Chapter 9 #3
What I don’t tell her is that turning my apartment into a place that feels like a home was one of the many tasks given to me by my therapist this summer.
In his words, it was time to live like an adult, to create a space that was more than just the apartment with the best surround sound for movie nights or NHL 26 tournaments on the PlayStation.
So I shopped. I bought furniture and art and throw blankets.
And a kitchen full of utensils and cookware I’m still learning how to use.
I don’t know how professional it all feels, but I did buy the best mattress and the sheets with the highest thread count, so Becca should at least be comfortable if she comes over.
She takes a deep breath, and I can see her resistance melting away. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not a bit,” I say, proud that I manage to keep my voice sounding so neutral when, on the inside, I’m basically losing my mind.
“Okay,” she finally relents. “Sounds like a plan.”
I drive the short distance to my place, heart pounding the whole time. An hour ago, I was lying in bed, telling myself I couldn’t survive the thought of her going home to someone else. Now, she’s suddenly single, and I’m taking her home with me.
I really did mean it when I said I had zero expectations. But I also don’t know what to do with all this hope.
We don’t say much as I park in the garage, then ride the elevator up to the eighteenth floor. I can tell Becca’s tired, so I keep my focus. The faster she’s settled and tucked into bed, the better.
Once we’re inside my apartment, I hang back, watching Becca walk into the living room and take in the space.
It’s the best room, with windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, a view of the city beyond lighting up the night sky.
The couch is mid-century modern, brown leather, grouped with a pair of sage green armchairs.
A low coffee table sits in the middle of the room, a smaller version of the console that sits under the TV mounted on the far wall.
Built-in shelves flank the console table, and I’ve filled them with copies of my favorite books and a few pieces from local artists.
Becca stands for a long moment, her back to me like she’s taking in the view, then she turns. “You did all this?” she asks, motioning to the room.
“It isn’t that much,” I say, but she quickly shakes her head.
“Yes, it is. It’s beautiful.” She smiles. “Not exactly the video game setup you talked about having when we were in high school.”
If she had been here six months ago, that’s exactly what she would have found. Surround sound, a couple of game consoles, a pile of controllers on the floor. I always talked a big game about making it to the NHL and getting a place with the “ideal” setup. Funny how much my priorities have shifted.
Well, sort of shifted. I still have the setup. It’s just not the only thing that matters anymore.
I grin and cross the room, opening the lower cabinet on one of the built-ins. “You mean this video game setup?”
She laughs. “I should have known. Seriously, though, you have a good eye.”
My face warms at the compliment. Carter and Sarah have seen what I’ve done with the place, but that’s pretty much it.
Carter is the one with the house and the pool, so when we’re together with our teammates, we’re usually over there.
But I do like how things turned out. And it’s nice to hear a little validation. Especially from Becca.
Maybe just because she’s the only real relationship I’ve ever had, but as I was making choices, I couldn’t keep myself from wondering if each thing I picked out was something she would like.
Hearing that she does—it matters more than I thought it would.
“Come on,” I say to Becca. “Your room is this way.” I lead her down the hall to the guest room, then show her the bathroom and grab a few towels from the closet. “I’ll get you something to sleep in,” I say, then I turn and head across the living room to the primary suite.
I have no idea what Becca will want, so I grab a t-shirt and a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that will definitely swallow her, but they at least have a drawstring waist, so maybe she can cinch them up?
“Hopefully something here will work,” I say, setting the pile of clothes on the bed.
She nods, lifting her hand to her mouth as she yawns.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Maybe a phone charger?” she says. “If you have a spare one?”
“In the drawer of the nightstand,” I say. “Left side of the bed.”
Her eyes widen. “You really thought of everything.”
“Pinterest thought of everything,” I say. “I used every cheat sheet I could find.”
Her lips lift in a small smile. “Either way, you did excellent work.”
I move to the door. “Please make yourself at home. There’s water in the fridge, snacks in the pantry, whatever you want.”
She nods. “Thank you. For all of this—and for the ride. You really saved me.”
“Anytime, Bec.” I hold her gaze for a long moment. “I’m really sorry about the breakup.” I say goodnight and close the door behind me, hoping she doesn’t see through the lie. The truth is, her ex just handed me the best night I’ve had in a while, and it’s hard to be sorry about that.