17. Oreos, Soul Mates, & Fuckups
CARTER
I’m a shit actor. These past few days have done nothing but prove that. I don’t have a clue how to shake what I’m feeling, the confusion, the fucking anguish. I feel like a lost puppy, and I know I look like one too.
Mostly because Garrett keeps poking my cheek and saying so every time he catches me frowning.
Admittedly, that’s pretty often these days.
He called me a mopey ballsack yesterday.
Adam tells him to be nice to me, but I mostly ignore it.
I don’t know how to talk to them about the way I’m feeling.
I think they all expected me to simply move on.
To be honest, I kinda hoped I’d move on too.
When it comes to relationships, I can’t think of much worse than feeling so alone, and that’s how I feel now that Olivia’s trying to shut me out.
But I don’t have to be an expert to know that relationships are hard.
All I have to do is look around this bar at my teammates.
Guys that aren’t ready to settle and give up their freedom.
Ones that can’t find a partner who’s in it for them and not their money.
Of the few that are married or in serious relationships, only a couple are faithful.
Sometimes it feels like there are more shit examples than there are good.
A seed of envy roots in my stomach as I watch Emmett grin down at his phone. There’s a part of me that thinks I might want what he has, for my whole life off the ice to be wrapped up in a girl who makes me happy, someone I can be myself with.
But then I catch sight of Adam as he checks his phone for the umpteenth time tonight, frowning at the lack of messages from his girlfriend.
The same girlfriend who hasn’t been to a single home game in over a month, who rang in the new year alone because she didn’t feel like coming.
Adam had what Emmett has, and now it feels like he just… doesn’t.
I nudge him with my elbow when he tucks his phone away. “Everything okay with you and Court?”
“Hmm?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Honestly, man, I have no clue. She’s so distant.
Never wants to do anything and hardly answers my messages when I’m away.
You know how she said she wasn’t in the mood for your party?
When I got home, she was wasted, getting undressed from wherever the fuck she’d been. ”
Fuck. “Did you talk to her about it?”
“Tried. She said I was making a big deal out of nothing and slept in the spare room. The next morning, she refused to talk about it.”
I don’t know what to say. I have, like, zero experience with adult relationships, that much is clear by now.
I’ve basically been fucking my way through my twenties without a care in the world, other than ensuring I have a rubber secured to my dick before I stick it somewhere hot and wet.
I have nothing of value to add to this conversation.
It’s probably best I keep my mouth shut because if I say anything, it’ll probably be dump her .
So instead, I tell him I’m sorry.
This is why I don’t do relationships. They’re complicated and messy and it seems like people spend 99 percent of the time being miserable, jealous, angry, or worried.
Except my parents. There’s a reason the only thing I’ll settle for is something like they had.
Because it was pure. It wasn’t ugly, bogged down by never-ending resentment or toxicity.
Mom used to tell us those smooth bits came with time, that nothing is ever perfect in the beginning, and even when they seem perfect later on, they’re not.
But to me, to any outsider looking in? It sure as hell looked perfect.
I watched my dad spin my mom around the kitchen every day of my life until I moved out. I listened to their stories, their laughter. They loved hard, and it was palpable. I could always feel it as much as I could see it.
But my mom’s been living with a broken heart for the last seven years, only I don’t think living is the right word. More like surviving. She’s been surviving, and barely.
And that’s terrifying. I can’t imagine loving someone that much, losing your other half and not knowing how to go on. I’m not interested in feeling that level of hurt. I can barely handle keeping my mom afloat some days.
Now here’s Adam, one of my best buds and the kindest guy I know with the biggest heart, and he looks like he’s already going through it, even though he’s still with his girlfriend.
So maybe Olivia walking out on me was for the best. The feelings are already there, stronger than I realized. The last thing I need to do is go and fall in love or whatever the hell you do in relationships, only to inevitably wind up like Adam, or worse, like my mom.
I don’t want to be fractured; I want to be whole. And maybe being whole by yourself is better.
The thought settles uncomfortably in my stomach, like my body’s fighting it, telling me to hang on, but my brain doesn’t know that we can.
By the time the guys and I make it back up to our suite to play a game of COD and settle in for the night, I don’t know whether I’m closer to being over Olivia, or have somehow managed to fall harder for a woman I haven’t seen or talked to in days.
“You’re extra into those Oreos lately, eh, buddy?” Adam’s eyes shine as he watches me tear open a package and stuff two in my mouth while simultaneously pulling on sweatpants.
We kicked ass in Calgary earlier tonight, no thanks to me. I racked up six penalty minutes, got an earful from my coach for being a shitty leader, and now that I’ve had a beer and a platter of nachos to myself, I fully plan on stuffing my face with sugar and collapsing on the couch.
“Can’t stop, won’t stop,” I mumble around my cookies. Fudge dipped today. I like to switch it up, and all flavors are good. Except carrot cake. I love carrot cake, but in my cookie? No fucking thanks.
“He’s eating his feelings.” Garrett pats my belly. “Aren’t ya, big fella?”
I hit him with a judo chop when he reaches into my package, and then twirl away when he tries to throw himself at me, making grabby hands at my cookies.
“Get the fuck outta here.” I kick my leg out, hitting his stomach, keeping him at bay.
“Share,” he whines. “I want some.”
“You don’t get shit. You said I was eating my feelings.”
His shoulders pop up in a shrug. “Well, you are. You’re a mopey ballsack, and you’ve crushed nearly that entire package today. So gimme one before they’re gone.”
Rolling my eyes, I toss a cookie in the air, watching as Garrett eagerly catches it in his mouth like a dog with a bone. Emmett chuckles, flopping down on the couch and pulling out his phone.
Things have been a little weird with him.
He said Olivia and I shouldn’t have had sex, and I know that, but sometimes hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Other than that, he’s been more on the reserved side.
This is the guy that went streaking with me through downtown Vancouver after our NHL debut and a shit ton of booze. He’s not reserved.
“Emmy!” My head cranks at Cara’s voice filtering out of Emmett’s phone. He’s got her on a FaceTime call, and she’s wrapped up in a blanket like Mother Teresa. “I miss you,” she slurs. “Show me your di—”
“I’m with the guys,” Emmett cuts her off quickly. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”
Cara pouts and then quickly lights when she spies me over his shoulder. “You sucked tonight, bud. Stay the hell out of the penalty box.”
I flip her the bird and twist another Oreo apart.
“What are you doin’, babe?” Emmett slips a hand up his shirt, rubbing his torso. It’s a strategic move, I think, because he grins at Cara and wags his brows.
She starts tracing the shape of her lips with her pointer finger, and there’s a solid beat of silence before she snaps out of it, shaking her head. “Livvie and I are having a sleepover and getting wine drunk.”
My heart stops at her name, and so does my hand, on my way to my mouth, my tongue waiting, drooling, ready for that icing, and hopefully a shot of Olivia. Instead I get a shot of the coffee table, littered with wine bottles, empty take-out containers, and junk food.
A sly smile crawls up Cara’s face before the camera lands on a shell-shocked brunette. “Say hi, Ol!”
Olivia’s got her hair piled on top of her head in a bun messier than the one my sister always wears, the one I tell her looks like a bird made a nest on her head. She’s wearing the rattiest hoodie I’ve ever seen, covered in paint splotches and holes, and she’s still fucking beautiful.
Her wide eyes lock on mine, cheeks blazing, hand hanging there in midair, holding on to a…
A goddamn Oreo.
Woman’s my fucking soul mate.
The silence is deafening. No one’s saying a damn thing, watching to see how this plays out.
Garrett rips open a bag of Doritos in slow motion, gaze ricocheting between me and the phone screen as he brings a chip to his mouth at the literal pace of a snail.
The drawn-out crunches have me considering all sorts of violence, and Adam’s body stutters as he tries to hold back his laughter.
Emmett makes this cough-snort sound, body shaking until he finally can’t hold it in anymore.
Emmett and Adam fold over with booming laughter and Olivia tugs the collar of her hoodie up to her nose, dropping her gaze and her cookie. I watch her shrink back from the screen, and my heart sinks with every inch she moves farther away from me, though she’s not really here anyway.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she lies quietly. I get a look at the loose sweatpants hanging low on her hips, watching her tug them up as she stands, flashing me a hint of that creamy skin I love so much before she slinks away, leaving me wondering when I’ll see her next.
The camera toggles back to Cara and she makes a face, all wide eyed and grimacing. “Man, she is gonna kill me for that later.”
Garrett shoves a handful of chips in his mouth and shrugs. “Well, you did say you wanted to see her.”