of us to break out in boos and jeers.
Will wipes the floor with us all night at the poker table. For someone with the personality of a golden retriever, he’s got a surprisingly unreadable poker face. It’s a fun night despite losing badly and I’m grateful for the $20 max buy in.
I wish I’d gotten a chance to talk more with Beth about Maddy, but as soon as the game started, she said goodnight before taking her book and a glass of wine to her and Foster’s bedroom.
“She looked like she needed a hug.”
Something’s been gnawing at me ever since I found Maddy in the parking lot yesterday morning shaken, scared, and completely alone.
Where the hell was he?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful I was the one there for her. But Derek should have been the one supporting her, holding her hand, reminding her she wasn’t facing it alone. Loving her. That’s what a fiancé is supposed to do, isn’t it? So why the fuck wasn’t he?
Is their relationship not what it seems? Not what it should be? Not what she deserves?
And am I the same selfish asshole I used to be if I’m secretly hoping it isn’t? If I want to see the cracks, want them to spread like fault lines, splintering the foundation until it all comes crashing down?
Because the truth—the ugly, undeniable truth—is that I am hoping. I am wishing.
And if that makes me a selfish bastard, then so be it.
I self-medicate with one or three beers too many and decide to crash in Beth and Foster’s spare room.
I can’t stop thinking about Maddy. Is she okay? Is she homesick? Is she overwhelmed at work? Or is it something else?
I grab my phone from the bedside table and pull up my contacts. I hesitate for a moment before firing off what I hope is a harmless message.
Ben: Heard you're hanging with Beth tomorrow.
I haven’t even set the phone down before her response comes through.
Madness: I am. Really looking forward to catching up with her.
I stare at the little text bubble. It’s just after eleven o’clock and I’m surprised she’s still up. Is she in bed like me? Lying next to him? I push the thought away.
Ben: Remind her of the time we took her to the Exhibition and she puked on your shoes after riding The Zipper.
The whole incident had been my fault, of course. I was the one who encouraged fifteen-year-old Beth to eat her weight in junk food before going on the carnival ride that requires strapping oneself into a metal cage to be flipped around and spun in all directions.
Madness: lol.
Madness: God, I LOVED those shoes.
I know she did. Adorable canvas flats with little bumble bees on them. She wore them all the time.
Ben: At least they were machine washable
Madness: Still. I couldn’t look at them after that without thinking of cotton candy barf
I can picture it like it was yesterday. Beth, mortified beyond words, hands covering her face while we did our best to console her. The three of us piling into my car, gagging and laughing as we cranked down every window, desperate to escape the stench of those ruined shoes.
I remember how Maddy threw her head back, the wind whipping through her hair in wild, tangled waves, her laughter louder than the radio.
God, I miss that sound.
I want to say more. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s just her. I want to tell her things I shouldn’t. Things that have been swirling in my chest, fighting to get out. But I don’t.
Ben: Have fun. Goodnight Madness.
Madness: Goodnight
I set my phone face down on the nightstand and take deliberate, slow breaths in an attempt to ease the tightness in my chest.
Enough, Man. Enough.