Chapter 42
DRED
“Ivote this is where we watch all the playoff games.” Tally stretches out in the leather recliner in the theater room at Meems’s, her bowl of popcorn on the tray in front of her and a margarita in her hand.
“I agree,” says Rix.
“Same!” Hammer drops into the seat next to Rix.
“We should have movie nights here in the offseason,” Essie suggests.
“I love that idea!” Hemi hits the button to adjust her leg rest.
“It’s a great room,” I agree. But I don’t make any promises. I have no idea what things will look like next week, let alone during playoffs.
It took more than twenty-four hours for Connor to finally call me after the shitty game against Ottawa, and all he asked about was Meems. He didn’t want to talk about the game, nor did he ask how I’m handling all of this. I don’t know where the Connor I married has gone, and it’s eating me alive.
“I can’t wait until the boys are home tomorrow.” Rix passes around the box of cookies Tristan sent her.
“I’m sure the produce in your fridge is also excited for his return,” Tally mutters, not quite under her breath.
Rix throws her arms in the air. “It was one time!”
“One unforgettable time,” Tally adds.
“Gotta admit, I’m not the biggest fan of these long on-the-road stretches, and neither are my lady parts,” Hemi says.
“Same. Batdick is nice and all, but he leaves a lot to be desired in the post-orgasm-cuddles department.” Hammer sighs.
Essie’s eyes light up. “Hollis is totally a cuddlebug, isn’t he?”
“The biggest,” Hammer confirms.
Essie gets a dreamy look on her face. “So is Nate. We could probably get away with a double bed because he’s always wrapped around me all night long.”
“Dallas will lie on top of me on the couch and tell me he’s still not close enough.” Hemi laughs.
“Tris and I always start out cuddling, but he’s like a furnace, so I have to worm my way out of his hold. But he requires a point of contact throughout the night, and I always wake up in his arms again,” Rix admits.
“That’s really sweet.” Tally presses her hand to her heart. “I have a full-body pillow that I cuddle with every night, and I look forward to the day I replace it with a real-life boyfriend.”
“It’ll happen,” Essie assures her.
“What about Connor? Is he a cuddler?” Hemi asks.
“Um… I’m probably more the cuddler of the two of us, but he entertains it.” I’m questioning all of it now, though. Every night he stretched out his arm and invited me over—was it because he wanted to, or because I wanted him to?
The night before he left for the away series, he fucked me in the dark and let me fall asleep in his arms, but I woke in the middle of the night to find him turned on his side, away from me. And he left the next morning without saying goodbye.
I’d grown accustomed to the closeness and started taking it for granted—the little notes he’d leave inside my books during away games, and lunch showing up out of the blue at work has stopped with this series.
Now there’s just silence or short, tense conversations, mostly over text.
No banter. No back-and-forth. No I can’t wait to spend time with you in the dark.
I keep trying to convince myself it’s just the stress of Meems’s surgery.
But I’m far too aware of my own history of shutting down for self-preservation to believe I’m wrong.
By shutting me out, is he trying to protect his heart the same way I’ve always protected mine?
I wish the contract wasn’t this wall of uncertainty between us, making it impossible for me to trust my intuition.
The Babes and I settle in to watch the game, and I cross my fingers that tonight goes well.
I don’t know what to expect when Connor gets home tomorrow, and I’m hopeful a win will ease some of the tension, at least for him and the team.
The first period goes well, with the Terror shutting out Montreal and scoring a goal.
That trend continues in the second period, and Connor seems to be keeping himself in check.
He has some chippy moments, but he avoids a penalty.
Everything goes sideways seven minutes into the third period, though, when Flip gets tripped and ends up slammed into the boards by another player.
There’s a chorus of gasps that echo through the arena—and the women in this room.
Tally knocks what’s left of her popcorn to the floor. Her eyes are glued to the screen, hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with fear.
Essie gives me a look as she reaches out to console her. “He’s getting up. He’s okay.”
“What if he has a concussion? What if he’s out again like he was last season? He had such a hard time when he hurt his ankle…” Her voice trails off as she glances around.
“Did you visit him when that happened?” Hemi asks.
“I brought him homemade mac and cheese and Good n’ Plenty because they’re his favorites.” Tally wrings her hands. “I just wanted to see for myself that he was okay.”
“It’s okay, Tally. We know you have feelings for him,” Rix says.
“What?” Her eyes dart around. “I—I don’t… What are you—?”
Essie squeezes her hand. “It’s okay. We’re your friends.”
The color drains from her face as we nod. “You all know?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Tally,” Hammer explains.
Her bottom lip trembles. “How long have you known?”
Hammer shrugs. Rix and Essie exchange a look.
Hemi is apparently the only one of us with the balls to admit the truth. “For a long time.”
“Oh my gosh, do you think he knows?” She slaps her palm over her mouth and tears stream down her face. “I’ll never be able to face him again. I’m so embarrassed.”
We spend the next half hour consoling Tally, trying to talk her off the emotional ledge. My heart aches for her—especially after she finds out through Rix that Flip is probably out for a few games with a concussion.
Toronto loses the game by one goal in the last two minutes, making them 0 for 3 on this away series.
At the end of the night, the girls take a teary Tally home, and I head upstairs. I stand inside the bedroom I’ve been sleeping in for months and wonder how much longer I’ll be here.
I change into pajamas and call Connor. I hate that I’m surprised when he picks up.
“Hey.” It’s just one word, but his tone speaks volumes. It’s short, clipped, guarded.
I feel like we’ve rewound back to September, when he showed up at my door with a contract and a way to solve my financial problems. “How are you?”
“Fine. How’s Meems?”
“She’s gaining strength every day.” It’s the truth. She’s bouncing back in the most beautiful way.
He sighs. “That’s what the doctors are saying, so it’s good to hear it from you, too.”
“I’m sorry about the game tonight.”
“It is what it is.”
I hug his pillow to my chest, wishing I could confront him, force him to be honest. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
“What do you want me to say, Dred? We had a shit series, and I’m at fault for a lot of it, and now our lead scorer is out with an injury.
” His frustration bleeds through in his tone.
“Look, I don’t have the bandwidth to do this with you.
It’s been a crap week. I’m tired, and we have an early flight. ”
I’m still stuck on the fact that he called me Dred. He only ever uses my full name or darling, or little menace.
He clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Safe travels,” I reply woodenly.
“’Night.” He ends the call.
I curl myself around his pillow and promise myself that this is the last night I’ll spend in this bedroom. I’ll wait until Meems is managing on her own, but then I have to go. I won’t allow myself to be what Connor’s father accused me of.
I hate everything about this plan, but I’ve survived worse.