Chapter 25
WYATT CHASE
Iknow that this isn’t a date, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling like one.
Luckily, Lyla’s with us. It’s keeping me in check from doing anything stupid like grabbing his hand while we walk through Boston or planting a kiss on his cheek.
I haven’t wanted anything like this in a long time.
Not since Becca, who threw me for a loop so quickly that I still haven’t figured out which way is up.
Our relationship had been new, but when I found out that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic.
She was, too, until I got injured five months later.
Suddenly, the life that she’d expected to be leading–the future wife of a wealthy professional athlete–disappeared.
And once she gave birth to Lyla, so did she.
I still can’t imagine how I thought I’d loved someone who would just leave their child like that. Leave me like that, too.
Between moving back across the country, taking care of a baby, and trying to find some semblance of a professional life after hockey, it’s only been in the last couple of years that I’ve even noticed that there are people outside of my little bubble.
Not that my few forays into dating have gone even remotely well.
But somehow, Asher’s slipped into both of our lives so easily that I’m struck with feeling like I’m twenty-two again, back in deep with someone who has me completely turned around. I can’t think around him, and I’m making decisions with my heart instead of my brain.
I know that I’m being reckless when I absolutely can’t afford to be. Especially because of Lyla.
But she doesn’t seem to have the same reservations.
She’s holding Asher’s hand, chatting non-stop as we walk toward the stadium.
“I love Boston. Me and grandma and grandpa and daddy came here to ride the duck boats. But that was a long time ago.” It was four months ago, but who’s counting.
I’m sure in her short lifetime, it really does feel like forever ago.
Somehow, I’m jealous of both of them right now. Lyla, that she gets to hold his hand so freely. And Asher, that he’s so quickly become one of Lyla’s favorite people.
I didn’t think I’d feel this way when I agreed to the game last week. I thought that I had things… in hand.
I see Asher twice a week during physical therapy–it’s been that way for three months now.
On top of that, we’ve hooked up multiple times.
It should be getting easier, right? I should be getting a better handle on my feelings, not falling deeper into this chaotic lack of control that makes me feel like I’m spinning in circles.
On Friday, we almost ran into each other in the facility.
Literally. I was walking down the hallway, looking down at my iPad.
He stepped out of the rec room and suddenly, I just knew that it was him without looking up.
His smell. The shadow he cast with his big frame.
It was like all the molecules in my body started vibrating, just being in his presence.
He put his hands out and grabbed me by the shoulders to make sure that we didn’t collide, and it took all of my willpower not to kiss him right then and there.
For months now, I’ve been hyper-vigilant about running into him unexpectedly. It’s happened more than once already, and every time–without fail–my nerves jangle in my stomach, even if it’s also exhilarating and makes my heart beat faster, too.
If I don’t get it together, things are going to spiral out of control way too fast. I’m going to start asking him questions like what he’s thinking about doing after graduation or whether he’d like to fall asleep in my bed and wake up together the next morning. Indefinitely, if I have it my way.
I shake the thoughts away, not that they go very far.
I’m a foot or so behind Asher and Lyla, trying not to let my heart melt as I watch them meander down the sidewalk, bundled up in their winter coats. Thanksgiving is next week, and though we haven’t had snow yet, it’s been cold as hell for the last few days.
“Daddy,” she says, turning back to me before pointing at the large marquee outside of the stadium. “We’re going to watch the hockey game.”
Asher laughs and shoots me a grin that makes me go even softer, as if that was possible. Again, I remind myself that it’s my responsibility not to let us go off the rails. I don’t think that I’m doing a very good job.
Last Saturday, we fell asleep on the sofa together, with him nestled against my chest. When I woke up the next morning, he was still there, breathing deeply and burrowed even closer. His big arms were wrapped around my torso, and my chin was resting on top of his hair.
It’s the closest that I’ve come to letting him sleep over because the morning was just as incredible as I’d imagined it would be. Coffee together at the kitchen island. Cuddling on the sofa and watching the highlights that we’d fallen asleep during.
Softness. So much softness–the type of moments that even Lyla can’t provide. Because even when I’m with her and I feel my love for her radiating off of me like it’s a solid thing, I’m still watchful. She needs to be protected, and I never lose sight of that.
But with Asher? I feel like he’s protecting me.
I felt safe with him that morning. I felt taken care of and adored and like it would be okay for me to fall into his solid weight and let him hold me up.
So… yeah. I’m pretty fucked.
When we get to the stadium, Asher holds up his phone for the usher to scan our tickets, and we meander through the sprawling complex to our seats. I don’t tell him that I haven’t been to an NHL game since I left pro hockey seven years ago.
Especially once Lyla realized that I used to play pro and what that really means, she’s been asking to go to one. I haven’t been able to bring myself to take her alone. This wasn’t my stadium, but I’ve played here before. Back when I thought that my life was going to be different.
I don’t regret the life that I have now, but sometimes, it feels like my future was cleaved in two with an injury that only took a few seconds to change the trajectory of my entire future, and I’m living in a parallel universe.
Maybe that’s part of what makes me feel so connected to Asher–that I know that he understands that feeling, too.
Lyla’s already said some variation of, “Daddy, look!” at least a dozen times by the time that we make it to our seats. We’re about halfway up the bowl, situated right at center ice. Seats reserved for friends and family.
“I hope it wasn’t an issue for Kellan to grab us an extra ticket.” I know that players usually get two of them, and they have to buy the rest themselves.
Asher smiles at me and slides into the row. “I’m pretty sure he’d have let me bring the entire Renegades team if I’d wanted. Thanks, by the way. For coming with me.”
Lyla’s standing in between us, watching the players warm up ahead of the puck drop. I shoot him look and take my seat. “Thanks for getting us really great tickets to a game?” I say sarcastically.
He clears his throat and blinks a few times before sitting down.
“My sister and I used to love going to hockey games together. She played, too. My whole family did, but she was way better than any of my brothers,” he says with a sad smile.
“It wasn’t as bad watching the Renegades play, but something about coming to a pro game made me feel really antsy.
It’s why I’ve waited so long to come watch Kellan. ”
I clasp my hand on his shoulder, wishing that there wasn’t a seat between us. I didn’t know what a big deal for him tonight was going to be, and I realize that I’m grateful that I could be here to support him. “I’m glad that you told me. How are you feeling?”
He rubs his beard in a way that I love, like he’s really considering his thoughts. He has all kinds of cute looks that I’ve grown to know over the last few months, and I want to know all the rest of them that I haven’t seen yet.
“Weird. A little anxious. But watching the game and experiencing things through Lyla’s eyes is really nice.” Warm blooms in my chest when I notice his cheeks turning red at his admission, but all I want is to know every thought inside of his beautiful brain.
When a taller guy sits down in front of Lyla’s seat, I don’t miss my chance to get closer to him.
The empty seat between us is becoming physically painful for me, unable to breathe in the same air.
I stand up quickly and scoot behind Lyla, lifting her up and dropping her in front of the seat that I just left.
“If you stand here, you’ll be able to see better. ”
She scowls at me and crosses her arms over the O’Reilly jersey that Asher bought her just for tonight. “I wanted to sit next to Asher.” Well, that makes two of us. Still, she can actually see better, and that mollifies her. Only briefly though, because then she says, “Can he sit in the middle?”
He laughs and looks to me for guidance, not knowing whose ire would be worse. Smart man.
“Sure, baby. He can sit in the middle.” I stand up and he does the same, seemingly okay with being ordered around by a five-year-old.
I turn around so that we can switch places. A thrill shoots through me as we brush together, and I don’t miss the way his hand squeezes my hip as he passes.
When we’re all seated again, I lean over to him. “Thanks for being so flexible. She can be pretty determined when she wants something.”
In the small seats, our bodies are connected from our thighs to our ankles, and I wonder if he’s being as intentional about staying close as I am. He leans over to me and gives me a smile that’s all kind of dangerous right before he says, “So am I.”
“I told you that the second cotton candy was over-kill.” We’re walking back to the metro station from the game, and Lyla’s so wound up that if I let go of her hand, I think she may run so fast that she leaves a trail of smoke in her wake.