Chapter 27
twenty-seven
. . .
Bex
three years ago
“I met someone.”
The entirety of book club falls silent, all twenty-something people staring at me. Sadie raises her eyebrows, Vanessa gasps, and Elsy giggles.
“Tell me everything,” Elsy says, reaching for my arm.
We’re in the back room of the bookstore for our monthly meeting. It’s more of a gab session with tangential conversations about books, rather than a focused conversation about one in particular. We drink, catch up, trade recommendations, and hang out, reveling in our friendships.
It’s exactly what I need. When I moved to Boston a few years ago, the only person I knew was Vanessa, my college roommate, and she introduced me to this quirky community of romance book lovers who cheer for one another unconditionally.
It’s the kind of support network I always wanted, but never thought I would find.
Ceci brings me a red Solo cup full of rum with very little Coke. “Who is he? Where did you meet?”
“Remember how I had that job interview in Columbus?” I start, accepting the plastic cup and taking a healthy swig. “We met in a bar.”
“And?” Vanessa prods.
“He was cute, we talked for a bit. Then he took me back to his hotel room and fucked me until I could barely remember my name.”
“Who is he? Are you going to see him again?” Elsy asks eagerly.
Oh, fuck.
I can’t tell her his name. She has a friend in the league, and what if Mitch knows Nick? Worse, what if she knows Nick? It’s a small league, and I’m pretty sure they play on the same team. That would be crossing too many lines.
“Nah. Didn’t get his number. One night only.” I force myself to shrug, to play it cool. To not think about all the ways I fucked things up at the end. “It was hot as hell, though.”
“Do you think you’ll take the job?” Sadie asks.
Right. The whole reason I went there.
I’ve completed all my coursework and am scheduled to wrap up writing my dissertation next fall, and then it’s a matter of defending it. I could have my doctorate awarded before the end of the year.
Except I don’t know what I’ll do next. I don’t want to teach forever, but I don’t want to give up research, either. The world is my oyster. There are so many options ahead that I’m paralyzed by indecision.
My dad is a doctor, so I’ve considered going for a medical degree, but the only reason I’d do so is to be a neurologist, and I can do almost everything except prescribe medication as a neuroscientist. I don’t need to be double certified.
Although the idea of staying in school another four years is rather comforting…
But it’s time to stretch my wings. I’ll never fly if I keep playing it safe.
What I’d love is to work on prevention, to find a way to keep brains safe rather than dealing with the aftereffects of head trauma.
I don’t know if that’s possible, though.
You never know when a traumatic brain injury will happen.
There are safety precautions you can take, but especially with athletes, the risk is so high…
But that’s a problem for another day.
“I’m not leaving Boston anytime soon,” I assure my friends, and Vanessa grins at me.
“Especially for fucking Ohio.”
“Oh, hell no.” I still feel slimy for even considering the offer.
I may be studying at Harvard now, and I did my time at Stanford out of necessity, but I’m a Michigan girl through and through.
The maize and blue will never cease to bring me pride and joy.
Bringing my team to the national championship twice has a way of sticking with you.
“I’m glad you got laid,” Elsy says with another giggle. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. But I’m not upset.
It had been a while. It’s hard to put myself out there. The dating-app game is rough, and meeting someone in person seems impossible sometimes. I know what I look like; I see it in the mirror every day. Add in my career ambitions, and it’s no wonder men are turned off.
But Nick wasn’t. At least, he pretended to be interested in my research. He didn’t change the subject to talk about himself; he asked questions, some I didn’t want to answer, but insightful ones nonetheless.
Because he’s up close and personal with the impacts of head trauma on athletes. Because he knows exactly what the stakes are.
I wish he wasn’t a hockey player. If my brother wasn’t in the league, there would be no conflict of interest. But I can’t go after a guy who could play against Wyatt—or worse, one day end up on his team, playing alongside him.
There’s a reason I’ve never let myself get too close to hockey players.
Why I’ve never let myself take a second glance.
My brother has been my constant supporter, and I’m his biggest fan. We’ve had our difficulties, sure. What siblings don’t? He defends me against our parents, and I stand up for him when they disparage him for choosing athletics over academics.
As if they hadn’t encouraged him to play hockey starting at four years old, as if they hadn’t shuttled him to practice and extra lessons every day once it was clear he had potential.
So what if he’s not interested in getting a degree?
I have enough for the both of us. He doesn’t need a diploma hanging on the wall to be the best man I know.
Even if he’s sometimes an asshole. I’m not blind to his faults; I just love him despite them. Maybe because of them.
But it solidifies my resolve not to get involved with a hockey player.
I’ve seen firsthand how disgusting they can be, and I’m not talking about their sweaty, smelly gear.
Locker rooms are rife with demeaning, derogatory comments about women.
I don’t need to be talked about like that.
I don’t need my brother hearing about me in that way.
It doesn’t matter how nice Nick seemed. Any guy can pretend to be nice in order to get laid.
For now, I can escape into the memories. The fantasy that he’s genuinely a good person, that he was interested in more. That I’m the one who shut it down before he could discard me. Sure, it was hot. But it never would’ve lasted.