Chapter 12
Louis
Iwake up to the smell of coffee and something that might be bacon, which is weird because I’m pretty sure I don’t have bacon in my fridge.
My neck feels like I slept on a pile of rocks, and the dull ache radiating from my shoulder reminds me why I’m not in my own bed. But the cotton-ball haze from yesterday is gone, replaced by a somewhat fuzzy memory of exactly what I did before I passed out.
You belong with me.
Oh, god, did I seriously say that?
“Morning, sunshine,” Caley calls from the kitchen, her voice way too cheerful for whatever ungodly hour this is.
I squint at the windows. Bright light streams through the blinds. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven. You’ve been out cold for hours.”
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
“They went down to Pike Place Market. Mom decided they’d better take advantage of the sunshine since it’s winter in Seattle.”
I roll my eyes. “Makes sense. Because they’re not getting enough sunshine now that they live in Palm Springs?”
My parents moved out of the small Ontario town where I grew up and retired down in Palm Springs last year.
They were tired of the hard Canadian winters, and since I’m on the West Coast, and Caley was offered a permanent position at the hospital in California where she did her residency, it made sense.
But good lord, apparently, it doesn’t take long to get totally spoiled by warm weather.
I manage to sit up, testing my shoulder. It hurts, but it’s manageable. Not like the screaming agony from a few days ago.
“Coffee’s ready when you are,” she says, handing me a mug that smells like heaven.
I take a sip, letting the caffeine hit my bloodstream. I’m trying to act normal. Trying to pretend I didn’t drunk-dial my backup goalie and basically propose marriage.
Caley leans against the counter, blowing on her own coffee. She’s watching me with a look I know well. It’s her “I’ve diagnosed you, and I’m waiting for you to admit symptoms” look.
“So,” she says casually. “You were chatty last night.”
I choke on my coffee. “I—what?”
“Calm your tits, dumbass,” she says, smirking. “The walls in this place are pretty thin, Lou. I could hear you from the den.”
I groan, covering my face with my good hand. “Oh god. How bad was it?”
“Bad? It wasn’t bad. It was actually really nice.” She pauses. “I haven’t heard you sound that way in a long time. You sounded really happy.”
I frown. “What do you mean? I’m happy, I’m always happy.”
She shakes her head. “Maybe ‘happy’ isn’t the right word. But you sounded, I don’t know… content or something. Settled.”
“I sounded like a Hallmark card,” I mutter. “I don’t do Hallmark cards, Cay. I do, ‘Hey, good game, let’s get a beer.’ I don’t tell people they belong with me.”
“You like him.” It’s not a question.
I drop my hand and look at my sister. I could lie and tell her it was the drugs talking. But Caley knows me better than anyone, and she wouldn’t believe me.
“Yeah. I think I do,” I admit. “A lot. And it’s fucking terrifying.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You mean because he’s a guy?”
“No. I mean, yeah, that’s obviously new.
But that’s not the issue.” I run my hand through my hair.
“I don’t feel normal with Tanner. I’m usually Mister One-and-Done.
Mostly because I’ve never been interested in all the hassle and stress and general bullshit that everyone in a serious relationship seems to deal with.
I’ve never really felt the need, you know?
But this thing with Tanner feels completely different. ”
I look down at my coffee, watching the steam rise.
“It’s like I care about his feelings more than my own.
I care what’s going on in his head, whether he’s okay.
If something’s bothering him, I have this need to make it better.
Last night, I could tell something was bugging him from the way he left the ice after the game, and I physically couldn’t sleep until I fixed it.
I’ve never been like this with anyone. I feel… exposed.”
Caley nods slowly. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”
“I don’t do ‘sappy,’ Cay. I’m thirty-four. I should have this figured out. Instead, I’m acting like a teenager with a crush. Isn’t that weird?”
“Maybe you just weren’t paying attention before,” she suggests gently. “Or maybe Tanner is special.”
“He is special,” I whisper. “That’s the problem. If I screw this up, it’s going to hurt. Like, really hurt.”
“So you’re scared,” she says. “Good.”
I stare at her. “Good?”
“Yeah. Good. It means it’s real. Just because you’ve never felt this way before doesn’t mean it’s wrong, Lou. It just means the stakes are higher.”
She walks over and flicks me on the forehead.
“Ow.”
“Listen to me. You’ve spent your whole life being the ‘fun guy’ because it’s easy and safe. But easy and safe is boring. If this guy matters to you—and he obviously does—then stop whining about how scary it is and man up.”
“Man up?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s your medical advice?”
“My medical advice is that emotional constipation is why men die before women. My sisterly advice is to stop running away because you might have finally found something worth keeping.”
I snort a laugh as she drains her mug and sets it in the sink with a clatter.
“Now, do you want some of this bacon, or are you going to survive on coffee and fear of commitment?”
I laugh. “Bacon sounds good.”
As she hands me a plate and refills my coffee, the knot in my chest loosens a little.
I’m still nervous about whatever this is between Tanner and me.
There is a shitload of consequences if things go sideways.
In particular, the fact that the whole reason he’s in Seattle is because he wants the number one goalie spot.
What happens when I’m ready to play again?
Is he going to be happy with being moved down to backup?
And if he plays well enough to be a number one goalie after all this, then there’s no way for us both to stay with the Sasquatch.
But the relief in Tanner’s voice when I told him he belonged last night? That might make everything worth it.
The sound of wheeled suitcases rolling across my hardwood floor echoes through the condo like a countdown timer.
It’s almost been a week since my surgery, and the fam is finally heading back to California.
Don’t get me wrong, I love them more than anything, and having them here during the worst of the post-surgery pain and helplessness was exactly what I needed.
But fuck me sideways, I am more than ready to get my space back.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay another few days?” Mom asks for the fifth time, hesitating near the door and chewing on her bottom lip. She looks like she’s resisting the urge to snatch the suitcase out of my dad’s hands and take it back to the guest room.
“Mom, I’m fine. Caley already gave me the whole rundown.” I lean against the wall, guarding my sling. “Besides, you said Dad’s been moaning about missing his golf games.”
Dad chuckles, adjusting his baseball cap. “That’s true. And your mother’s been complaining about missing her book club.”
“I have not been complaining,” Mom protests while trying to hide her smile. “I’m just saying that Gloria is probably butchering the discussion of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo without me there to moderate.”
Caley rolls her eyes as she grabs the last of her bags.
“Lou will be fine, Mom. He’s starting PT soon, and he knows to call if anything feels off.
” She gives me a pointed look. “And by anything, I mean anything. Pain that gets worse instead of better, fever, pain, fever, sudden emotional revelations—”
I cut her off right there. “I know, Dr. Caley. You’ve only told me seventeen times.”
“Eighteen, actually.” She grins and pulls me into a careful hug, mindful of my still-tender incision sites. “But seriously, take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“Good.” She kisses my cheek. “Love you, dummy.”
Dad’s goodbye is characteristically brief, a firm handshake that somehow conveys more affection than most people’s hugs, and a reminder to “listen to the doctors, and don’t try to be a hero.”
Mom’s farewell, predictably, takes another fifteen minutes and involves checking that I have enough food in the fridge, making sure I know where all my medications are, and extracting promises to call them every other day.
Finally, the door closes behind them. I turn the dead bolt and lean my forehead against the cool wood for a second.
Silence rushes back into the condo, filling the corners where the chaos used to be. It is a massive relief.
But as I turn back to the empty living room, the silence feels a little heavy. I’m not sure I like that.
I walk over to the couch and sink down, wincing as my shoulder pulls.
I wanted my space back. I got it. Now I have to figure out what to do with it.