CHAPTER 21
SASHA
To say I was missing her was an understatement.
For the past six weeks I lived and breathed Lucy Walton even if I never touched her, talked to her, saw her.
And it was all a form of self-inflicted torture.
Because, even though I didn't know her address, I could have somehow found her, right?
I could have sent her a text, hell, even a letter to her nephew to give to her.
But I didn't.
I did exactly as Lucy asked, what she demanded. I stayed away. I stayed away because I loved her.
I never wanted to be a hockey player because of the fame. Maybe the money, for the win, for the girls, for the unexplained joy I get every time I lace up my skates or wrap my stick. The anticipation, the adrenaline in the locker room. All of that, but not for the fame.
But with hockey, NHL hockey, fame was a part of the game. And it killed me. All because fame is what Lucy couldn't take, no matter how much she loved me. My fame took something from her that I couldn't protect her from.
So, I stayed away.
But all that was about to change. Tomorrow would be six weeks from her surgery and I couldn't wait to text her, to see her when we got back into town, to hold her in my arms and listen to every little thing that she has been going through since I'd last talked to her.
“Sarge, get your head out of your ass.”
“Huh?” Shit I wasn't paying attention and my line was out on the ice.
It was game six of the first round of the playoff and if we won tonight, we would make it to round two. I had never been so close to the cup in twelve years of professional hockey and I was fucking it up because I couldn't stop thinking about my girl.
Her scent still lingered in my memory. I was making myself a diabetic with all the candy canes I was eating. But none of it was ever enough when I knew she was just beyond my reach.
I skated hard to the blue line, Reeds getting crammed into the boards so I gave a hard check. My teeth rattled and I could hear my shoulder pad knock into #45. He was a prick anyway and had been riding me this entire series.
“Cut that shit out, Mills.” I growled. He was pissing me off.
“Bang off, Sarge.” He blew me a kiss and we were off again.
The blades of my skates felt sharp on the ice.
They dug in deep. By this time in the night my legs were killing me.
I'd gotten so much ice time this series.
I was skating the best I ever had because I'd dedicated myself to the sport in spite of my broken heart.
Well, because of it. I didn't want to socialize, so I hit the gym hard, becoming a machine, no heart needed.
Thirty seconds left on the clock and we were only up by one. The Fins were doing everything they could to steal this win away and force us into game seven. But I'd had enough of it. I wanted it to be tomorrow, on a plane, headed to see Lucy.
Reeds was slow tonight, I could see him dulling, not paying attention. His head was down with the puck and Mills was gunning for him. They couldn't get the puck away from us tonight, doesn't mean they wouldn't try and beat it out of us.
I made my way to intercept, knowing it was going to hurt, and BAM! It hurts. It hurts the both of us. But as Mills and I tangle, the buzzer sounds for another goal, we won.
“Fuck you, Sarge.”
“You deserved it.” I give him a wink and lift off my feet in a quick jump to celebrate with the guys.
We scream, we cheer, we laugh. The crowd goes wild, deafening. I think of Lucy.
◆◆◆
“Oh, shit Sarge, look at your hit. It's all over ESPN!” Jonesy shoved his phone in my face as I nursed a mint julep. Occasionally I had to quit the candy canes, but the need for mint still lingered in my blood stream. The sugar was just tearing up my stomach.
“I don't need to see it. I'm still feeling it.” I rubbed my shoulder, the old body unable to clear the pain like it used to.
“Yeah, I owe you a drink, Sarge. I would have never seen it coming.” Reeds bent his head down to see what was in my cup. “Are those leaves?” His eyebrow curled up in confusion.
“Mint.” I smile, thinking of her.
“Jesus, man. I don't know if I should be worried or not.” He shook his head.
“I think it is romantic.” Jonesy batted his eyelashes at me.
“Well, boys, take a good look at me, tomorrow I get to text my girl. The solitude is over!” I smiled and clanked the beer bottle and whiskey cups that surrounded me.
I had actually let the guys take me out after the game. It was usually hitting the gym or going straight back to the hotel these past few weeks. I had watched the entire series of New Girl, twice, just to keep my mind right.
“End of solitude? Did I hear you right?” A gorgeous blonde saddled right up next to me at the bar.
Her breasts grazed my E.T T-shirt, her perfume overwhelmingly sweet. She looked up at me with beautiful blue eyes that said more than hello.
“Uh, yeah.” I was momentarily distracted. It had been so long since I felt a touch other than my own.
The guys all turned a cold shoulder to me. Jonesy gave me a threatening eye. But why? Were they expecting me to do anything?
“Well, maybe I could help with that?” Her eyes sparkled in my direction.
“Oh.” Shit, I hated this part. “No, thank you.” I felt like an ass. She wasn't doing anything wrong. I was actually flattered.
“OK.” Her face flushed and her eyes shot to her feet. “I'm so sorry.”
She was embarrassed and I didn't mean to make her feel bad. It's just that she wasn't Lucy.
“No, no, don't be. I'm flattered really. I just have a girlfriend.” Girlfriend sounded so childish. Lucy was more than that. She was mine. End of sentence, no more explanation needed.
“Right, uh sorry again.” She turned around and scattered away before I could even offer her a drink. She disappeared into bodies dancing on the floor, couples making out in the corner, people giggling in the booths.
“Smooth.” Reeds knocked into my shoulder.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?”
“You should always start with 'I think your beautiful.'” He shook his head like I was a dumb ass.
“You go talk to her then.” I took a sip of my drink, the mint reminding me of her and warming me.
“You think?” He looked her way.
“Yeah. Buy her a drink and shit-talk me. That usually works.”
“I guess I could clean up the mess you made.” Reeds walks off, swagger forward.
I leaned into the bar and settled in. Eventually Jonesy would find a girl and head off, leaving Colton, married, and Murph, widowed and me. But what was I? Boyfriend? It sounded pathetic, like a teenage claim when Lucy and I were adults.
Hell, I'd only known her a few months and we had a handful of dates because I'm always away and she doesn't bend over backwards to give up her life for my schedule.
That thought hit me in the chest. Hockey was so much to deal with.
Was she really going to be OK with giving up more time to be with me?
Would she want to miss Paulie's games or her date night with her mom?
I hadn't thought of that part because we weren't there yet.
We were in the hot and heavy, fuck-everything-else-but-your-pussy faze.
And really, would I want her to give it all up?
I knew the WAGS, but more from my old team. It was a culture, a life style, a filter on your phone that made every girl more beautiful, able to handle the kids, the household and the fame while the players are away. And it made every player look like the provider, the family man, the hero.
But is that what I wanted her to be? Did I want a WAG? Or do I want a Lucifer? Because never in a million years did I see her blend in. She was born to stand out, foul mouthed and wild. I think it was why I sat her with Nina, I could feel they were the same kind of woman.
And I was curious to how she felt about it all.
“You OK, Sarge?” Colton asked the bartender for another round for the three of us.
“Just thinking of Lucy.”
“When aren't you thinking of her?”
“Leave him alone, Colt.” Murph downed a beer in a few gulps.
“I'm being nice, Murph.” He rolled his eyes.
“He's right. I'm always thinking of her.” I smile at the thought. “I see nothing wrong with it.”
“Just keep yourself guarded. This is all new. I don't think any of us should have women during the season. It's too fucking hard.” He pulls at his thinning red hair.
I slap a hand on his shoulder. “Are you OK, Colt?” I had never seen him sad before when it wasn't after a loss.
“I don't know. I'm– shit, marriage is hard.”
“I don't want to hear any of that.” Murph stood up to leave, but I put a hand on his arm to make him stay.
“It's not that I don't appreciate still having my wife, Murph, but I barely see her. The puck bunnies are looking better and better and they don't get pissed at me when I miss an event. They don't talk about getting a new job in Chicago. Hell, they light up when they see me.”
I cringed. He was throwing all of his life's problems on the table and Murph was fuming because he was taking the fact that his wife still had breath for granted, but I also understood his point.
“Hockey, man.” I shook my head and took a big swig of my mint julep.
Colton huffed out a short laugh. Murph looked up to the heavens.
We all knew this life came with problems, we were just guys trying to navigate the sport we loved with a life. Because, why couldn't we have both?
“Hockey, man. It breaks your heart then somehow seems to lace it back together the next day. That's why I kept playing.” Murph wiped a stray tear from his eye that Colton and I did not acknowledge.
“Only to break it again.”
“Yeah. Fucking hockey.”
We all clink glasses and let Colton air his dirty laundry until late in the night when the bar had cleared.
Reeds took home the blond. Jonesy got a blowy in the alleyway and cried in the bathroom because he felt guilty.
Second line boys called their wives, some right before dancing with a puck bunny, some right after.
I couldn't stop looking at my phone, checking the time, hoping she would text me early.
◆◆◆
I was drunk. Very drunk as I stumbled into my hotel room. I had no idea what time it was as my vision was blurred no matter how many times I rubbed my eyes.
“Shit.” I stubbed my toe on the night stand, barreling into the bed, where I forgot I had left my laptop which then popped up and hit me right in the mouth.
I could feel the blood start immediately.
“Fuck.” I garbled and spit into a napkin. I then balled up the napkin and shoved it into my cheek and turned over.
I blinked a few more times and tried to close my eyes. The bus would be at the hotel at seven a.m. to bring us to the plane to fly home. I needed to get a few hours of sleep if I was going to see Lucy tomorrow. I needed to see Lucy tomorrow.
But the hotel clock was so bright, casting a red glow on my face.
I swatted at it, but missed. My hands were just haphazardly swooping but not connecting with anything. I opened an eye and found the red 3:04 blinking at me, right before I swatted it away.
“3:04” I shot straight up in bed and fumbled into the pockets of my pants for my cell phone.
It was time. It was six weeks from the surgery. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to hear her voice, see her face.
I was so fucking drunk that I texted her, my heart beating out of my chest with excitement.
Me: Can we talk now?
A part of me expected her to text back right away like she was still up. The drunk part of me thought that. The drunk part of me also kept texting because who really needs sleep anyway when you finally had the green light to communicate with the woman you love?
The only women you would ever love again.
Me: I missed you so much
Me: How are you feeling?
Me: I can't wait to hold you.
Me: Are you back to work? Did your customers miss you?
Me: Your the most beautiful woman in the world I want to be in you always and lick your lips and brush your hair and call you babe and let you yell at me. And let you bite me. I love when you yell isn't that crazy? Your crazy
Me: oops typo you're crazy hehe
Me: I'm drunk
Me: I'm sleepy
Me: I love you
◆◆◆
The alarm went off at six a.m. and while I tried to swat it away, I had already done that last night, so it was ten feet away from the bed on the floor. I couldn't stand without feeling like I was going to puke so I slid the upper part of my body off the bed like a snake and turned off the alarm.
I might actually still be drunk.
I grabbed my phone quickly, holding it to my chest, the one that was about to break from my heart beating so fervently, just to see what she wrote back.
But there was nothing.
I checked the time, if it was six a.m. here it would be nine a.m. there. She was up. It was a Friday.
I panicked. She stayed silent.