18. Astrid
Ialways planned to watched Sean’s first away game with Heather and Tanner and the kids. Heather promised that there would be food. So I’m excited to go, but surprised at how nervous I feel to watch Sean play.
He seemed off before he left for the airport. I chalked it up to pre-game nerves. He was happy before he left that morning for practice. Really, really happy. But when he got home, it seemed as if everything had changed.
But I’m sure it’s because of the game. I get it. The nerves are probably more than he likes to admit to us. He pretends to be stronger than he is. But I know how good he is and how badly he wants this. Sure, he’s playing on national television and the whole world can see him. But he’s going to do great.
Right?
I can’t imagine how sad he would be if his career was in jeopardy if that’s how he acted after one bad practice.
The thought that he could ever fail makes me shiver as I wait on the front porch with Violet after ringing the doorbell.
“Hi,” Heather says, bouncing up and down, wrapping her arms around me. “I missed you so much.” She swings her head of red curls around.
“I missed you too,” I say. I pat her back, glancing down to make sure Violet is still next to me.
“Come in, come in,” she says, standing back to let us in. “Tanner made us dinner. And by made dinner I mean he ordered us food.” She laughs.
“Wow, this place is stunning.” I stare around me. It is like walking into a freaking magazine.
“I know, right? I’m never leaving,” she says, twirling as she walks.
I follow behind her, feeling a little bit out of place. Sean’s home is beautiful, but the shock has started to wear off as it begins to feel more like home. This, however, very clearly screams, out of my league.
I hold Violet’s hand as we walk in, but she’s quick to run away once she spots Jake.
The entryway is large, immediately opening to the double staircase and open floor plan. A giant crystal chandelier glistens in the warm lighting of the house. I make it a few steps, my mouth open in shock, before I remember to take off my shoes.
“And this is the living room,” Heather says, casually, leading us through the house as if she didn’t just live in a studio apartment.
I blink, suddenly remembering she’s there, my attention so distracted by the luxury around me.
“Have a seat on the couch, I’m just going to grab myself a drink. Do you want anything?” she asks from the kitchen.
“No, I’m alright, thank you.” I plop down on the plush couch, sinking into the cushions. I wonder how expensive a couch has to be to feel this good.
“We have snacks until the food gets here, do you want something to eat?”
“No, I’m good, thank you.”
“You’re sure you don’t need anything,” Heather asks me for the third time. “Water, beer, nothing?”
“I told you I’m fine,” I laugh. She likes to take care of people when she’s nervous. “Sit down before your anxiety rubs off on Tanner or me.”
“Okay, okay.” She plops down with a huff.
I glance over at Tanner, who has the same amused look on his face.
Heather isn’t exactly a huge sports fan, so it is sweet to see her care so deeply for Connor. Tanner too, although I don’t think that either of them would admit to sappy emotions over a game.
I tuck my feet beneath me and cuddle into Heather. Tanner does his version of that by sitting on the chair next to us with his laptop open and his attention split three ways: work, the game, and us in that order.
The camera cuts to the announcers as they narrate the start of the game. They give the stats of various as the players as the guys take the ice.
My attention perks up when I hear Sean’s name. The season is early but he’s already a rookie on everyone’s radar. I’m surprised by the sense of pride that swells within me.
The first period starts as the ref skates to center ice and the puck drops. It is crazy how fast the players are from the moment the game begins. These giant men tearing across the ice with speed and grace I didn’t realize was possible.
It is hard to keep track of Sean’s jersey, Number Four.
“They move so fast,” I say. Were they always that fast?
Tanner nods his head silently and Heather stares at the screen, hands clutched beneath a blanket that hovers anxiously near her face, like she might have to cover her eyes at any moment.
“Are you okay?” I laugh, swatting at her hands.
“I don’t know how people watch sports,” she groans. “This is too stressful.” She brings her thumb to her lips and starts to chew on her nail.
The puck comes loose and three guys barrel towards it at full speed, slamming into one another and taking the fight against the wall. I can practically hear the punches, wincing and having to look away.
“Maybe you’re right. This is kind of stressful.” My pulse hammers at the thought that someone might punch Sean. I don’t think I can handle watching him get hurt.
The guys skate at rocket speed, I can’t imagine how badly it hurts when someone slams into you. I readjust myself on the couch, feeling Heather’s nerves now.
“Has Connor ever gotten seriously hurt?” I ask Tanner.
“He broke his arm one year,” Tanner says, nonchalantly, typing away at his computer.
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Oh my god, was that hard on you?” I can’t imagine seeing Sean get hurt. I don’t think that I could handle it. Seeing him sad was painful enough.
“Nah,” Tanner says, looking up, he pauses for second, as if trying to recall the memory. “The hardest part was probably dealing with his attitude after.”
“Really?” That’s surprising. I wouldn’t have thought about the aftereffects.
“Oh yeah,” Tanner snorts. “Connor became insufferable. You’ve never seen dramatics until you’ve seen a professional athlete be told that they have to sit on the bench for the rest of the season.” He rolls his eyes. “Luckily for our marriage, I’ve only had to deal with it once, though.”
I grab one of the pillows from the couch and squeeze it to my chest. I know how much hockey means to Sean. I’d hate to see something like that happen to him. I can’t even imagine how badly it would affect him.
He would do anything to stay on this team. Anything.
The announcers keep us entertained between periods. It is similar enough to football that I can make sense of some things. So when they start discussing the team’s personal lives, I’m not surprised. But I am surprised when I hear Sean’s name.
I sit up a little straighter as I listen.
“Well, you know Sean Daniels. Rookie season. Do you think he has promise?”
“Well Chuck, I think if he can keep it together, avoid the media spotlight, unlike how he started his minor league career, I think he’ll have a real chance of leading the league in points.”
There is a group laugh that sends fear down my spine.
“You’re referring to Sean’s first season with the Hawks?”
The screen flashes to pictures of tabloids. Every title more scandalous than the next. A new woman on his arm every night.
“As long as what’s happening on the ice is more interesting than his dating life, I think he’ll be alright.”
The blood must rush from my body because I feel lightheaded without moving. My hands feel clammy and nausea crawls at the back of my throat. The room starts to close in around on me.
“Astrid?” Heather’s voice sounds concerned. “Astrid.”
I feel her hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The words come out wrong because my mouth dries. “I’m fine.” If I repeat the words to myself, I might start to believe them. But as the newscasters continue, I feel anything but fine.
“I love you, you know that, right?” She looks at me longer than she usually does, which tells me that she definitely knows everything is not okay.
But how do I explain to her that I’m upset over the things people say about a man I technically have no claim too. Heather, I’m about to cry because I’ve started a relationship with my boss because I’m a big dumb idiot.
I’d sound crazy. Or pathetic. And I’m not sure which is worse.
I groan and sink deeper into the cushions as if that’ll get me further away from the scrutiny. “I think I’m getting sick,” I say. It is true. I feel sick to my stomach. And although I feel cold inside, my body heats beneath the curious looks in the room.
“I’ll be right back.” I jump up.
I try to keep my steps calm as I walk to the bathroom but when I round the corner out of sight, I hurry, desperate to get behind that locked door before the tears come out. And just like that, the second the door lock clicks into place, I slide down the wall and burst into tears.
I can’t stop myself. I take out my phone and type in his name into the search engine. If it’s going to hurt, I want it to cut deep. Article after article comes up. Pictures of him with girls. Tall. Beautiful. Perfect. None of whom look a thing like me.
I’m not his type, the self doubt shouts at me already. This didn’t start because he has feelings for me, it started because I’m convenient.
My finger shakes as I click on the title most recently posted. An interview with him, from a month ago. When did he do this? He never mentioned it. Of course he didn’t. I don’t matter. Why would he tell me?
I read through it quickly, skipping over the parts about hockey and getting to the gossip. What kind of player was he that everyone wants to know about his love life? God, what have I done?
I get to the bottom of the article.
He told them he doesn’t see himself dating anyone seriously.
I reread his quote until my eyes tear over.
I’m so stupid. So stupid. A cry rips through my chest. How could I not see this coming? I’m not special to him. How could I be? He gave this interview after knowing me? Had we kissed already at that point? I try to put the dates together. Fuck. I mean nothing to him.
I click my screen closed but I can’t get the images out of my head. I should have never looked it up. I want to throw my phone against the wall. Instead, I cry into my hands, hoping that everything can come out now so that I never have to feel like this again.
I need to process this alone. Away from my friends. I don’t want them to know how pathetic I am.
I splash cold water over my face until my cheeks are no longer red. The last thing I want to do is go back out there, but I have to.
I gather my strength, clearing my throat, praying that my voice sounds steady as I walk back into the living room.
“Hey,” I say, trying to stand in a way that doesn’t show my face well. “I’m going to take Violet home early. I feel a migraine coming.” I hold my forehead for better effect.
“Okay.” Heather stands to hug me. “If you need anything, you’ll let me know, right?”
I bury my face against her. She knows something is wrong. We both know it, but neither of us says the words.
“I know. I’ll call you if I need anything.” But unless she can turn back time and prevent me from kissing Sean, there is nothing anyone can do to make this better.
“Text me when you’re home, okay.”
“I will.”