Chapter Six
Liam
My house has never been this clean. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this clean when I bought the place three years ago. Every single large window along the right-hand wall is streak free, the hardwood floors are polished and smooth. My home is no bachelor pad, but it is still not where I wanted it in terms of decoration. There always seems to be something missing from each room, more art or another rug. Just something to make it feel like home. Still, every shelf has been emptied and dusted before being filled with trinkets again, pictures from childhood and my high school trophies lining the shelves. When my parents retired to Florida it was either I display them here or they go into storage. I didn’t like the idea that just because it’s old it doesn’t have value.
In the past eighteen hours and twenty-three minutes since El called me I have scrubbed the whole place top to bottom. Twice. I have vacuumed every carpet and rug, even upstairs. I spent time on my hands and knees at six a.m. this morning cleaning between the bathroom tiles. Until yesterday I don’t think I even realised how big this place is, it was just the one that felt most like home when the realtor showed it to me. Now five bedrooms and three bathrooms feels excessive, especially when two of those bedrooms aren’t furnished because nobody’s ever used them.
Usually, I don’t get nervous. I don’t get nervous on the ice. So far, women haven’t made me nervous. Ellis Ainsley makes me nervous, though. She was the only one who did all those years ago in school and she still does now. Something about her biting sass just makes my bones itch. I guess in the same way some people feel butterflies, I get the bone itches. I sound insane even to myself, but that is the only way to describe the feeling: El makes my bones want to crawl out of my skin so badly that it made me want to clean. To make my space worthy.
When she was here last month it wasn’t deep cleaned, but then I never expected to see her, let alone have the pleasure of having her in my space. Not to mention that it was the middle of the night, it’s not like she was taking a good look around. But this time I want her to be impressed; I want her to notice the brown leather couch I had made especially for the main room – something I added because I wanted it to feel warmer than my team’s bachelor pads, filled with blacks and greys. I have area rugs and pictures on the walls. This is my home, and I want Ellis to see me as a grown man now; not the little college boy who should have fought harder for her.
I know the boys would find this beyond funny, Ruin being given the run around by a woman. But she is not just any woman, Ellis was my dream woman. I still have to remind myself that our relationship was a long time ago. Now I wonder if too much has changed, and if I’m not the kind of man she’d want any more. Or maybe she has changed beyond what I knew her to be. But from that night we had, she felt the same.
Back in school, and even now given my career, women come to me without much effort. Something about the “bad boy” vibes with the dark longish hair and dark eyes, I guess. I knew the image I was giving off and I ran with it. But El didn’t fall for that bullshit. My leather jacket was just a jacket to her and my smirk only made her arch her brows. From the minute I met her I knew I was smitten.
Getting my degree was not at the top of my priority list back then; all I had cared about was getting to the draft. But as soon as I spotted her tall frame from across lecture hall 320 for our first business seminar I knew I was going to start showing up to class more. It was my mom who made me promise to go to college and I could never break a promise to her. Meeting Ellis just made the promise a little bit easier to keep. Knowing I would see her if I turned up made waking up early worth it, even if I did it hungover.
I didn’t approach her vying for sex or follow her around campus, I just knew I only had one year left with her in my life each week and I wanted as much of her as I could to tide me over for the rest of time. Dramatic college mind set aside, I was basically right. As soon as we graduated, she couldn’t split us up quick enough and I knew it was going to happen. El was never quiet about her intentions to date me until I was drafted, but I had convinced myself I could change her mind. But there is no changing Ellis Ainsley’s mind once she has it made up.
Ever mature and level-headed, she was right. Of course, she was right. If El told you something, she was giving you her word. If she told you something, it was her truth and there was nothing that would change it. I was drafted to the other side of the country to New York and I had the best four years there. If the distance hadn’t broken us, the fame would have done it. I am mature enough to admit that I let it all go to my head, having millions of people screaming my name and women flashing me in the halls of the arena. From New York to Vancouver and now back in Seattle, it was a fucked-up dream that got old quickly. I still love the sport, but the pageantry was a novelty.
Admittedly when I heard I was being traded back home, Ellis was in the top five first thoughts I had. And she was not thought four or five. Stupid really, because I know we’re in different points in our lives.
Watching her body change as she shared pictures online when she was having Jack was like a spiritual experience, I followed it so closely Edge thought that either she was a celebrity or that I was the dad. Both of which he found hysterical. When I explained she was my one that got away, he just felt sad for me, which was a million times worse. At least he was someone I could trust not to tell the rest of the guys. I didn’t need any sympathy, I was happy for her.
Did I wonder why the dad wasn’t in any of the pictures? Of course I did. Did I think about trying to get in touch with her to ask? Only once. But in my defence I was very drunk and we had just lost to LA, which sucked because do they even have ice in LA? It was just a sudden huge shift; her page went from couples pictures, dates and flowers to baby bumps with no man by her side. I’d always wondered how anyone could mess up so badly.
I know I need to focus on today and her impending visit that has been driving me up the wall all night long. I barely slept because I couldn’t stop thinking about if I had time to mow the lawn in the morning, only to remember it’s January so there is no fresh grass to cut. I’ve only eaten three meals instead of my usual five, and if my nutritionist hears about it he would be force-feeding me pasta before I could blink.
So, the house is in model home condition for the first time since it was actually a model home, and I am a pacing mess while waiting for her – now thinking that I should have gone to pick up groceries in case she is hungry. I offered to take her out for lunch but she insisted she had to speak to me here, in private. Which I think means we are not about to have sex? I’m not entirely sure. She might want to come here specifically because she liked the bedroom, but her voice was heavy with something that screamed we will not be having a sex repeat. There was also the fact she was clearly breaking her routine to do this and that only occurred on very special occasions.
Ellis has always been headstrong and her routine is a part of that, I always assumed it was because when she flared up her life felt so out of her own hands that she had to do what she could to regain that control. Her life would crumble when her fibromyalgia would rear its ugly head. One day she would be in a small amount of pain, enough relief to walk through the day with her head held high, and the next for seemingly no reason she would buckle. The pain was so bad it would cause her to vomit, to shake, to beg for it to stop.
There was nothing I could do. Hell, I was useless and no matter how much someone tries to google, it never offers all the answers. Especially with chronic illness, it is so personal and subjective that the things I read were often no help at all. I was a twenty-year-old guy just trying to graduate and become an adult, and Ellis had – still has – so much more to think about. If staying at home and reading is what helped her feel safe when the world was on her shoulders, then who was I to tell her to change? Yet she is doing it today.
From the moment ten years ago when I saw those long blonde curls bouncing around the room, I’ve been attracted to Ellis. Surely finding her again in December had to mean something? Yes, we were in the same city for the first time in a while, but I’ve been playing in Seattle for the past two seasons – still, seeing her was a surprise to me.
But I have no proper window into her current life; I’ve only seen her son through pictures online, but he somehow reminds me of her. And I can see she’s done everything to raise him well, despite her own upbringing.
My childhood was different than hers. Both of my parents showered me with love. My mom was always open with affection and the perfect shoulder to cry on when things didn’t go my way. On the other hand, my dad was subtler; it might have been because of his tougher Russian upbringing – hence the name Ruinsky. But as much as he loved me, he found it harder to show it. When I started playing hockey he found a way to connect with me. He played as a kid in Moscow, and seeing me on the ice reminded him of his childhood. Being the son of an immigrant made me want to fight harder; I wasn’t just living life for me, I’m living it for everything that was given up for me.
I’ve never met my paternal grandparents. When they found out my dad was marrying an American they demanded he come back home. He chose my mom, of course. I want to make sure his sacrifice was worth it. He might not hug me like Mom does – but he laced up my skates, drove me hours to away games, and showed me he loved me in a million other ways. He wanted me to be strong when it was needed and my mom wanted me to have a softness in my heart. I owe it to them to be the best of both. Ellis, too, used to help me harness that strength when I felt weak.
I felt it again in that bar. Have those feelings really stood the test of time?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The noise at my door interrupts my thoughts, which I open to a dishevelled looking Ellis. Her hair is thrown into a pony as she dons grey sweats.
“Hello there, beautiful.” I smile, leaning my arm across the top bar of the door frame, I want to play it cool, but her eyes appear glassy and far off. My smile fades quickly.
“I’m not ready. Not yet. I need more time.” She rambled the whispers more to herself than to me.
“Okay… take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” I try to comfort her even though I’m completely lost, not moving from my place against the door jamb. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her lips are bitten red raw. I can’t help but stare at them and the way they are opening and closing as she tries to find the right words. After a few seconds of her eyes bouncing anywhere but my face, they finally land there. Her gaze holds mine and the rest of the world stops spinning as we stare unabashedly. I feel myself soften from the inside out.
“Don’t do that.” She huffs before scrunching her nose – the way she always did when she was overthinking or uncomfortable. It’s strange just how much I remember about this woman. I remember her . I remember how I’ve held this woman as she cried about her frustration and pain, and she has held me while I mourned a broken heart after a bad loss on the ice.
“Do what?” I ask with concern.
“Look at me with those stupid, beautiful bedroom eyes,” she snaps up at me. But it’s hard to not laugh at her obvious annoyance when she mentions bedroom eyes .
“Oh sorry, I’ll just pop them out.” I say deadpan down at her, stepping to the side to welcome her in.
“Don’t do that either,” she chastises.
“What did I do now?” I ask as my eyebrows fly to my hairline.
“You almost made me laugh and I don’t have it in me to laugh today,” she says, finally stepping through the door and stopping for a brief moment. For one small second I think she is going to hug me, but she doesn’t. She walks into the living room and sits down on the couch – only to stand again and start pacing a hole in my white shag rug.
This isn’t the woman I recognise. Ellis was always the one who was put together, even when things were bothering her. When finals season was coming up she had spreadsheets and flashcards, and I was the one last-minute cram studying in the library up until two a.m. every night. She didn’t even seem this stressed when she thought she was going to have to drop out because her mother kept calling her non-stop for the first time in years and she feared Eleanor was actually going to show up in Seattle.
I don’t have a lot of practice when it comes to being the rock in the room. On the ice that’s Anders job – and he tends to carry that role off the ice too. He is the best captain I could have asked for, and for the past two and a half years he has made it a point to include me in the team antics. It helps that Edge and I transferred here together from Vancouver, and it probably helps that I know all the best bars to drink after a game where we won’t be hounded by fans.
This though, I am not practised in. Being the steady person in a time of crisis is not my role in life. My role is the silent flirty type who makes things better by smirking and charming everyone in the room. But that never worked on El in college and judging by the look on her face, it sure as hell isn’t going to work now.
Just from watching her I can feel myself spiralling again. Someone has to do something and it has to be me. I walk over to the pacing path Ellis is running in my living room floor and wait for her to start back towards me again. When she does, I’m ready to catch her and lightly hold her elbows. Her eyes are rimmed red.
If she’s truly in crisis, why has she turned to me? She never answered my previous calls, and she was so adamant about only spending a single night together. I’m certain there are people she is closer to whom she would rather lean on, so why come to her ex? Why now?
“Ellis, what’s wrong?” I ask while she moves to start pacing again.
“I can’t just blurt it out.” She gasps as if I’m asking her to do something absurd.
“Rip the Band-Aid off El.”
“They’re called plasters, silly American.” She chokes out between her heavy breaths, I can’t help but laugh because there she is. Full of sarcasm and wit.
“Liam I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad.” Her hands fly to her mouth as soon as the words slip past.
Then silence.
Nothing but silence.
Strangling, deafening, charged silence.