15. Shay #2
I love you guys!
Tears are welling in my eyes as I close out of my texts, my heart swelling from their friendship.
Swiping back to Instagram, I watch the twelve videos my mom sent me last night, most of which are about animals or vacation spots she wants to go to with me.
My arm twitches, and a piercing ache follows, shooting up to my entire shoulder. “Fucking hell.”
“You good?” Matt’s voice finds me before he approaches down the walkway, stopping right at my side.
Looking up at him, I flex my hands a couple of times, waiting for the pain to leave, but it doesn’t. Honestly, it never leaves completely. It just fades out like a tide ebbing and flowing, guaranteed to come back.
His eyes are completely unguarded, warm and welcoming. He’s so cute; it’s a crime. I wonder what that gaze would look like between my legs …
Shay.
I clear my throat, thankful Matt can’t read minds, and offer a half smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Dropping my gaze back to my phone, I wait for him to leave, and thankfully, after a beat passes without another word, he strolls along, other players right behind them.
Once they’re a few feet back, I hear snickering and a giggle.
Anxiety immediately floods my system as I worry that he told them about the shower incident.
Maybe that’s what his message said. I turned notifications off for this cursed thing a long time ago. Not that it stops me from getting on it anyway.
Clicking into our messages, I suck in a breath. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t an encouraging one. I expected maybe something flirty or some kind of joke to try to make me laugh. But instead …
Matt: You’re a badass, Shay. I’m in fucking awe of you.
Without him even realizing it, that’s probably the most attractive message he could’ve sent. His opinion of me carries far more weight than I'd like to ever admit, and reading that, it swirls something up deep inside of me.
Wetting my bottom lip, I chew on it, unsure if I should say something back.
Turning my head, I glance down the aisle.
My stare finds him instantly, and he’s already locked on me a few rows back.
He’s staring unabashedly, and I should stop him.
I should message him right this very second and tell him to behave.
That’s what a smart, responsible woman would do. That’s what a coach should do.
Well, a coach probably shouldn’t be messaging a player in the first place, but you know …
Apparently, I’m not going to be responsible today. Maybe I am just exhausted from trying to be that. He at least deserves the same respect he's showing me instead of my telling him off and saying where he can shove that compliment.
His eyes soften, his eyebrow twitching up almost unnoticeably, and he smiles. My chest bursts, and I feel a warmth burning on my skin from his stare. I offer a small smile back before turning my attention back to my phone.
This is dumb. This is stupid. I am stupid.
Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much that means to me.
He answers almost immediately, like he was in the messages, waiting for my response.
Matt: You have no idea how much you mean to me.
Matt.
Matt: I know. I know. We’re not discussing us until after the Cup is done. I know. But not talking about it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, about you … constantly, every second of every day.
My mouth dries instantly, and I read his words over again to be sure I read them correctly the first time and they weren’t a figment of my imagination. He hasn’t tried to hide his feelings about me in the slightest, but that still does not make me prepared for reading a message like that.
He sends another message.
Matt: You can tell me not to think about you. Not to imagine what being with you would be like. But it’s impossible. It’s become all I can think about. A million what-ifs about the possibility of us run through my mind all the time.
Matt: I don’t care if it’s against the rules. We wouldn’t be the first people to break them. I know you’re worried about losing your job, but don’t be. Carrington would have our back.
How can you know that? You can’t be certain.
Matt: Don’t you know who his wife is? Evie?
I’ve never met her, no.
Matt: Evie is Brett’s older sister. If you want to talk about inappropriate relationships, that one takes the cake. If that’s not enough, look at Brett himself. He’s dating Coach Hartwell’s daughter. Jensen’s dating Lainey. We wouldn’t be breaking news on this team if people found out about us.
About us, huh? Are you implying there already is an us?
Matt: That’s for you to decide. I’m already yours, Rooney, but you don’t need me to tell you that—you already know.
Oh God, I need to put this damn phone away before I say something I’m really going to regret, which is exactly what I do without replying to his message.
Even though I’m not staring at them any longer, it’s all I can focus on when Andy sits down beside me, yapping about his love life, when we take off.
Even when I drift to sleep, Matt doesn’t leave my mind.
I’m at the opening of the tunnel, watching the few remaining minutes in the second period of our game, and I’m more on edge than I have recently.
Every time Montreal breaks into the zone, I feel like a wave of nausea hits me like a brick.
If this is what having feelings for our goalie is going to do to me, I’m not going to be able to survive it.
Logically speaking, I know the likelihood of him being hurt like I was is one in a million—honestly, less likely than that. But my anxiety doesn’t believe it.
We’re down one goal right now. Montreal scored on a power play, and when that puck slipped under Matt’s arm, he was furious. I know he’s blaming himself right now, and I know what it’s like to put the team’s weight on your shoulders.