11. Calvin
CALVIN
For the first time since Cooper Nash plowed me into the boards and pain exploded through my leg, I’ve had something else to think about other than my possibly doomed career and cut-short time in LA.
Today, all of that took a back seat.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but no sooner had I started my session with Darcy than my thoughts started wandering.
Okay, that’s bullshit. From the moment I woke this morning, my own disaster of a life wasn’t my first thought.
It was the woman downstairs.
“Are you sure you’re okay, man?” Darcy asks as I lower my ass to the bench.
Our session is long over, but he’s been in the weight room with us this afternoon, working with a couple of the guys.
He could sense the change in me this morning; it was why he was studying me a little longer than usual.
But, ever the professional, he kept his thoughts to himself. That all seems to be over now, though.
Grabbing a stool, he drags it closer and lowers down as Brody, a second-line defenseman, slips out of the room, leaving us alone.
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
His eyes narrow, and I’m convinced he’s about to call me out on my lie, but thankfully, or maybe not, he takes our conversation in a different direction.
“I dunno, you seem different today. Distracted, I guess.”
“Got a lot on my mind.” And way too much free time to get lost in it.
“I can imagine. You’re doing well, though. We’re completely on track. You have nothing to worry about with your recovery. Just keep working, and before you know it, you’ll be back out there, good as new.”
I nod, desperate to put weight into his promises. But while he might be able to get me back into my skates, he has no say in which rink I might be skating on, or which team I might be playing for.
“Any plans tonight?” he asks.
“Uh…” I rub the back of my neck as I battle against what I want to do, and what I probably should do.
“Probably going to see a friend, hang out at her place.”
Darcy rolls his eyes, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Oh yeah.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I say in a rush.
“Fair enough. Someone we should know about?”
“Nah, I’ve known her for years. She’s not a puck bunny.”
“Okay, well…” he says, pushing to his feet and kicking the stool away. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
He saunters off, leaving me alone. I take a moment and then push to my feet and head out.
The second I step into the hallway, the sound of a whistle being blown and guys shouting filter down from the ice where the forwards are training.
As tempting as it is to go and watch, there’s somewhere else I need to be.
After grabbing my things from the dressing room, I say goodbye to those who are loitering around and head out.
While I’m waiting for the rideshare I’ve ordered, I pull up a food delivery app and begin scrolling.
With any luck, what I order will arrive at a similar time to me, and I can take it right up to my dinner date.
There’s a nagging voice in my head that warns she might not be up to it. But that’s okay. I’m more than happy to sit there and watch her sleep if it means I continue thinking about her instead of obsessing over my future.
Considering the state of my life right now, I don’t expect my plan to come to fruition, but to my surprise, as I climb out of my rideshare, a bike also pulls up out front of the building and pulls out an order from his insulated bag on the back.
“That for Keller?” I ask once I’m close enough.
“Uh…yeah.” It takes a moment, but his eyes go wide when he figures out who he just delivered dinner to.
“Thanks, man,” I say the second he hands it over, and I slip inside before he has a chance to say anything.
I never used to be this way. I used to happily embrace every bit of attention I could get. But recently, it’s the last thing I want, because everyone who wants to talk to me wants to discuss my injury and potential recovery time—literally the last thing I want to talk to a stranger about.
I feel like an asshole for running away as I say good evening to the concierge, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. As I head up to Sienna’s floor in the elevator, I clutch the bag of food to my chest, my stomach growling as the savory scent fills the enclosed space.
By the time I get to her door, I’m ravenous, and as I knock, my hand trembles, desperate for food. Anyone would think I haven’t eaten anything today, which is far from the case.
Guilt eats at me that she might be sleeping. I should have at least messaged to check if she was awake, but then I’d ruin the surprise. And possibly end up stuck on this side of the door when she refused to answer. This way, I stand a bit of a chance of getting inside.
I’m not sure what it is, but Sienna always has her guard up around me.
I’ve watched her interact with the others, and she’s always more relaxed.
I like to think that maybe on some level, she does remember me.
Or maybe her body does. Either that or she thinks I’m hotter than the others— which of course, is entirely possible—and I make her nervous.
Honestly, I’m happy with either of those options.
She’s faster to get to the door this time, and she opens it a little more cautiously than she did this morning. The second she sees it’s me, her eyes widen and her lips press into a thin line.
“What’s this? Déjà vu?” she asks, hugging the blanket I wrapped her up in earlier.
She still looks exhausted. The circles under her eyes are dark, her lips are dry, and her hair is wild. But she still takes my breath away like she did the very first time I saw her.
I find her eyes again, letting that smirk she accused me of wearing earlier make its appearance. “Nah, baby. This time I come with dinner, not breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry,” she states, trying and failing to make herself big enough to fill the doorway.
“Darlin’, you need to eat,” I say, cursing when I hear my Texan drawl loud and clear.
But if she clocks it, she doesn’t react. “Don’t call me that.”
My mouth opens and closes, but I soon find that I don’t have any words.
“I got you chicken noodle soup. You gonna let me in so I can serve it for you?”
“I can serve my own soup,” she says with a huff.
“I’m well aware of that. But unless you have a boyfriend that I don’t know about who’s on his way over to take care of you, then I’m gonna do it for you so you can rest.”
“And what if I do have a boyfriend on his way over?” My stomach knots painfully as the words roll off her tongue.
I’m not aware that she has a boyfriend. Rett and Bea have never said anything. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t hiding one somewhere.
I take a step forward, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep eye contact with me. I might not be as tall as some of the guys on the team, but I still tower above her short frame.
“Wouldn’t make a difference. He wasn’t here this morning when you needed him, and I was. He deserves to be taught a lesson if he isn’t taking care of you properly.”
Sienna stares at me, her lips parted in disbelief. If the situation were different, trying to hold myself back from pressing mine against them and pushing my tongue into her mouth would be almost impossible. But as it is, she’s sick, and me getting any closer is probably the last thing she wants.
“Excuse me. Our dinner is getting cold,” I say, awkwardly slipping around her, and once again, inviting myself into her space.
Her stare burns into my back, but I don’t allow her to know I’m aware of it. Instead, I walk straight to her kitchen and begin getting what I need.
“That looks like a hell of a lot more than chicken noodle soup.”
“Well, yeah. A machine like this can’t live on just that,” I explain as I continue pulling containers from the bag.
“I guess not,” she mutters. “You know, you’re kinda interrupting.”
“Oh yeah? About to get ready to go out partying?”
“No,” she mutters.
“Hot date then, with this mystery boyfriend?”
She rolls her eyes as she hovers at the edge of the kitchen. “No,” she huffs. “If you must know, I was gonna watch a movie.”
“Great. I love movies.”
She laughs quietly. “Probably not this one.”
“Why? Is it K-Pop or something?”
“Or something,” she counters, shuffling a little closer to get a better look at the food. “How much do you eat?”
“Enough to keep me full and hit my macros for the day.”
“It’s more than I eat in a day,” she reasons.
“Well, you’re not a six-foot professional athlete,” he deadpans. “Go and sit down, I’ll bring it over.”
She hesitates, but eventually does as she’s told.
“Good girl,” I mutter under my breath, but from the way her steps falter, I’m pretty sure she hears. She doesn’t comment on it, though.
A few minutes later, I carry the same tray as I did this morning toward her. “I also got you another smoothie and some other electrolyte drinks so you don’t get dehydrated.”
When she looks at me this time, there’s a softness in her expression that didn’t exist before.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, d-baby.”
She frowns as I trip over my words. But I can’t risk her figuring out who I am. Not yet. And not like this.
It would be so easy to tell her, to remind her of what we found together all those years ago.
It might have been only a short time, but it’s stayed with me all this time.
I lived in hope that she was out there somewhere, still thinking about me.
It hurts that it doesn’t seem to be the case.
But I live in hope that her memories aren’t hidden that far beneath the surface.
If I said something, she’d probably kick herself for not realizing.
But seeing as she doesn’t know, there’s a part of me that wants to see if she’ll still like me as a man, just like she seemed to when I was just a boy.
Back then, I thought she was the one. I had all these wild ideas that one day, we’d walk into each other’s lives again, and the second she looked into my eyes, she’d fall into my arms and confess that she thinks about me just as much as I do her.
I thought it was going to happen.
When I locked eyes with her in that club, I thought the time had come. I was convinced it was about to happen. I thought that any minute, recognition would spark and she’d run into my arms.
But nope.
She saw me just like every other woman does. She saw Calvin “Killer” Keller, the hockey player. She didn’t see Vinny from the ranch where she spent the most incredible two weeks over a decade ago.
Forcing lightness into my tone that I don’t feel, I ask, “So, what are we watching?”
She glances over at me, her mouth working, but no words come.
“Just spit it out.”
She rolls her eyes again—a move that makes my teeth grind. I fucking love that sassy side of her.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Bring It On.”
“The cheerleading one?”
“Yep. It’s okay if you want to leave.”
“And miss Kirsten Dunst? Hell no.”
“Y-you…you know this movie?”
“I have two little sisters, darlin’. I know pretty much all the girly movies.”
She studies me closely, and my heart slams against my ribs, thinking that this slip-up was the one that’s going to expose me.
“Garrett knows all the moves. We used to do the routines together all the time.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Okay, I can’t admit to knowing the moves. I have seen it more times than necessary, though.”
“And you’re still willing to watch again.”
“I don’t think there’s anything you could put on that TV right now that would get me to leave.”
“The risk of getting the flu should be enough to keep you away,” she says, pointing the remote at the TV and pressing play once the screen has woken up.
“That’s the least of my worries right now.” I slam my lips closed when I realize I said that out loud.
“This time next year, all of this will be a distant memory. I know it sucks right now, but it won’t be forever.”
Unlike when everyone else says something similar, I don’t feel the prickle of irritation. Instead, her confidence in me sends heat rushing through my veins.
“Yeah, I just need it to happen faster. It’s only been a few weeks, and I’m already losing my mind.”
“You just need a good distraction. Aren’t the bunnies doing it for you?” she asks absently before lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth.
I watch, enthralled, as she wraps her lips around the utensil.
Her groan is enough to send a shot of desire straight to my dick.
Fuck. It’s been too long since it saw any action that wasn’t provided by my right hand.
“Shit. This is really good.”
“If I bring food, it’s only ever the best.”
“Got good taste, huh?”
“Oh yeah.”
She scoffs.
“What?”
“I’ve seen some of the women you spend time with. I’m not sure I agree.”
“Oh?” I ask, a deep frown wrinkling my brow. “How would you know about the women I spend time with?”
Her face is already flushed, but it only gets redder as I wait for an answer.
“Google,” she mumbles before pushing another spoonful of soup into her mouth.