Chapter Forty-Two Randall
From the moment I arrived in Vancouver, everyone wanted a piece of me. I barely had time to check into the hotel the Vancouver Dragons arranged before my days got swallowed up.
Management arranged an afternoon-long, brain-numbing meet and greet with the board and sponsors.
The coaches insisted on a review of their playbook that took hours.
The goalie coach booked me for a private session on the ice for most of the second day.
The press hounded my agent for interviews or parked outside the arena to badger me with questions.
Medical people demanded tests, PR managers took pictures, and fans stopped me everywhere I went.
Most of all, my new team needed assurance that I was here for them a hundred percent. I worked out beside them at the gym, stayed longer during the scrimmages and practices, and had dinner with teammates the three of the four nights since I arrived.
One dinner was reserved for my family where we had prime rib and missed Elise. The one time she was in my dad’s house imprinted her presence. Now, every Haughland is waiting for her to materialize. Or maybe that’s me projecting my unease.
Unfortunately, she’s been impossible to reach, too. I miss her so much, it’s a constant cloud of distraction I need to push through. And since I brought her to Vancouver and showed her the best parts of the city, I’m reminded of Elise every place, every minute, every day.
Our last text exchange was this morning. I don’t usually call at night because of the time difference, but I need her. Phone tag is a curse.
Are you awake? I text my girlfriend.
Elise: Hi! Another late dinner for you?
Randall: Yeah. Time difference sucks.
That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. I’m close to selling my soul in order to bend space and time, just so I can kiss her.
Elise: It does. Hey, did you get my email about the showings?
Elise has taken it upon herself to help my realtor sell the townhouse. We had a little argument about it because I’d like her to stay longer. For fuck’s sake, it hasn’t even been a week! But she’s determined to be helpful while she’s living there.
Randall: I don’t want to talk about showings. I need to see you.
Hearing her voice has made me goddamn desperate for a video call.
When she answers, she’s lying down with her hair spread on the pillow. Twenty pounds of air exit my lungs in relief. There she is, my girl, waiting for me in bed.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hi,” she responds while muffling a yawn. “Did you just get home?”
“Yeah, the guys dropped me off at the hotel and we had a drink at the bar.”
“When do you get the condo that management arranged? You probably miss having a kitchen.”
“Not as much as I miss feeding you,” I quip.
She doesn’t say anything at first and then, gently, she utters, “I miss you too, Randall. So much.”
My chest is filled with longing as well as guilt. Although I like hearing my emotions reciprocated, I don’t enjoy her melancholy.
It’s only been a few days.
This will be manageable, eventually.
I think.
I hope.
“In two days, which is when I have a full day off.”
“Good,” she says with a sigh of relief. “So, do you like your new teammates?”
“They’re fine.” I don’t elaborate, because I need a break from hockey. “Let’s talk about you. How’s the play? Did you meet the department head?”
“The play is great, and the syllabus is, um, completed.” Is it me or is her tone dodgy?
“Completed as in you submitted it?”
“Anyway, I finished a difficult scene today. Can’t wait to show you.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that Elise avoided my question about her teaching materials. I let it go because I’d rather hear about her play anyway.
“Send it to me tomorrow. I wanna read it.”
Elise nods and offers me a softened expression, as if my encouragement is a kindness. It isn’t. Her talent fascinates me. The play is awesome. I miss her creative energy as much as I miss her body. Which is so fucking much.
“What are you wearing under those blankets?” I ask.
She pulls down the cover to reveal a simple tank top and tiny sleep shorts. My arousal surges like I’m fifteen and seeing a naked woman’s body for the first time. I grab my cock and squeeze.
“Fuck, baby, I can see your nipples. Do they miss my mouth?”
“Every inch of me misses your mouth,” she sighs.
“Wanna see how hard it makes me to hear you say that?”
“Yes, sir, please show me your hard cock,” she coos with a grin.
I go to the bathroom and drop my pants so she sees my grip at the base of a very thick, very stiff dick. There’s not a lot of finesse in me tonight.
“God, that’s so hot,” she says, licking her lips.
“Get your shirt off. I want to see your breasts,” I grunt.
She sits up and pulls off the tank top to reveal breasts I’m dying to taste.
“Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet,” I grunt like an animal.
“That’s a real shame,” she says past partly parted lips. She’s just as out of breath and needy.
“Slide those fingers inside your shorts. Touch yourself. Are you wet?”
“So wet.”
“Show me. Show me how fuckable you are.” She takes her two fingers out, moisture making them glisten. Pre-cum beads at the head of my cock. I squeeze tighter, imagining myself slipping into her liquid heat.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
“I’m gonna make you come till you scream my name. Are you ready, baby?”
She meowls in agreement, and I talk her through each step of my torturous fantasy. How I’d lick her cunt so thoroughly, she’d see stars. How I’d slip between her tits and push forward so every thrust forced her lips open. How deep I would grind. How I’d bend her over and fuck her rough and hard.
“Oh god, Randall. Are you there with me? I’m…I’m…” She detonates, eyes rolling back and mouth open in one long scream of my name.
“You’re so beautiful when you come. Now watch me, Elise. Watch how hard you make me. Do you see how much I want you? You’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect.” I let go, exploding over the bathroom counter, on my stomach, around my grip.
When my orgasm eases, I’m empty and in need of a shower.
“Get cleaned up while we’re on the call,” she says. “I want to watch you get ready for bed.”
I place the phone on the bathroom counter of the generic hotel room and pretend it’s normal to keep the shower door open and scrub myself while my girlfriend is watching from thousands of miles away. When I’m done, she’s half asleep. We say our goodnights and promise to call earlier tomorrow.
Lying in bed alone, it’s easy to focus on the cold sheets and generic wall art—signs that I’m far from a real home.
Instead, I shift my attention to Elise, who can rock my world no matter where she is.
Elise, who inspires me even in the midst of my frustration. In a way, long distance has only solidified our deep connection. We’ll get through this temporary separation. It’s temporary because no matter where my job is, my real home is wherever Elise is.
If that means spending every minute of each holiday and all of the summer months in Ohio, that’s what I’ll do.
Sure, we’ve got to figure shit out, like what time of day we can talk regularly. And whatever is going on with her teaching gig, I want to be the first to know. I resolve to give her more details about my teammates the next time she asks.
When sleep finally pulls me under, I drift into a garden. It smells flowery and sweet and earthy, like Elise after we spend a summer day outside. It smells like home.