Chapter 9
Ronan
“Does he seem off to you?” I hear Ripley whisper behind my back as I head to the showers.
The goalie sucking at practice during the playoffs certainly doesn’t instill confidence in the rest of the team.
It doesn't matter how much we score if I can’t block the other team from scoring.
Today, the net may as well have been empty.
“You’re one to talk.” Ryan shoots back, “You’ve been broody all year.”
I appreciate him having my back, but I know they’re right. I’m in this downward spiral I can’t shake.
“He’s only been singing divorced dad music. He let more puck in than he blocked and… no tiktoks. Whatever it is, it’s serious.” Fitz chimes in. I can imagine him ticking off the reasons on his stupid tattooed fingers. Maybe that’s it. I don’t have tattoos. Or maybe it’s the blonde hair.
Emalyn is going fishing with Kade. Fishing.
I angrily scrub my hair with soap, not caring when I put too much and the bubbles start to burn my eyes.
I keep scrubbing as my mind plays over that strange dinner with Emalyn, Kade and Vanessa.
Vanessa seemed nice enough. The PR relationship should be easy.
If Emalyn likes this guy enough to go fishing with him…
then maybe I should give it a real shot.
Maybe I’ve waited for her long enough. At this point what are the odds she wakes up one morning and realizes she has feelings for me?
After all these years? Slim to none.
I’m going to schedule a call with my therapist. I’m always supposed to have a session before big life changes. Letting my dream girl go feels like one of those.
I keep scrubbing. Why the hell is this shampoo so bubbly? I wipe my eyes and check the bottle. It’s my regular shampoo, but it’s nearly empty. It was full when I came in here.
I set it down and lean my head back to wash. Cold soap soaks into my scalp and onto my forehead.
“Oh, motherfu—“ I exclaim, opening my eyes to see that stupid tattooed hand retreating over the shower stall. He’d been adding shampoo to my hair the whole time.
“Liam Maria Fitzgerald!” I screech, making up a middle name for him.
He cackles and tries to run out to the locker room for cover. I throw my nearly empty soap bottle, hitting him in the back of the head before he can make it out.
“Ow, fuck. What are you— a fucking pitcher?” He whines holding the back of his head and looking over his shoulder in shock.
“Used to be a catcher.” I shoot him a sarcastic smile before drying off.
I wrap the towel around my waist and head back out to the locker room.
Tate, Ripley and Ryan abruptly turn in different directions, pretending to be busy.
Tate picks up his tape and wraps his stick, even though practice just ended.
As if it wasn’t obvious they were just discussing me.
I turn to my cubby pulling on boxers. I hear their hushed voices and shuffling, probably nudging each other.
I roll my eyes. The idiots can't get it together and ask me like normal human beings.
I tug on my jeans and a tshirt.
“Go ahead.” I say, not looking up as I pull on my socks. They glance between each other.
“Uh…” Ryan says. “Have you been sticking to your routine? That thing when you lay on the floor watching the ceiling fan and the one where you go for a gazillion walks?”
“He lays on the floor?” Fitz squints.
“Yeah. First time I saw him do it, it was like five am. I almost stepped on him. Scared me to death. Probably the best thing about living alone now.” Ryan says, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“God forbid a man know how to regulate his nervous system.” I shoot back.
“We’re just worried about you.” Tate says, taking the spot beside me on the bench. The others nod and quickly gather around as well. “Not just because of the playoffs. We care about you, and it didn’t just seem like an off day.”
“Emalyn’s dating this guy.” I shrug. “It seems like it might be serious this time.”
Pity flashes across each of their faces. I look away. I don’t want it.
“Want me to ask Alli? They talk all the time.” Tate offers with a hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t need you to do that.” I run a hand through my hair. “I already know. Wanna know how? He’s taking her fishing. Fishing. She doesn’t like that shit.”
“O…kay.” Ripley’s head tilts to the side at my explanation.
“Emalyn is not the woman to say yes to something she doesn’t wanna do.” I explain, “So, this guy…”
“Must be special if she’s willing to compromise.” Ryan finishes for me.
I nod.
“So what are you gonna do?” Ripley asks, leaning his elbows on his knees. The glint in his eye is eerily similar to the determined one he gets when he’s about to launch a puck at me in practice.
“Nothing.”
They stare at me in disbelief.
“You’re not gonna fight for your girl?” Fitz asks, scoffing.
“Fight for her? What does that even mean? She has her own mind. I’ve been here,” I slap my palm to my chest. “I’ve made my feelings perfectly clear. But it’s been years. Wouldn’t she know by now if she felt the same way?”
My eyes flick hopelessly between my teammates. I wish they had a different answer. Apparently, it’s obvious enough to everyone else too.
“I-uh… I get it. What it’s like to love someone and… not get it in return.” Fitz surprised me by saying. He clears his throat before adding, “It fucking sucks.”
“Yes. It does. It fucking sucks.” I run a hand through my damp hair, the blonde strands sticking up in different directions. We all sit quietly for a moment as I mourn my unrequited love like I'm in one of Emmy’s romance books.
Who am I kidding? They’re mine too.
“Couldn’t be me.” Ryan says, breaking the silence.
Tate smacks the back of his head.
“Ow, stop doing that!”
“Stop deserving it,” Tate shoots back.
Ryan just gives a sheepish smile and shrugs.
Shithead.