Chapter 17
Melly
A buzzing sound pulls me from my sleep. A warm arm is around my waist, and a hard body is firm against my back. My heart leaps when I realize that Blue’s still in my bed and we somehow ended up cuddling. I turn my head, and right at my cheek, I bump into the puck.
His phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s loud.
I gently rub his arm. “Blue?”
He stirs, removing his arm. I look at him, and his eyes open slightly.
They find my face, and they do the small, slow blink of a man who is not, for half a second, sure where he is.
Then he is. His face does the smallest possible thing — a small soft settling in the muscles around his mouth.
The line between his eyebrows doesn’t go away.
But his body relaxes, and my heart’s dancing in my chest at the sight of him in the early morning light.
He says, hoarse from sleep, “Hi, Melly.”
“Hi, Blue.”
His phone vibrates again. He groans, rolls onto his back, and reaches for the phone on the nightstand. He squints at the screen. He swears, very quietly.
“Fuck. It’s Benson.”
He sits up. I see him stretch out his shoulder when he answers.
I hear only his half of the conversation.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Yeah, I’m — yeah.”
A pause.
“I know.”
A pause.
“I know, cap.”
A longer pause. I can hear, faintly, the tinny shape of Benson’s voice through the phone.
“Yeah.”
“I will.”
“Yeah, ten.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Yeah.”
“I gotta go.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Bye.”
He hangs up and drops the phone on his chest. He closes his eyes for one second, then opens them.
“I have an away game today.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. Do you need to go?”
He shakes his head. “No. The bus leaves at ten fifteen.”
I look at the time and do the math. “Three hours.”
He turns his head on the pillow and looks at me. His hair is sticking up on one side.
“I have two and a half hours. I have to shower at home. I need my gear. I need to pack.”
I look at his sleepy face. “You should go.”
“I should.”
A pause.
“I’m not going to.”
A piece of my heart folds that sentence away, tucking it right where I keep everything Blue. He’s always put hockey first, and right now, it seems like he isn’t stressed about it.
“Can I make you a nice breakfast?”
He rubs a hand over his face and looks over at me. “You don’t have to.”
I grab the puck and grip onto it. “I want to,” I say quietly.
“You have one hour.”
I laugh and shake my head into the pillow.
“Okay, boss.”
“Please.”
“Get out of my bed, Golding.”
He grins. He swings his legs and sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me for one second. He runs both hands through his hair.
I climb out the other side. I’m still in his hoodie. I look over at the blue outfit resting on top of my dresser and smile to myself. He didn’t run. I realize I’m still holding the puck when I walk into the bathroom.
“Bathroom?” Blue asks.
I nod. “There’s a half one down the hall.”
He leaves the room, and I step into my bathroom. My makeup is everywhere because the girls and I got ready here last night before the game. I start putting a few things away and then I hurry to get ready, fixing my hair, swiping some mascara on, and brushing my teeth.
My chest expands when I think about last night and how easy it is to be with Blue. We actually get along well and can talk easily, which after two years, I thought was going to be like pulling teeth. I put on lip gloss and leave the bathroom.
When I walk into the kitchen, I look at the keyholder and notice that Penelope’s keys are gone. I look down and notice her shoes are too, so she must’ve left for a Pilates class or something.
I’m cracking eggs when Blue walks out of the hall with his sweats hanging low. He’s stretching his shoulder again.
I press a few buttons for the coffee and don’t turn to look at him, but I hear him stop moving.
“Sit down, Golding,” I say, grabbing the eggs from the fridge.
A small huff of a laugh. “Make me, Sorcha.”
I turn around and put the eggs next to the mixing bowl.
I smile.
He sits on a stool, watching me grab an egg and crack it.
“Scrambled eggs okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m at your mercy. Whatever you want, I’ll eat.”
I smile and focus on the eggs. I whisk them and add a splash of milk.
He’s leaning forward with his chin on the back of one wrist, watching me, with the soft early-morning version of his handsome face.
He’s just looking at me.
“What?” I ask shyly.
“Nothing.”
“Blue.”
“I’m just looking at you, Melly.”
I shiver and turn red. All the way down my neck. I turn back to the stove because if I look at him for one more half-second, I am going to drop the bowl.
I pour the eggs into the pan. The pan hisses. I stir. The coffee is ready, so I step over and press the button. On another pan, I have a few morning sausages going.
When I’m done cooking, I plate the eggs and sausages. Then I grab the cut-up fruit and put some on our plates. I pour the coffee in a mug and set the plate and mug in front of him.
He looks at the plate. He looks at me. He looks at the plate again.
“All this for me?” he asks, grabbing a fork. “You’re going to spoil me, Sorcha.”
“I thought Rowan cooks for the house,” I say, remembering Gianna talking about it.
He nods. “He does, but we pay him.”
I slide my plate over and sit next to him. He looks down at the hoodie I’m wearing.
He leans over and bumps my shoulder with his. “Thank you,” he whispers, looking down at me. It feels intimate coming out of his mouth.
I nod, bumping him back. “Eat.”
He picks up his fork and takes a bite. His eyes meet mine for a half second, and my cheeks feel so hot that I’m sure that they’re on fire. Honestly, I can’t believe he slept in my bed last night, and he’s eating breakfast with me. And we’re not anything but friends.
I die in my own kitchen under his gaze, very privately, and I do not let any of the dying show on my face. I drink my coffee to hide my nerves.
“Melly,” he says. “This is so good.”
“It’s eggs.”
“They are good eggs. I appreciate it.”
I smile into the mug.
He’s smiling at the plate.
We eat for a minute in silence.
He lifts his mug and looks at me over the lip when he takes a sip. The silence is comfortable but tense. I don’t know how to act.
“So, your shoulder,” I say, looking at his arm.
His eyes look down at his plate. “Yeah.”
“Which one is it?” I ask, even though I know.
“It’s my right shoulder. It’s been bothering me since the second week of October. I took a check at the home opener that wasn’t bad, but it tweaked it, and it didn’t go away.”
I listen carefully.
“I figured it would. They usually do. The fighting last night made it worse.” He looks down at his hands on the marble.
“Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“Because if I tell the trainer, she’ll pull me. A week. Maybe more. And I cannot sit right now.” He takes a beat and says, “So, you want to know about the draft?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Anaheim Ducks. Fourth round. Two summers ago.”
I chew on my eggs and watch him. Anaheim Ducks. Fourth round.
“Blue.”
He is almost smiling. The small soft corner-of-his-mouth Blue smile.
“Yeah.”
“Blue!”
I stand up, scooting the stool back. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to hug him.
I’m standing next to him. I want to grab his cheeks and squeeze his face.
He looks up at me. His whole face is lit up at my excitement.
His head is tilted up at me, and his throat bobs.
I place my hands on top of his shoulders and smile widely.
I press my mouth together. I push it out anyway.
“I’m so —”
I stop and shake my head at myself. I’m about to cry. I’m not going to cry. I know he’s worked day in and day out for this goal, and this is something he’s always dreamed about.
“I’m so proud of you, Blue.”
He looks at me and doesn’t know what to do. He puts his hand over my hand on his shoulder. Just for one second. His hand is warm. He squeezes my hand once.
He lets me go.
“Thanks, Melly.”
He forces a smile, and then it drops into a frown.
“What is it?” I ask, sitting back down.
He shakes his head. “It’s not exactly what I wanted, Mel.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fourth-round picks are not sure things, Mel. Half of us never sign. Half of us play four years of college and then go play in Europe or coach high school or sell insurance. The Ducks watched me, and they liked what they saw. This year they need to see more. They need to see me play through hard things. They need to see me at full minutes against the best kids in the conference. They have my rights until I’m twenty-four.
End of next season, they have to decide whether to sign me to a contract or pass. ”
“What happens if they sign you?”
“Entry-level deal. I’d report to their AHL team. San Diego. NHL inside two years if I play my cards right.”
“And if they pass?”
“I’m a free agent. I figure it out. Try to sign with another team.
Maybe Europe. Maybe coach. If I tell the trainer, she sits me for a week.
The scout shows up to a home game, and I’m in the press box in a button-down.
He sees the kid on the third line getting my minutes instead.
He puts a note in the file. Golding was hurt in November.
That note follows me. And the Ducks pass. ”
A long beat.
“So I’m not telling the trainer. Not until the season’s over. Not unless it gets bad enough that I’m a danger to the team.”
“Promise me one thing,” I say.
He looks up at me.
“If your shoulder gets worse. If it gets actually worse — like, you cannot lift it worse, or you wake up and your hand is numb worse — you tell someone. Not me. You tell your trainer. Or Coach. Or Benson. Promise?”
He looks at me. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He looks at me, and I offer a small smile.
I shrug. “It’s still really exciting.”
His grin grows slowly. “Yeah.”
“So, tonight when you play, they’re watching you?”
He nods. “Are you going to watch?”
“I’ve watched all of your games,” I admit.
“Even with your boyfriend?”
I blush, trying to hide the heat of my face. “Yes.”
I set the mug down as he looks at it. “What did he think about that?”
I shrug. “I didn’t tell him about you.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine again. They’re a soft blue right now, so I stare at them.
“Yeah. I didn’t tell anyone about you. Only Mila, of course.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t talk about you either.” He sips his coffee. “So your ex just thought you were a Wolves fan?”
I nod. “He knew I always wanted to come to Camden.”
“So you planned to break up with him the whole time?”
I shrug and chuckle nervously. “That sounds so bad when you put it that way.”
“If it’s the truth, then it’s the truth.”
I shake my head at myself.
“Do you love him?” he asks, looking down at the counter.
I swallow. “Um.” I almost laugh. “I –– I’m a bad person.”
He shakes his head, his eyes meeting mine. “No, you’re not.”
I nod. “I am.” I inhale and whisper, “I think I used him.”
His brows fly up. “You used him?”
I nod, terrified of where this conversation is going. “I thought if I was in a relationship that I would get over –– you know.” I wince. “I don’t know. I told you that it’s bad.”
“You’re not a bad person, Mel. You tried to move on.”
I stare at the counter. “Is it bad that I haven’t?”
Our eyes lock for a moment, and I’m having a hard time breathing. He’s staring back at me. It terrifies me to lay my cards out in front of him, knowing that there’s a high chance he walks away from me and doesn’t look back.
He shakes his head slowly. “No. I’m thankful as fuck that you haven’t, Melly.”
I release a shaky breath and nod once, keeping my eyes on his. He breaks the contact first by lifting his eyebrows.
“You’re brave, Melly. I’ve always admired that about you.”
“Really?”
He nods. “You go after what you want.”
“You too, Mister Fourth Round.”
He chuckles. “That’s not the same. It’s easy to chase after career goals, but you –– you follow your heart.”
I never thought that Blue would ever see the real me.
I thought that maybe he just didn’t have the capacity or the bandwidth, but I see how he just didn’t want to show it.
And maybe the two years I took at the community college were a blessing in disguise.
I didn’t know that it would make him miss me.
I craved the day we were on the same campus again.
Once we graduated high school, I realized how fleeting all those times were.
Once they were gone, they were gone. I thought I had lost my chance forever.
I shiver under his gaze, wondering what changed between then and now.
“My heart doesn’t always lead me the right way,” I admit.
He scoffs. “Look at you, Melly. Look at your place.” He turns around on the stool. “Your bedroom is beautiful. This apartment is beautiful.”
“Yeah,” I smile to myself.
“You’re here at Camden. You’re going for your social work degree. You have a good group of girls. And you’re––” he chuckles, “wasting your time with a guy like me.”
That feels like a jackknife to my chest. I shake my head quickly.
“You’ve never been a waste of time, Blue.”
He looks at me.
I glance down. “I’m serious. Maybe I romanticized you in a lot of ways, but I’ve always seen your heart.” I roll my eyes a little. “When you let me, and I’ve clung onto it. I know you, Blue. You’re going places.”
He grins, putting his head in his hands. Then he looks up and inhales deeply. “I don’t like when you talk to me like that.”
“You don’t?” I croak out.
He shakes his head. “You make everything seem possible.”
I breathe. “Isn’t it?”
His mouth slowly grows into a grin. “With you, it feels like it.”
With that, he stands up and takes our dishes to the sink. “I will do these dishes since you cooked, and then I’ll go.”
I stand up, too. “I’ll help.”
I stand next to him at the sink and lift the sleeves of hoodie up to my elbows. He washes, and I rinse. It’s quiet in here other than the sink water running. I hear the drum of my heart every time his body brushes against mine.
When we dry our hands, I pull off his hoodie and hand it over. “Thank you for coming over.”
He grins, taking the hoodie and puts it on. “I’ll text you.”
I nod, heart hammering. “Okay.”
I look up at him.
He looks down at me.
“Good luck,” I say.
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Melly.”
Then he walks out the front door. He glances at me one more time before he shuts the door. My heart leaves with him.
I don’t move for one full minute. I close my eyes and let my whole face do what it has been holding back from doing all morning, which is smile.