Chapter 12
Sven
twelve
. . .
There is often a strange routine to the inconsistency in my schedule. Regardless of where I play, most home games start at seven o’clock, which means they end close to ten, and we’re on the plane around midnight. Time zones may be different, but the hour remains the same. I find a lot of solace in that.
But then, there are times the games start an hour earlier or later, it messes everything up. On weekends, sometimes we play a matinee, when we start just after noon but have to get to the arena ass-crack early. Some days we play back to back, and some weeks we only play one or two games instead of four or five.
These are the times when there’s too much variation.
In general, I’m not a night owl. Mornings are my preference. But I don’t get to have a choice, not really, not when hockey dictates my schedule.
Vanessa is coming on the road trip with us. I know this, because she texted me the other day and said “I’m going on the next road trip,” and I typed back “okay,” and I also said “your hair looks very nice today and I want to kiss you.”
Except I deleted that last part.
I don’t think I’m supposed to tell my fake girlfriend that I think she’s pretty and I want to kiss her. Even though I think she’s pretty and want to kiss her, like, all the fucking time.
We had the rules conversation the morning after she stayed at my place. And up until now, there have been very strict boundaries. She stays home, and I go away, and then I come back, and she’s there looking irresistible, and I go back to my house and masturbate to the memory of our one-night stand all those years ago.
After our Tuesday night game, it’s time to head to Pittsburgh. I only know we’re going to Pittsburgh because tomorrow we have a team dinner at the same bougie steakhouse we always go to, and also because it says so on the team email.
Following my teammates, I board the plane and sit in row 13. Nobody else likes row 13. I do. The number makes me happy. Everyone else’s avoidance of it only adds to its appeal. They give me a wide berth.
Vanessa boards the plane with a group of other staffers. There’s Patrice and Angelica, and Joaquin-with-a-J, and George-with-a-G.
Her eyes meet mine from the entrance to the plane, and immediately I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I haven’t seen her in a few hours. I missed her.
Fuck. I need to chill out. I need to cool down. I need?—
She’s approaching. Quick. Pretend like?—
Apprehension covers her face like a mask.
Silently, I tip my head to the seat beside me.
She hesitates.
I catch sight of Andrews and the rest of the equipment staff boarding the plane. My good mood sours.
Ducking into the row, Vanessa takes the open seat, leaving the middle seat empty. Jenkins, sitting in the row ahead of me, swivels his head to stare at her.
I glare at him, and he flinches.
“This okay?” she whispers. Her hands are shaking.
Taking her hand in mine, I squeeze her fingers, rubbing my thumb over the back of her knuckles.
Jenkins’ eyes go as big as saucers.
Andrews glares at me.
Good. My work here is done.
“How was your evening?” I ask quietly.
“Good. You played well.”
“Thanks.” I manage half a smile. Even though I didn’t get a goal, I did manage two assists, so I feel comfortably pleased with my performance. “You watched?”
“I always watch. I just don’t always get to see it from the stands.” She shifts in her seat. “I was finishing up some paperwork in the back office. Getting ready. Usually I don’t travel with the team.”
Inclining my head, I wonder what’s changed. Scott, the other Logistics Coordinator, was with us on our last trip. It didn’t strike me as abnormal until she appeared today.
“Hey, Van,” Jenkins says, nodding at her.
Her eyes flick to him. “Hi.”
“You’re here with us?”
She gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Looks like, yeah.”
Andrews stows his stuff in the compartment above row 13 on the left side of the plane, sitting on the aisle. It’s like he can’t possibly bear to be apart from her. Clingy asshole.
On the other hand, I can’t really blame him. I don’t want to be separated from her, either.
Despite our relationship declaration form officially being on file, I don’t think anyone really knows yet. About us, that is. We won’t get in trouble with management or ownership, but none of the guys know. None of the staff.
I guess they’re about to find out.
“Nessie,” Andrews says, nodding at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Hi, Robby.” She turns to face me, her hand squeezing mine so tightly it almost cuts off my circulation. “How’s Rupert?”
“Already asleep for the night.” She goes to sleep around sundown each night, even on the days I’m home in the evening. “Brigitte is with her.”
Vanessa smiles softly.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” I ask. We have practice from ten to two and then free time before the team dinner at that stupid steakhouse. Thursday, we’ll be at the training facility most of the morning, then time for a pregame nap before we head back to start preparing for the evening’s matchup.
“Just some paperwork. I have a half-day,” she says. “Now that I’m on the road more, Jacky is reallocating some of my daily responsibilities to compensate.”
I don’t really know what she does. I mean, I know she works in logistics. I don’t know what that means, though. When I signed here, all of the details were handled by some dude named Tim and my then-fiancée. They found me an apartment in the North End—which I hated—and moved all my stuff from Arizona and unpacked it. All I had to do was show up.
When we broke up, Marika was the one to move out since the season had already started. After an abysmally short playoff run, my realtor closed on my current house and coordinated the movers.
I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave Boston. If I leave Boston. I’ve got a year left on my contract, and even though I hope to get one more long-term contract, it’s highly likely that I’ll be unable to.
I like this team. I like this city. I’ve got Hildy and Brigitte and… Vanessa.
Detangling my hand from hers, I put up the two armrests dividing us. She scoots a little closer—not much, just a little.
Because the flight is so short, there’s no point in changing out of my suit into casual clothes, only to put the suit back on an hour later. For longer flights, we’re allowed to wear comfortable clothes. Pre- and post-game, though, we’re to wear our suits. I’ve removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, the only concession to comfort.
Vanessa yawns, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Tired?” I ask, fighting the urge to take her hand back.
I wince. Of course she’s tired. She just yawned.
She nods. “Bex and I went to a new workout class at an obscene hour this morning. I didn’t think that through.”
“At least tomorrow you can sleep in.”
“I’ve still got a lot of work to do,” she says.
“Well, if you want to rest now, I have a shoulder to lean on,” I offer.
Why? Why did I say that?
But when Vanessa smiles up at me, my heart starts to flutter, and maybe…
“Thanks. That’d be nice,” she says quietly.
After the flight takes off, she moves to the middle seat, drawing her legs up to the empty seat beside her.
Immediately, I thread my arm across her shoulders, my hand on her waist, and she yawns again, squirming closer to me. Her hair smells like coconut, and her light floral perfume does dangerous things to my senses.
And when she sets her hand on my knee?
Everything goes haywire. My blood rushes south very, very quickly, and I swallow thickly, trying to avoid disturbing her.
“I’m just going to sleep for a little bit,” she says. Her eyes can barely stay open. “A power nap. Ten minutes.”
“I’ll wake you when it’s time,” I promise. “Get some rest.”