50. Calvin
CALVIN
Iwake to the sound of my cell ringing, but as much as I want to dive under the covers and never come up again, the incessant ringing stops me.
Reaching for it, I blink at the screen, watching as Rett’s smiling face appears before me.
A groan spills free.
Honestly, I was expecting a call last night.
Bea is Sienna’s best friend, and Rett is her man. Of course the news has gotten back.
I swipe the screen.
“Hey, man. How are you doing?”
I grunt in response.
While I might have thought my future included a wife, and maybe even a family of my own someday, I wasn’t expecting it to happen for a while yet. But finding Sienna again…well, thoughts of the future suddenly haven’t been all that far from my mind.
“That good, huh? Bea hasn’t said much, but I don’t think Sienna is doing very well either.”
I groan.
“Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say? I thought maybe it would be a good thing.”
“How is knowing she’s hurting a good thing?” I snap.
“Because it means she cares. You should be more worried if she wasn’t bothered.”
Deep down, I know he’s right. As much as I don’t want to hurt Sienna, the fact that she’s upset at least means she felt something real, like I did.
Like I do.
“I fucked up,” I confess.
“Yeah, I got that. What did you do?”
“I didn’t tell her some stuff I should have.”
“Killer,” he warns.
“I know. I know.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“I sent her a message.” While you were wasted, a little voice screams. “And I sent her a coffee at work yesterday.”
“Whoa, calm down. You might burst a blood vessel, putting all that effort in,” Rett mocks.
“Did you actually want anything?” I grunt.
There’s an ominous pause on the other end of the line.
“I wanted to check in, but…you been online yet?”
“No, you woke me up. What’s going on?”
Fear rips through me that all of my worst nightmares are about to play out.
I can’t lose Sienna and my place on the team I love in only a few hours, can I?
Fuck, I really fucking hope not.
“Rumor has it Vancouver is shopping Nash.”
“What?” I blurt. “Why?”
He’s been there since he was drafted. There has never been talk about him moving. Well, I guess that’s something else I’ve been wrong about.
“Where’s he going?” I ask, my heart already racing.
Nash's release from his contract is big news, but it isn’t something that warrants an early-morning phone call. Unless…
“Nothing is confirmed yet,” Rett hedges.
“But…”
“LA is being mentioned.”
“But we don’t want him. We have no space for him.”
My heart rate only increases until I struggle to pull in the air I need.
Oh God. I think I’m going to have a panic attack.
“Take a breath,” Rett says, clearly able to hear my freak-out down the line.
“I’m good,” I force out, lying through my teeth.
“Are you?”
I mumble a response that basically screams, ‘No, I’m fucking not, but what are you going to do about it?’
I drag my hand down my face and suck in a couple of deep breaths.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“He won’t replace you,” Rett says firmly, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“He’s gonna have to replace someone,” I point out. “We’ll go over our cap if we secure him.”
“Yeah,” Rett muses, letting me hear his own worries for the first time.
“It won’t be you. Or Monroe—he’s fucking killing it up there with you.”
We spend a few minutes discussing the other D-men on our roster, trying to predict what Grady, our GM, is thinking.
Despite Rett’s confidence that my spot is secure, I don’t feel all that much better when we eventually hang up and I dive online and start reading the articles myself.
They’ve been written by legitimate hockey journalists. It’s not just gossip—Vancouver really is shopping.
But would he want to play in LA?
There’s no love lost between him and the Vipers. He plays like an asshole, and I can only assume the man beneath the equipment is just as much of a jerk.
Kodie played with him in college, and he doesn’t have much good to say about him beyond his ability on the ice.
Nothing I read makes me feel better, and when I see my name starting to be brought into it, I force myself to close everything down and not get sucked in.
Just because they’re putting Nash and the Vipers in the same sentence, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s speculation. There are plenty of teams that need to strengthen their back line as we move into the Christmas break. He’s going to have his pick.
I spend the rest of the day avoiding my cell—well, other than sending Sienna a good morning message and asking how she is, just in case she feels like replying to me today.
Apparently, she doesn’t, and I’m forced to continue giving her the space she’s asked for.
It’s been two days, and already my patience is running thin. But while Rett might have mocked my attempts to talk to her, I know that pushing her isn’t going to get me anywhere. When Sienna is ready to talk, to hear me out, she’ll let me know.
I hope.
The guys get back just after lunch, but they don’t hang around the arena. They’re all too desperate to get home, and while I don’t blame them, I can’t help but crave old times when we’d have hit up a bar first. I could use the distraction right now.
Instead, I find myself home alone, miserable, and losing myself in anxiety over my future, which, once again, I attempt to drown out with whiskey.
It’s not the healthiest way to deal with everything that’s happening in my life, but it’s the only way I know.
For the third day in a row, I wake with a hangover pounding at my temples, wishing that the past few days had never happened.
A week ago, life was good. I thought I had it all. Now, it feels like everything has shifted beneath me.
Rolling onto my side, I stare at the photo that’s still propped up against my nightstand.
I miss her.
It’s been three days, and I miss her so fucking bad.
She’s probably beneath me right now—so close, yet so fucking far away.
I grab my cell and write another message.
She still hasn’t replied to any of my previous ones, but I need her to know that I’m still thinking about her. That I’m waiting, and that I’ll wait for as long as she needs me to.
Calvin: Good morning, beautiful. Did you sleep well? I miss falling asleep with you in my arms and waking up with you still there.
My thumb hovers over the send button as I consider the fact that she might have blocked me and isn’t actually getting any of these messages.
I hit send. If she hasn’t, then I need her to know that she’s still my very first and last thought of the day. Even an impending trade can’t take that away from me.
Before rolling out of bed, I check the hockey sites for news. But while the rumors are still hot, nothing has been announced.
Maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he’ll end up on the East Coast, and we’ll get to see him less.
That seems a little too good to be true.
At least things seem a little more normal when I arrive at the arena and discover that almost everyone has beaten me here. There’s no longer silence in the dressing room; instead, there’s boisterous laughter following a successful road series.
“Hey, man,” Linc calls when I throw the door open and join them. “We missed you.”
“Obviously,” I deadpan, pulling on the Killer mask these guys all know a little too well.
I get pulled into conversations about their road games, and I try to focus on what they’re saying, I really do, but it’s harder than it should be.
Before long, Coach pokes his head into the room and demands that everyone hit the ice.
One by one, they file out, but Monroe lingers.
“How are you really doing?” he asks, holding my eyes.
“Fucking shit,” I confess, dragging my fingers through my hair. “She won’t talk to me, and I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s shit, man.”
“I’m trying to give her space, but I really want to smash her door down and force her hand.”
“I probably wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips.
“I don’t know how to make this better,” I confess. “I’ve never done any of this before. I’m well out of my depth.”
“But you want her, right? She’s the one?”
“Yeah. She’s the one. I’ve known that since I was twelve.”
His brows pinch in confusion. “Then you need to show her.”
“How? She won’t talk to me.”
“I don’t know. But all the books have grand gestures for a reason.”
“You’re saying that I need to get her to a game and then get on one knee in the middle of the ice?”
“Uh…maybe not exactly that.”
“Because I would,” I assure him.
“I don’t doubt that. I don’t know what’s gone down, but she needs to see that she can trust you. That you’re the man she thought you were a week ago.”
I nod as if he’s just given me the best piece of advice, but when he leaves the room, I quickly realize that he hasn’t helped at all—I’m still clueless.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I try something new.
If Sienna won’t reply, maybe someone close to her will. And maybe, just maybe, she might have an idea about how I can win back her best friend.
Calvin: Is she okay?
I stare at my cell for a few minutes, waiting for those ticks to change color. But nothing happens. I get it—the salon is busy. We’re racing toward the holidays, and everyone wants to look their best. But that doesn’t help me right now.
Calvin: I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to give her space, but it’s killing me. I need to talk to her.
I’m still staring at my screen when Darcy pokes his head into the room.
“We doing this or not?”
“Yeah, we’re doing this,” I mutter before shoving my phone in my locker.
Every time someone walks into the weight room, I’m expecting them to tell me Grady wants to talk to me. But it never comes, and while the gossip continues, there’s still no announcement. And worse than that, there’s still no reply from Bea.
It’s not until I’m leaving the arena later that evening that my cell finally buzzes with the message I’ve been waiting on.
Bea: She’s okay. You’re doing the right thing. She just needs time to process. She misses you, too, though. Don’t think she’s forgotten about you.
“My girl’s smart; you should listen to her,” Rett says, having clearly read it over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I mumble as we head toward our cars.
“We’re going to the Fractured Compass, right?” Linc shouts.
A round of agreement follows, and despite wanting to go home and wallow some more, I allow myself to be dragged along by my friends.
Calvin: How long do I have to wait? It’s killing me.
Bea: Until she’s ready. She’s working every day until she leaves for her parents’ for the holidays.
Calvin: Are you suggesting I shelve this until the new year?
Bea: I don’t know. Maybe. There are no rules here. You hurt her. You lied to her. She needs to figure out if she can trust you.
Calvin: Wouldn’t that be easier to do if we spent time together?
Bea: Just be patient. Trust her to know what she needs, and trust her to come to the right decision.
Calvin: But what if our ideas of the right decision are different?
“Enough,” Rett barks, tugging my cell from my hand, locking it, and stuffing it in his pocket. “They’re having a girls’ night. Leave them be.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He pushes a beer toward me and forces me back to the present.