Chapter 23
KELLER
I’ll be back. I promise.
I read the note for the hundredth time, my eyes lingering on the words that have been underlined three times: I promise. But the thing is, she’s said that before. She’s made other promises, too—vows. Look how well she’s upheld those.
I crumple the paper and toss it across the room into the trash can by the door.
Then I get up and grab it, smoothing it out and putting it back on the bedside table I found it on four days ago.
Luckily for me, I’ve been sufficiently distracted with hockey.
We had an event the day I woke up to a cold spot beside me, and then back-to-back games here at home.
I’ve not had any time to think about my wife leaving me yet again.
Until now.
“Please tell me we’re getting together after practice. Rory is busy in the clinic all day, and I really don’t want to just be a couch potato,” Lawson says, even though he’s supposed to be running drills.
“Dude, go. You’re up.”
Hayes shoves him forward, and the Serpents’ leading goalscorer takes off toward the net, the puck on his stick. He rears his arm back and swings, sending the frozen puck right past Fox’s shoulder.
“Fuck!” the goalie yells.
He’s been extra hard on himself since that road skid we had, even in practice. We all have been. We’ve worked too damn hard to get where we are to even think about letting it all slip through our fingers now.
The assistant coach blows the whistle, then Hayes takes off. He tries the same move as Lawson, and this time Fox catches it with ease.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Lawson says to him, racing over to knock his fist against his helmet.
“Kells, you’re up.”
The whistle is blown again, and I take off toward the net, much slower than either of the other guys. When I drag my stick back, trying to shoot it over Fox’s left pad, I miss by a mile wide, and I don’t even care. I don’t care about much right now, actually.
“Well, that was shit,” Lawson remarks when I skate back over to the squad we’ve been broken up into. “You’re bad, but not usually this bad. What gives?”
I ignore him.
“Hello?” He taps on my helmet with the knob of his stick. “Anyone in there?”
I smack at him. “Fuck off.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong is that you’re breathing. Mind stopping?”
“Damn, dude,” Hutch says. “A bit brutal, no?”
“He’s still here, so apparently not enough.”
“He can hear you, and he is getting pretty damn tired of being your punching bag, you fucking dick.”
Even my eyes widen at his words, because I’ve never heard him sound so serious or hurt before.
Fuck, Callum, what are you doing? He’s your teammate. Apologize, you ass.
But I don’t. I just let him skate away to the other end of the ice.
“Hey.” Hutch grabs me by my practice jersey, pulling me so close our noses are almost touching.
“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but whatever it is, leave it at home.
Don’t bring that shit to the ice and don’t treat your fucking teammates—especially the ones who give a shit about you—like trash.
That Cup is within reach, and the last thing we need is to be at each other’s throats.
We need to be a unit right now. Think you can manage that, Callum? ”
Callum. Just hearing my name drop from his lips has me clenching my hands at my sides because all I can think of is Chloe. Chloe, who hid a job offer from me for weeks. Chloe, who fell asleep in my arms. Chloe, who walked away from me again.
“Everything okay over here, Cap?” Locke says, his eyes flitting between Hutch and me.
The captain drops me back to my skates. “Yeah, all good.” Then, without another glance backward, he skates away.
Locke doesn’t. He looks at me, his lips pulling down in a frown.
“What?” I bark, and from the corner of my eye, I see several people look our way.
“Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”
He skates away too, leaving me all alone, just as Chloe did. We finish practice with no other incidents, and I speed through my shower and meetings. Being on the ice is usually my solace, but I need out of here, and I need out now.
When I slip behind the wheel of my R8, I don’t steer toward my apartment building. I take a detour, heading toward Top Shelf. It’s been a long fucking week, and a drink sounds like exactly what I need right now. I wave to the bartender when I walk in, then slide onto a stool.
“Hey, Keller. Your usual?”
I shake my head. “Shots. Tequila. Six of them.”
I can tell he wants to say something, maybe try to talk me out of it, but I raise a brow, and he thinks better of it. As he moves to ready my shots, I pull my phone out and call Stefan. I need to talk to someone, anyone at this point, but I really want to talk to my brother.
When he doesn’t answer, I assume he’s in class. That would make the most sense, considering the time of day. That’s fine. I’ll just drink alone.
The bartender drops a tray in front of me, then takes the black card I slide his way. I nod at him before grabbing the tray and carrying it over to the booth the Serpents Singles usually occupy. I stare at the shot glasses for a while, debating whether it’s really a good idea to take them.
Hutch was right—the Cup is right within reach. We have just a few more weeks of the regular season, and we need to be ready for a deep run. Everything is on the line. We can’t slip up. None of us.
I flip my phone over and open my texts, clicking on Chloe’s name. I read through the last messages she sent me, which are from before she left this second time.
Clover: I didn’t forget to take the chicken out. YAY!
Clover: I’d better get a reward for that tonight.
I did reward her. Over and over with my tongue lashing against her clit, if my memory serves me well, and it does. I want that again, and I don’t mean the sex. I want simple. I want domestic. I want flirty texts and fun nights.
I just want my fucking wife.
I pick up the first shot of tequila, toss it back, and swallow. Then I do it again. And again. The booze hits me quick, and I suspect it has to do with the fact that I can’t remember the last time I ate. Maybe it was last night? Who knows? Better yet, who cares?
I sure as hell don’t. My wife is gone. Again.
“Well, aren’t you just a fucking sight for sore eyes.”
I close my eyes, hoping if I don’t see him, he’s not really here. But the bench across from me squeaks under his weight as he slides into the booth, and I know he’s not just a figment of my imagination.
When I open my eyes, Lawson sits across from me looking like…well, how I usually look: grumpy.
“What the hell are you doing here, Lawsy?”
“Honestly?” He runs a hand through his hair, then rests his elbows on the tabletop. “I don’t fucking know. You’re a dick, Keller. A real goddamn prick, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t.”
“But,” he continues, “for some reason, I care about you. So, I followed you here. I was hoping you might walk inside, realize what a bad idea this is, and come right back out. When you didn’t, I figured it was best I come check on you.
” He nods toward the empty shot glasses.
“Clearly, I should have come in earlier.”
I grab another shot, but I don’t take it. Not yet. My stomach is feeling a bit off, and I’m not sure what it means just yet, so I’m not testing my luck.
“So,” he says, settling back against the booth, “what crawled up your ass today?”
For a split second, I think about not telling him. Or better yet, I think about telling him to fuck off. But that’s not what I actually say. Instead, I tell him about the job offer, the fight, then waking up to a note and an empty bed.
“Shit,” he says, exhaling heavily. “Fuck, I didn’t know her leaving again was even a possibility. I thought you two were working things out.”
“I thought so too, but I guess not.”
He nods as if he understands, but he doesn’t. How can he when even I don’t get it? I thought when we went to bed that night, we might be okay. We’d talked a little more after our big heart-to-heart, and I even held her as we fell asleep like I always do.
Then she was just…gone.
“Can I ask you something without you trying to punch me?”
“Sorry,” I say, pushing the shot glass back and forth between my hands, not caring when a bit of alcohol spills out. “I can’t make any promises.”
He laughs lightly. “Fair enough.” Bravely, he leans across the table again. “Why’d you let her walk away if you love her so much?”
“Which time?” I hate that I even have to ask it, but it’s true.
“Both. I mean, it’s clear you’ve never stopped loving her. Does she know that?”
I shrug. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I told her before she left the second time, and every day before the first. I thought it was enough, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she needed something else. Or maybe she just didn’t need me.”
Lawson shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not it. It’s clear Chloe loves you, too.”
I laugh, and it sounds bitter to even me. “She walked away. Twice now, mind you. I’m not so sure that’s true.”
She hasn’t said it, that’s for certain. There have been so many times in the last two months that I thought she might, but she never uttered the words I so badly wanted to hear.
Lawson responds with a simple eyebrow raise, seeing right through all my bullshit, and it pisses me off just as much as it defeats me. I sink lower in the booth, then toss back another shot before slamming the glass to the table. I drag the back of my hand over my mouth and sigh.
“Because it was what she wanted.”
“Huh?”
“You asked why I let her walk away, right?” Lawson nods. “I let her walk away because it was what she wanted.”
He tips his head to the side. “I’m not sure I’m following.”
Honestly, I’m not either, but that could be the four shots I’ve slammed in the last fifteen minutes.