7. Eric
Chapter seven
Eric
I ’m standing in the cold garage, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes, trying to focus on unpacking the essentials to bring inside, but my mind keeps drifting back to Jessica. I used to have casual, meaningless sex back in my younger years. But I stopped all that a long time ago. Now, when I am intimate with a woman, I try to make it mean something.
And with Jessica, it did mean something. But our situation is impossible.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about the way she felt under my touch, the way her breath caught when I kissed her, how everything between us just… ignited. It was intense, even more than I thought it would be.
I lean against one of the larger boxes and rub my hands over my face. The cold garage is bracing and thoughts of her get me so worked up that I feel warm and horny again.
Crap. Am I catching feelings? I shouldn’t have let it happen. I shouldn’t have crossed that line, no matter how badly I wanted to. Hell, I still want to.
But that’s exactly why I’m keeping my distance now. It’s not because I don’t want her—because I do, more than I’m willing to admit—but because I’m no good for her. I know I’m not. And the last thing Jessica needs is to get involved with someone whose reputation is in the gutter, especially when she’s supposed to be representing me professionally.
“You made a giant mess of things, idiot,” I mutter to myself.
I can’t afford to mess this up. Not here in Denver, not with this second chance I’ve been given. I’ve already got enough baggage from Nashville weighing me down. If I drag Jessica into that mess, it’ll tarnish her, too. I can’t let that happen.
I glance down at the old photo album I’d tried to discreetly carry out here with me. It’s one of those old school albums—the kind my grandparents loved, with faded plastic sleeves that are cracking at the edges. I hadn’t meant to open it again, but something about it has been nagging at me ever since I found that note on the back of Mom’s photo.
Mom. That word still hurts. I wish she’d been there for me growing up. I wish both of my parents had survived the tragedy that took their lives.
I flip open the album and there it is, the photograph that stopped me cold in the living room with Jessica. My hands feel heavy as I pull it out of the sleeve once more. It’s an old picture of my mom, standing in front of a rundown house with a garden hose in her hand. Her smile is wide, her dark hair wild around her face. It’s the kind of picture you’d dismiss as a random family memory, except for what’s written on the back.
Here’s why I know this picture is significant—the original writing of Mom’s name and the date is in Grandma’s swirly scrawl. But there are other words on the photo too, written in a hand I don’t recognize.
A phone number. Two dates indicating a starting and an ending time from maybe twenty years ago. There’s an address. And my mother’s full name.
The dates scrawled there are from when I was about five years old. But my parents died when I was younger than that. That’s what I’ve always been told. They died, and my grandparents took me in. So why the hell is there a phone number and an address along with dates that hint she might have been alive after that?
I clench the photo tightly in my hand, my heart racing as my brain goes a thousand miles an hour.
“Am I crazy… or could it be possible? Could my mother still be alive?” It sounds ridiculous and I push it away. Just because I would want that more than anything does not make it true. I’m an orphan, and no amount of wishful thinking will change that.
I shake my head, feeling a weight in my chest. I can’t deal with this right now.
I deal with it by pretending I don’t care. Because if I remember how much it hurts to have lost everyone, well, I might just go mad. Better to keep busy and forget about the pain of loss.
Besides, I don’t even know what to do with this information. It’s a tiny piece of information, but it’s still too much, too fast, and I’m not ready to go down that road toward the past.
Not yet. I shove the photo back into the album and close it with a frustrated snap.
Now isn’t a good time to get distracted. There’s too much on the line. I can’t let myself get sucked into a rabbit trail by something like this. I need to focus on what’s in front of me—getting settled in Denver, fixing my reputation, getting back on track with my career.
And Jessica. I need to figure out how to handle things with her without screwing everything up even more than I already have. She’s a good person. She deserves a squeaky clean good guy.
With a deep breath, I grab the clothes and shoes I unpacked and head back into the house, trying to leave the weight of everything that’s been piling up in my head behind me. It’s snowing lightly outside, the flakes swirling in the wind out the front windows, but I barely notice. My thoughts are too jumbled.
I walk into the kitchen and see Jessica sitting at the counter with her laptop open. She looks up at me as I enter, her eyes soft and curious, like she’s trying to figure me out. I can’t blame her. I should start a conversation about the sex we had. I know I should, and I’m sure she’s wondering what the hell is going on in my head.
But I can’t talk about any of that. Instead, I get the idea that we should get out of this house, not just me, but both of us.
“Get it all squared away?” She nods to the stack of clothes I put on the counter.
“For now.” I smile at her, and it feels real. “Hey, I was thinking,” I say casually, leaning against the counter. “There’s a charity game tomorrow afternoon. The team’s holiday charity match against the local B-level hockey squad. You want to come?”
Jessica raises an eyebrow. “You’re inviting me to a charity hockey game?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Figured you might want to see the team in action and scope out the rising talent from the b-team. Besides, it’s for a good cause. Proceeds go to charity.”
She hesitates, biting her bottom lip as she thinks it over. I can see the question in her eyes, probably trying to figure out if this is a good idea, if it’s “professional” enough. I know she’s concerned about keeping things above board for her job, but I’m not asking her out on a date. It’s just a hockey game.
Eventually, she gives in. “Alright. I guess it’s technically part of my job.”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. She’s so cute thinking about her job like this after we literally just got naked together and had sex. “Good. We’ll leave right after lunch.”
The heavy energy between us seems to ease slightly, and I take that as a win. Maybe getting out of the house, getting back to hockey, will help clear the air between us. After everything that happened today—everything we’re both avoiding—it feels like this is a step in the right direction.
***
The drive to the arena is surprisingly comfortable. The snow has picked up, thick flakes falling steadily against the windshield, but the roads are clear enough. Jessica and I make small talk, and for the first time since yesterday’s moment of intimacy, it doesn’t feel forced.
I don’t know why, but a small part of me thought last night that we’d find our way together again, having sex and easing into a physical connection. But it didn’t happen. Jessica is her usual self, but a bit more reserved. I wonder if she regrets what we did.
“So,” I ask, glancing over at her as I merge onto the highway, “you ever been to a hockey game before?”
She smiles, her eyes focused on the road ahead, but she shakes her head at me. “What kind of sports attorney would I be if I didn’t go to any hockey games in my life? My God, Eric.”
I laugh as she lectures me.
“But yes, I’ve been to a few. My dad’s firm used to represent a couple of players, so I went to a few games in LA when I was younger.”
I raise an eyebrow in approval. “So, you’re not completely new to this world?”
“Not completely,” she says with a smirk. “But I’m still learning. Hockey was never my thing growing up.”
I chuckle. “Well, I’ll try not to take that personally.”
She laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. It feels good to hear her laugh like that, like maybe we’re finally getting past the line we crossed.
When we pull up to the arena, it’s already alive with activity. The holiday charity games throughout the league always draw big crowds, and here today, the energy is infectious. The lights are bright, and the cold air bites at my skin as we step out of the car.
We use the players’ private entrance, but I don’t want to just send her up to the players’ friends and family suite. Instead, I use some back hallways I know of and walk her there myself, stopping to smile and acknowledge the staff of the arena also using the back hallways.
Inside the suite, I see some of the families and wives of my new teammates, already there getting food from the buffet or drinks from the in-suite bar.
“This way—best view in the house,” I murmur, keeping my eyes on her.
She swats at my arm and laughs, following me to the balcony that overlooks the rows and rows of seats below. We can see down onto the empty ice. The atmosphere is even more electric out here. Soon, the sounds of skates on ice, the sharp clang of pucks hitting the boards, the murmur of the crowd will fill this space.
This is where I belong now, in Denver on the Avalanche, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of peace settle over me.
I check the time. I should get going down to the locker room and get ready. It’s just a charity game, so I didn’t have to be here too early today.
As soon as we step back inside the suite, I can feel the eyes on us. A few of the wives and girlfriends glance our way, their expressions curious, probably wondering who Jessica is and why she’s with me.
I ignore the looks and guide Jessica to a spot near the front where she can see the ice. “This is where you’ll be watching from,” I say, trying to resist the urge to push a strand of her hair away from her pretty face. “Best seat in the house.”
She nods, her eyes scanning the rink below. “I’m glad I came, Eric. It’s exciting.”
I grin. “Wait until the game starts.”
I turn to go and my hand brushes against hers accidentally. It throws her off balance and without thinking, I reach out and pull her to me. It’s an overreaction on my part, but it feels good to feel her pressed against me. The hug is brief, but it’s enough to make us pause. It takes a moment before she pulls back, and when she does, I see the cutest flush turn her cheeks pink. Her eyes hold my gaze, making my heart constrict from their intensity.
It makes me feel like there’s more between us that we’re not saying. More that we’re running away from. We both know that we’re not just roommates anymore. But where do we go from here?
That’s the question I keep asking myself as I walk to the elevator and go down to the bottom level of the arena.