53. Sienna
SIENNA
“Sienna, could I have a word, please?” Bea calls before disappearing out the back of the salon.
Concern plunks in my stomach. Bea might be my best friend, but I’m pretty sure there’s an ingrained panic button inside all of us when your boss asks for a word.
I quickly follow her and blurt, “What’s wrong?” the second the door closes behind her.
“The Vipers have announced a trade.”
My heart sinks to my feet.
“What?” Shit. That’s why she called me in here. “No. No. Please tell me they haven’t—”
“Shit. No. Calvin is safe.”
All the air rushes from my lungs. “Fucking hell, Bea.” I collapse on the couch and drop my head into my hands. “They’ve signed Nash, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, for Brody and two draft picks.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Rett feeling?” I ask, trying to ignore the elephant in the room.
“He’s…not looking forward to working with the guy, but he’s okay about it.”
“Calvin?” I ask hesitantly.
She bites the inside of her lips. “I don’t know. They’re all at our apartment, playing on Xbox. Rett said he just got really quiet.”
“Shit,” I hiss. I know his biggest concern has been being traded away from a place and a team he loves. But having to play alongside Nash is going to bring a whole heap of different issues. The guy is a fantastic D-man. But…he’s an asshole. It’s going to change the entire dynamic of the team.
When I glance back up at Bea, I see the same concern in her eyes.
“He’ll be okay,” she assures me. “Hockey players get hurt all the time. If they held grudges over those who caused the injury, none of them would talk.”
I know that, I do. Calvin is a better player than to hold this against Nash.
Or at least, I hope I know that. After lying to me about who he was and our connection, I can’t help wondering just how much I really know about Calvin Keller.
The boy I knew all those years ago was Vinny Smythson.
I shake my head, a pained sigh escaping my lips.
“Maybe you should call him. See how he’s doing.”
Bea knows we’ve been messaging, but I’ve held off on anything more than that.
Maybe she’s right.
Maybe it is time.
“I…I need to go. My client should be here,” I blurt before darting out of the staff room.
Thankfully, my client hasn’t arrived yet, and it gives me a few seconds to check my cell. But while I might have a few notifications, mostly from Garrett, who’s also heard the news, there isn’t anything from Calvin.
Concern twists its way through me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m typing out a message.
Sienna: I just heard the news. You okay?
I stand there staring at my screen for as long as possible, but eventually the bell above the salon door chimes, and I’m forced to put my cell away and welcome my client.
My cell remains void of replies from him all day, and by the time I head home later that night, the knots in my stomach are tighter than ever.
Unless he’s had sessions or meetings at the arena, he always replies straight away.
It was hours ago that Bea told me the guys had left her place.
So where has he been? What’s he doing?
As I step into the elevator and reach for the button to my floor, I hesitate, my eyes jumping to the one above.
I haven’t seen him since I got out of that car after the painful drive back from our disaster of a date.
Am I ready to?
Should I put my own hurt away so I can be there for him when he needs it?
My internal debate continues for longer than it should, and ultimately, when I lift my trembling hand, my finger presses the button for the top floor of the building.
I question my decision all the way to the top, to the point that I almost change my mind when the car comes to a stop and the doors open.
But with my head held high, I walk out.
I’ve only been up here once before—the night I came to ask him to shut the fuck up and discovered just who my neighbor was.
I was so tired that night, I barely remember standing at his door, waiting for it to be opened. The second I saw his face, however, I became instantly alert.
The hallways is silent as I walk toward his door.
I try not to fixate on the little camera that has no doubt already alerted him to my presence as I reach to press his buzzer.
My heart is in my throat as my mind still spins, wondering if I’m doing the right thing.
But as the seconds pass, it becomes clear that he’s either not home, or if he is, he’s not answering.
A wave of disappointment hits me. It’s so strong, it threatens to buckle my knees.
All the determination it took to get me up here drains away, and with my shoulders slumped in defeat, I head back downstairs and lock myself in my apartment.
I strip out of my tunic, pull on my pajamas and warm up my dinner without even bothering to put my TV on.
Still without a reply from Calvin, I take a glass of water with me to my bedroom, curl up under the covers, and begin scrolling on my cell.
I soak up every bit of information I can get on Nash’s trade before switching over to Instagram, and the first post I see? Calvin in a bar with women hanging off him.
It takes every ounce of my self-restraint not to launch my cell across the room and watch it shatter against the wall, like my heart.
“You fucking asshole,” I hiss as the tears burning in the backs of my eyes begin to spill free.
There hasn’t been a single scrap of evidence that he’s partied since his injury, but it seems that’s all over now.
I lie awake for hours, picturing all the things he could be doing with the bunnies who are willing to give him everything I haven’t. And what makes it worse, at no point in the night do I hear any noise from upstairs. He didn’t come home.
I tell myself to put it all behind me and just look forward when I wake the next morning. But it’s impossible. All day, despite having clients back to back, all I can think about is what he did last night. Where he slept. Who with. I know I’m only torturing myself, but I can’t stop it.
The coffees Bea ordered this morning in the hope of perking me up did very little, either did the burrito bowl I’d brought for lunch that I just picked at because my appetite has vanished.
The only thing I’m looking forward to is walking out of here in a few days, knowing that I’m going to be getting on an airplane and disappearing to a different state. Maybe being somewhere he isn’t will give me the space and clarity I need to figure my shit out.
My feet are aching from being on them all day, and my eyes are sore from my lack of sleep last night, so when I look at today’s schedule, I think I’m imagining it at first. But no, someone really has added another appointment to my day.
“Bea, what the hell?” I ask, assuming it’s her.
She winces as she joins me at the desk.
“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t say no,” she says apologetically. “I’ve got one too,” she adds as if that’ll make it any better. “Just think, before you know it, it’ll be January, and everyone will be too broke to treat themselves to facials and manicures.”
“Thank God for that. We’re gonna need a month to clean this place up.”
“Not to mention getting plans in place,” she says quietly.
I can’t deny there’s a fizzle of excitement in my stomach when she mentions our expansion.
We’ve both agreed to mostly shelve it until January, when we have to properly sit down and put firm plans in place, but the desire to dive right in is beyond tempting. I think it might be the only thing right now that has the power to distract me.
The day feels like it’s never going to end, and having a new client turn up when I should be falling headfirst into bed really doesn’t fill me with joy. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I run into the back to pee and refill my bottle of water.
Savvy, Lessy, and Rachel have left already. It’s dark outside, and exhaustion tugs at every single one of my muscles.
Making small talk with someone for the next hour while I’m no doubt forced to paint little Christmas trees or snowmen on their nails is just about the last thing I want to do right now.
I hear the ding of the bell as I screw the top of my water bottle closed, followed by Bea welcoming them.
I take a moment to compose myself, but before I’ve finished my pep talk, the door opens and Bea slips into our staff room.
“Your client is here,” she says, looking a hell of a lot brighter than I feel, despite the fact she’s also growing a literal human as well as being run off her feet here.
“I’m…on it,” I say with very little enthusiasm.
She chuckles at me but holds the door open, probably to ensure I go out there instead of spinning around and slipping out the fire escape.
Christmas music fills the quiet salon along with the festive scents Bea has filled the space with.
I force a friendly smile on my face, but it falls the second I see exactly who’s waiting for me as anger and hurt collide in a heartbeat.
“What are you doing here?” I snap.
If he’s hurt or shocked by my words, then he doesn’t show it. Instead, he watches me cautiously, as if I’m about to reach for the nearest weapon and launch it at him.
To be fair, I might.
“I have an appointment.”
“N-no. I have an appointment with a Cally Smyth—asshole,” I hiss.
His lips twitch at the corners, satisfaction flashing in his eyes.
“So I guess Bea’s client is fake, too.”
This time, there’s a little guilt. “Don’t blame her for this. It was my idea.”
“I hope she at least tried to fight you on it.” I roll my eyes when he doesn’t immediately confirm.
“You know, I might have felt better about this if you’d booked in for a back, sack, and crack. At least I could have caused you some pain.”
Calvin’s face pales at the prospect.
“You…uh…you do that here? To…to men?”
I really want to lie, to tell him that I regularly have naked men on my bed, but I can’t.
“No. Thankfully, it’s not a service we provide. I could make an exception, though,” I warn. “I’m fully trained.”
Calvin rolls his shoulders back and combs his fingers through his still-too-long hair. “I’d let you do anything. The more painful the better. I deserve it.”
I scoff. “What do you want, Calvin?” I expect him to say that he wants to talk, to tell me to get my stuff and that he’ll take me somewhere. And if he does, would I agree?
The images I saw on Instagram last night come back to me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I wasn’t asking you to,” he says, walking a little deeper into the salon. “I booked a manicure.” He holds his hands up. “I was told once that my hands could use some work, and I thought now was the perfect time.”
I stare at his fingers, jealousy and fury fighting for dominance.
My eyes jump to his before I sneer, “I don’t know where they’ve been.”