Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
R en
I’ve had a month to get used to the idea of being a dad, but it still feels surreal every time my teammates pull out photos of their kids, and I realize that at this time next year, I’ll be able to do the same. But I haven’t shared my news with them yet. I don’t want to do anything to distract them from focusing on the team, which has been playing only slightly better ahead of our first preseason game on the road.
I’ve kept my personal life personal, as it should be, and tried to figure out why this group still isn’t gelling the way we need to. I can already see the headlines if we lose: “So much potential, wasted.” I can’t let that happen.
It’s just two days out of town, which is a relief. Trix insists on watching Truman, but I feel guilty leaving her to drag my goofy dog around on a leash when she’s also carrying a baby. Even if the baby is the size of a walnut, according to the ultrasound.
A walnut .
I need to keep things in perspective. A walnut is tiny. Harmless. I shouldn’t get too wound up about a walnut or anything that would fit inside the shell of one.
But I can’t help it—I’m wound up. Even though a preseason game doesn’t mean much, and it’s mainly a chance for us to interact with fans and get footage for the team’s social media feed, I can’t help feeling like we’ll be lucky if we can win just one of the two games. Even if it’s due more to our opponent’s missteps than any symphony of chemistry on our part, I’ll take it.
Right now, I just need to see my woman, even if it’s just in the form of a video call. She’s a calming balm to all my worries and jangled nerves, and I’ve been waiting hours to hear her voice.
“Hey, Hockey Star,” Trix says by way of greeting when she answers. My ego loves the nickname.
“Hey there.”
“Uh oh. What’s wrong?” I love even more that she knows I’m not at my best just based on a “hey there.”
“I’ve got the hotel blues. I used to love games on the road. I don’t know what happened.” It’s late in Miami, and I should be getting some sleep before tomorrow’s game. Instead, I’m sitting up against the wooden headboard in the hotel, with two pillows behind my back and my phone turned up on my lap so I can see her face on the video call.
She’s curled up in one of my tee shirts on her couch downstairs, and I see a cup of tea on the table in front of her, along with a display of design magazines.
“You’ve been stressed about these games on the road. Maybe that’s part of it,” she says.
“No, that’s not it.”
“No? What, then?”
“Something feels wrong. I used to love hotels. The room service, the crisp sheets I didn’t need to wash myself, a nicely made bed, and fresh towels in the shower. And I felt important when we arrived with our bags and took a private set of elevators to shuttle us away from the crowds.”
“Sounds nice.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m telling this to someone who’s renovating an inn. You probably couldn’t be less interested in hotels.”
The soft sound of her laughter feels like warm honey. “Au contraire, my friend. I spend more time thinking about hotels than the average person because I’m into it.”
I hold the phone up and give her a tour of my room. “Do you like this one? The bed had all these decorative pillows and a thing at the end that I assume is meant to hold the pillows at night.” I show her the small burgundy couch at the foot of the bed, where I’ve stacked the six decorative pillows, all in various shades of beige. “Closet’s over there, along with the bathroom, which has a full-on tub. That’s not going to get any use by me, but the shower’s decent. Rain head and some sprayers on the sides. Better than average.”
“You’re not going to show me that?” She smirks at my laziness.
“Nope, because I’m dead tired after training.”
“I really hope you still have your ass because it’s damn cute.”
“You’re damn cute,” I say. “Let me see that baby.”
She obliges, tilting the phone camera down so I can see her stomach, which she pushes out to make it look bigger than it is. She holds the fabric tight against her belly to emphasize the size, but it’s pretty flat. “Still just looks like I had a really big dinner.”
“Looks perfect. I wish I was there to rub the soreness out of your back and feet.”
“Aah, if that’s up for grabs, please get on the next flight back here. I’ve been running around all day looking at chairs and tables to put in the rooms at the inn, and my feet are swollen like little hot dogs.”
I shift the phone camera again to show her another part of my hotel room. “You mean desks like this one? ”
“Now you’re talking.” She lays back, and her hand disappears from view as she fake-moans. “Show me more of your hotel desk, Ren. Please. Don’t hold back on the little drawers.”
I almost think she’s serious.
Maybe she is serious.
In the name of fun, I zoom in on the desk and give her a detailed look at the chair, the inputs for various computer cords, and the little cubbies with hotel stationery. “This desk will get no use because I don’t have anything to write. Not sitting down to write letters at the hotel, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Don’t discount a good writing space. Maybe you should write a letter.” Another moan turns to a peal of laughter.
“I’m not writing a goddamn letter.”
“Fine. Save it for your diary. I know you brought it with you. Probably right next to your teddy bear and blankie on the bed.”
“Okay, yeah, you got me,” I say, turning the camera to the bed so she can see it’s just me and my legs clad in sweatpants on the bed. “The only teddy bear I’m interested in sleeping with is you.”
“Ren,” she says quietly after I bring the camera back to my face. Her expression is suddenly serious.
“Yeah? Is everything okay?”
She nods and presses her lips together. “Are you wearing a shirt?”
She knows I’m not. “No. Why?”
Blinking those soft blue eyes at me, she asks quietly, “Can I see?”
“See what? Me not wearing a shirt?”
She nods.
Oh, my little horny baby mama.
I hold the camera out so she can see me from the waist up and clock the grin that spreads across her face. She says nothing for a while, just stares at me. I’m happy too, gazing at her face. I could do this all night, especially when she gets that hungry sparkle in her eye .
“Thanks. I needed a little pick-me-up. That did it. Hope you don’t mind being objectified for a minute.”
“Are you kidding? We hockey stars live for that shit. Objectify me, baby.”
“Ha. Good.”
Even though I’m the one in the later time zone, I can see Trix’s eyes get heavy. “You’ve been working since the crack of dawn, haven’t you?” I ask, knowing how determined she is to work against probability to get the inn open in January of the new year.
She nods.
“Time for bed, honey.”
She nods again.
We say our good nights, and I look back at the silly desk in the corner of my room. No use for the thing at all. Except that…there is that stack of hotel stationery that I’ll bet no one ever uses. Maybe I’ll be the first.
I may never send it to anyone, but maybe Trix is right. Sometimes, it’s good to get all my thoughts in one place. And right now, all my thoughts are of her.