Chapter 21
KELLER
Three years ago
I’ve seen Chloe wearing my number too many times to count over the years, and no matter how many times I do, it still makes my heart beat just a little faster.
The game concludes, and though we should all be bummed about yet another loss and where we’re currently at in the standings, there’s a buzz, and it has to do with the date. It’s New Year’s Eve, and just about everyone in this room has plans tonight, including me.
I quickly shower, then I’m one of the players stuck addressing the media.
I keep my answers short and to the point, sticking to the usual hockey script of “get pucks in deep,” “go hard at the net,” and “we just have to keep going down the stretch here.” I sound like a broken record, but even that’s not enough to sour my good mood.
“Hey,” Chloe says as I walk toward her once I’m released for the night—after a rousing speech from Coach about staying on the straight and narrow, of course.
“Clover.” I grin, pressing my lips to hers.
She’s the first to pull away, and I pretend it doesn’t sting.
Things have been…off between us lately. I kept telling myself it was because of the stress of the holidays, but now it’s New Year’s Eve, and it still doesn’t feel normal.
I have no idea what’s wrong, but I’m hoping we can get back on track tonight.
This has always been her favorite holiday, so maybe that will be on my side.
“How was work?” I ask her.
“Fine.”
Fine. It’s her go-to answer whenever I ask about it, and I gnash my teeth to keep from sighing.
She hates her job. I know it, and she knows it too, but for some reason, she won’t do anything about it.
She thinks she’s betraying her parents if she decides she no longer wants to work in a lab, and I hate that she’s resigned to being unhappy just to please them.
Don’t they know their daughter is miserable?
Don’t they see she wants something else?
Can’t they just let her off the hook? Can’t she let herself off the hook?
I love my wife, but I wish she would stand up for herself a little more sometimes.
She doesn’t even have to work if she doesn’t want to, so making herself so damn unhappy makes no sense to me.
“Are you ready to go, then?” I ask because I know she’s not going to offer any more.
“Yep.”
We make our way to a local bar we’ve gone to a few times, and I’m unsurprised to find it’s packed. I would personally rather be at home, but this has always been the one night a year Chloe likes going out, so I suck it up and push through for her.
We order drinks—a beer for me and a Diet Coke for her—then find a spot in the back where it’s not as packed and just a smidge quieter.
When I look at her across the tiny two-person table, I can’t help but smile.
Even after all these years together, she’s still fucking gorgeous, and I still want her.
I never gave much thought to finding true love or getting married or anything like that, but the moment I saw her, I wanted it all.
That hasn’t changed.
“Have I ever told you how hot you look with my last name across your back?”
“Hey, that’s my last name too.” She smirks at me over the rim of her cup. “But thank you.”
I laugh, take a drink, and set it back down with a loud smack of my lips. “So, New Year’s Eve.”
“New Year’s Eve.”
“Any resolutions you want to share?”
I don’t know what’s so wrong about what I’ve said, but it’s clearly the wrong thing, and almost instantly, Chloe’s entire mood shifts. I watch as her shoulders slump forward and she folds into herself. Her eyes darken so much they look black beneath the bar lights.
“Um, actually…” she starts, wrapping her hand around her soda. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something…”
My stomach drops right to the sticky, dirty floor of the bar, and a shiver rolls down my back. Something isn’t off with us. Something is wrong.
I force my voice to remain neutral. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I, um…” She looks around the bar, squinting. She leans in closer. “Do you mind if we talk somewhere quieter?”
No. I want to talk right here, right now. I want to know why you’re pulling away from me in more ways than one. I want to know how to fix it. I want to know that we’re okay.
But I don’t say any of that.
“Let’s go up to the roof.”
It’s freezing out, which is why it’s much less crowded up here than inside, but I’m so hot and clammy trying to sort out what it is my wife could possibly want to talk to me about that I don’t even notice the bite of cold.
We find a corner away from the other people scattered about, and I stand as close to her as possible. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to be near her right now, like whatever she’s about to say…it could change everything.
She takes a drink of her Diet Coke, then sets the glass on the railing before turning out to look at the city. I don’t miss how she inches away, either. She’s quiet for a while, and I let her take her time, and not just because I’m not so sure I’m ready to hear what she has to say.
When she shivers, I tug off my jacket and drape it around her shoulders.
She smiles up at me softly. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything for my girl.”
Her eyes flit away from mine, and I push down the vomit that threatens to make itself known.
“So…”
“So…” she repeats, then sighs. “I applied for an internship.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.
She applied for an internship? When did she do this?
I try to sift through all our conversations over the last few months, but I can’t, for the life of me, figure out when she may have mentioned an internship.
Did I miss it somewhere? Did I not pay attention?
“An internship? For another lab?”
She shakes her head. “Uh, no. If I have to spend another three months in one, I might scream.”
My brows furrow. “What’s the internship for, then?”
What I really want to ask is Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your husband! But I don’t.
“Writing.”
It’s the second time tonight she’s surprised me. “Writing? What? Since when?”
“Um, I don’t know. For a while now, I guess. I, uh, I’ve been blogging. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but one night when you were on the road and I couldn’t sleep, I grabbed my laptop and wrote something about it. You know I’ve always loved journaling and getting my thoughts out.”
“I know. I remember watching you all the time in college. I haven’t seen you do it lately, though.”
“I do. I just use my computer now instead.”
Am I just not as observant as I thought?
I had no idea she was still writing…or that she still wanted to.
I know I’ve been wrapped up in hockey, especially lately, since I’m about ninety-nine percent sure I’m on the chopping block as Chicago looks to revamp their roster yet again, but I didn’t realize I was so distracted I didn’t even know what was going on in my own home.
“Anyway,” she says, “I found it online and applied on a whim. With Talia’s encouragement, of course.”
Her best friend knows about this, yet she didn’t think it was important to tell her husband? That’s fucked up in so many ways I don’t have the words for.
“I wasn’t expecting to get accepted at all since I have no real formal practice in writing, which is why I didn’t say anything,” she continues.
“But I guess they liked my samples so much they decided to take a chance on me, and I…” She shrugs.
“I don’t know. I really want to do it. I don’t love the lab, but you know that already.
Maybe this could be something new for me, you know? ”
But it’s not new for her. It’s new for us, and I don’t think that’s something she’s taken into consideration. I can understand being worried she wouldn’t get it, but to not even mention to me that she applied? Then spring this on me tonight of all nights?
Well, I suppose that part makes sense. She always saw this holiday as a chance to start over.
“Callum?”
“Hmm?” I give myself a mental shake. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s amazing, Clover. I’m happy for you.” I mean it too. Sure, it’s not at all what I was expecting, but it doesn’t make me any less thrilled for this opportunity she has. “I know you’ll be great at it. When does it start?”
“Um, soon. Like in two weeks.”
Two weeks? What the fuck?
“I know that’s not ideal,” she continues. “I know your agent mentioned a possible trade, but this is really important to me. It’s a great writing program, and London—”
“London? The internship is in London?”
How could this even work out? Would we just go long distance, then pick back up when she returns? And then what happens? Does she leave again? Does she pursue writing? Will she be happy? And if I do get traded? Then what?
She pauses, her brows furrowed. “Yeah. Did I not mention that?”
I scoff. “No, Clover, you didn’t.”
I take a healthy drink of my beer. It’s not nearly strong enough for this conversation, but I’m not about to go back inside before I find out more about how my wife is going to fucking London without me.
“Oh, well. I’m sorry but…” She wrings her hands. She’s nervous telling me this, and I hate that she is. “Yes, it’s in London.”
“And I’m guessing it’s for three months? That’s why you said that about not being able to work in a lab for that long, right?”
“Yes.”
Fuck! The single word rings in my head, and I know it’s unfair the moment it does.
I have no room to be upset right now. Of course she wants to go do something for herself, and she should.
She’s followed me around for years now, bouncing from city to city every time I get traded.
She’s put up with canceled plans due to injuries and adjusted schedules because of obligations.
She deserves this. I just wish she had told me about it before now.
“Well, that’s amazing. I’m happy for you.”