Chapter 17 Avoidance
AVOIDANCE
ANASTASIA
This entire week has been a blur, happening so quickly, I’m dizzy.
And Saint’s been acting funny, moody, a little withdrawn.
Over morning coffee he asks me again about the schedule for the premiere tomorrow, something I thought I’d already covered with him a couple of days ago after our Friendsgiving meal.
“The studio PR department has me in press interviews with the cast and the producer and director all day long. I’ll have just enough time to zoom to the beauty salon to get my hair and makeup done in the afternoon, then back here to change into my gown.
Then the car arrives to pick us up, after getting Nana first. With any luck, we’ll arrive to walk the red carpet on time.
” I stop to take a breath. “It’s all so exciting. My first movie.”
I grin and take a sip and peek at him over the rim of my mug. Today’s mug saying, It’s Your Lucky Day with a little leprechaun dancing on top of a shamrock. Each morning this week, he’s selected a lucky-themed mug for coffee, his way to celebrate my movie, I guess.
The grim face he’s displaying is far from celebratory, though.
I set the mug down and reach across the counter for his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Nothing.” He’s quick to dismiss, with a flatline twerk of his lips.
My voice catches on a lump in my throat. “Did our conversation the other day about falling for each other scare you?”
“No. I meant every word.” He pats my hand right as the alarm goes off on my phone.
“Shoot. I have to go to work. But I can stay a little longer if you have something you need to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
He hops off the counter stool. “No. It can wait.”
So this is what living with a really broody Saint is like? The ups and the downs? I haven’t lived with a man before this, so maybe it’s normal male behavior. Although I really think it’s all him.
He kisses my cheek. “I’ll be home after the game.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I won’t make it.” I have a late meeting with the writing team on another script we’ve had in development. “But hey, the meeting will be over in time so that I could at least come for the third period.”
“No need to rush around. We’ll be together after I get home.”
I trail him to the door, thoroughly worried now. He bends over and hoists up his gear bag. With a hand on the doorknob, he’s about to walk out. Unlike past mornings, where we exit hand in hand, smiling and happy. So I thought.
My heart jerks. What did I do? How did things go from that to this? No. I can’t do daddy issues now. Things were going well; this is something entirely different.
“Saint, please don’t go yet. Wait here while I get my things. I’ll walk out with you. Okay?”
He nods. I run down the hall to the bedroom and grab my purse and laptop bag—when something catches my eye, grinding me to a halt. The bottom drops out of my chest.
The dresser drawer is askew again. Thinking back, it was like that a couple of mornings ago, too. I tried to forget about it, give him space, and not pry. But if I had, maybe I could have thwarted his mood swing from turning this bad?
It’s strange how the rest of his house can be so well kept, everything in their place, but that damn drawer can sometimes be left like this?
I walk slower back to him, fighting back the tears. When I see him waiting for me at the door, the dam bursts, tears flowing. “Whatever happened in the past is always going to be there between us, isn’t it?”
“What?” He faces me with scowling eyes. “Don’t cry.”
“The drawer, Saint. It’s open. It wasn’t last night. Which means you’ve looked inside of it this morning and now you’re in a mood. And I’m the one who has to suffer through it because you won’t open up to me.”
“How do you know what’s in that drawer? You looked?”
Accusatory eyes have me shrinking back. “Only once. I saw the photo. She’s someone who meant something to you in the past, isn’t she? She’s the reason you get in these moods?”
“Come here.” He pulls me to him, and I sniffle into his chest. His fingers rub my back, but he still doesn’t speak. I’m at a loss here. Do I keep pressing?
“What’s in the drawer? Show me.” Maybe that would make it easier for him to talk if we go through the contents together?
“I-I just grabbed this.” He pulls from his pocket the green rabbit’s foot. “It may be silly, but I’ve always carried it with me. Since it fell out when I went fishing for a condom and I stuffed it in the drawer, I forgot about it. This morning, I wanted it back. That’s all.”
My ear is near his heart, and it’s racing, like he’s stressed or in trauma. Guilt hits me for pressing him. But I can’t stop now. “Who gave it—”
“Anastasia, you said you’d give me time.
There are things I want to tell you. Believe me, every day this week I’ve come close.
” He takes my hands and shifts so we’re face to face, looking me square in the eye.
“Tonight. I promise. After the game, we’ll talk.
Okay? I-I’m ready to tell you everything. Think you can wait that long?”
I nod, relieved, hoping this will be it. “Yes.”
He drops my hands and I follow, still harboring an uneasy feeling in my stomach about the way we’re leaving things.
I don’t go to my car, but wait at his. After he drops his bag in the back, I slide in between him and the car door, attempting a sly, sexy move.
“Good luck at the game. Get an assist or a goal, and I’ll be waiting for you naked in your bed,” I purr and flutter my lids at him a few times.
It works, judging by the return of his sexy half smile on one corner of his lips. “Motivation. I like it, angel.”
He leans in for a few soft kisses, but I don’t let him get away that easily. I grab him by the back of the neck and sear him with tongue and heat; the message being that I can’t lose him to whatever is going on.
“Mm. Can’t wait to see you tonight,” he says, and I let him go, pleased that—for now—we’re okay.
I pace the floor and check the time again, and my phone again for messages. It’s past midnight, and Saint’s still not home from the game.
From the sports report online, the Puckers posted a stunning loss against the re-visiting Vancouver Ice. I fast forward through the replay of the game.
What happened in the middle of the third period has me on edge. Saint picks a fight with good old Sanderson. I know the animosity between these two. The entire game, they can be seen passing each other, words shouted between them, most of the time instigated by Saint.
That’s so unlike him to start a fight. He’s usually the one to finish it.
After Sanderson trips him, Saint gets up and tosses down gloves. I expect him to pummel Sanderson into the boards—instead, Saint throws one punch, then lets the guy hit him over and over until he falls, bloody to the ice.
My hands shake and I can’t breathe as I freeze frame on Saint’s body. He’s like the shell of himself, not even there. Like he wanted the punishment.
I can’t take this waiting. He’s not returning my calls or texts. I call Jimmy McCool’s, but Jimmy confirms he’s not there. He saw the game too and is worried. He promises to call if he hears from him.
I don’t know any other players on the team these days to call, other than the coach. I dial him. Duke answers his phone with a groggy voice. “Hello?”
“Duke, it’s Anastasia. I’m trying to find Saint. He hasn’t come home yet. I saw the game and I’m worried. Is he in the hospital? Do you know where he is?”
“Hang on.” I hear shuffling on his end of the line and an echo of a door shutting, until he comes back on. “Other than some open cuts and a bruised eye, the idiot was fine. I think he and some of the guys went out drinking after.”
Oh, great. If he’s with some puck bunny… “Do you know where?”
Just then, I hear a car in the driveway, bright lights shining in the windows. “Never mind. I think he just got home. Thank you. Sorry to call.”
“When it comes to my players, you can reach out anytime.”
I click off and run to the door, expecting him to be stumbling in. Instead, Leo and Ridge carry him.
“Oh, my God. Bring him to the bedroom. Follow me. Is he passed out? How much has he had to drink?”
“Sorry, Anastasia. I didn’t realize how much he had until it was too late. We were just at some dive bar shooting darts. He was drinking all night, not talking to anyone,” Leo explained as they followed.
“No puck bunnies?” I hated asking, hated not trusting, but in his condition, anything could have happened, easily slipping back into his old playboy ways.
“No, ma’am. Male or female, anyone who attempted to talk to him got the brush off,” Ridge assured me. “We tried to get him to leave earlier, but he wouldn’t. Sorry.”
They placed Saint on the bed, and I thanked them. I locked the front door as they sauntered out, then ran back to the bedroom, shutting off all the lights for the night along the way.
I got his shoes and socks off and rolled him over to his side in case he threw up. Crawling under the covers next to him, I watched him sleep it off. So much for our talk, but perhaps this is how he wanted it. To avoid the conversation altogether, so he wouldn’t have to face the damn past.
I tossed and turned all night long, sleep evading me. For the red carpet tonight, I’ll have huge bags under my eyes. Selfish of me to think of myself, when clearly Saint is having issues, but how can I worry about him right now? He’s a grown man who needs to wise up and deal with things.
I try to wake him, but he only stirs and turns away from me. So I get up at five a.m. What’s the point of trying to sleep when I have a full day ahead?
Before I leave the house, I set a note by his phone on the bedstand. I can only hope to talk with him later today before the premiere.
Saint:
I missed you last night. You said we’d talk, but instead you got drunk with the guys. How do you think that makes me feel?
I’m worried about you. About us.
Please call me as soon as you wake up.
Yours,
Anastasia
He’s sleeping like a baby. A big, huge, baby-man. A part of me wants to understand and feel compassion for whatever he’s going through. Another part of me wants him to grow up. All of me worries whether we can survive this.
I kiss him softly. “I’ll see you later.” He doesn’t move.
With a glare toward the menacing drawer as I walk out, meant for the woman and baby holding his heart and soul in their hands, I’ve never been more jealous in my entire life.