Chapter Seventeen #5
“I’ll win for him.” There was a conviction in his voice now, the words run through with steel. “I’ll win the championship in his honor. It’s not the same, but at least it’s something.”
She pushed up onto her elbow, moving her hand to the center of his chest. “Nick.”
There was a cautious note in her voice that she knew she should temper, but she couldn’t quite get there.
He’d be absolutely crushed if it didn’t happen.
And there was more than a good chance it wasn’t going to happen, even if he was back in the lineup.
A lot of factors had to come together for a championship win, and most of them were out of his control.
He tensed underneath her, just the slightest bit. That wasn’t a good sign.
His phone, which he’d placed on the nightstand, rang.
“Hold on a minute. That’s the team.” He rolled to the edge of the bed and into a sitting position, his back to her. She decided not to read anything into it, even though she felt empty and cold now she was no longer wrapped around him.
He pushed the answer button on the phone. “Hello?”
The silence was suffocating. She scooted up so she was sitting, her legs tucked underneath her.
“What?” There was a note in his voice that made the skin on the back of her neck tingle. The muscles of his back and shoulders tensed. “Okay, yeah. Uh, you too.” He pressed the end call button and then just sat there, staring at the phone.
“Nick?” She placed her hand on his back. He was as hard as a marble statue.
He shrugged off her touch and shot to his feet. She tried not to take it personally, but it was difficult. He started pacing, his long strides eating up the space of the small room quickly. Restlessness and something she couldn’t quite pinpoint rolled off him, making her muscles twitch.
“Nick, what’s wrong?” Panic and apprehension coated the words, scraping against her throat on their way out.
He stopped and faced her, shoving his hand through his hair. “I’ve been traded.”
Shock jolted through her, tossing her heart against her ribs like a tennis ball. She scrambled off the bed. “What? To where?”
“San Francisco.”
Oh, shit. The San Francisco Barons were new in the league and still in the building phase of their program. They were currently basement dwellers in the conference, nowhere near making the playoffs.
“I’m so sorry.” The words were trite, inadequate, but there was nothing she could say to make this better.
His career was pretty much over. He probably only had a couple of seasons left before his body said no more. At least with New England, he could’ve won the cup and then retired on his own terms. Now, the best he could hope for would be a dream season next year, followed by a miracle playoff run.
The chances of that happening were so tiny, you couldn’t see them with a microscope.
The Barons were filled with young, inexperienced players, cutting their teeth in the big league. They probably wanted Nick because of the experience he’d bring to the locker room. It was highly doubtful it would be enough to turn things around so quickly.
“It’s fine,” he said, and shrugged, although it was half-hearted at best. “Just part of the game.” His voice was back to being flat, devoid of any emotion.
Except it wasn’t okay. He’d spent his whole career with New England. He’d been drafted by them, first overall. They were the only club he’d ever known.
“Umm, I’ve got to go,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket. His voice had a hollow quality to it now, like he was saying the words, but there was no feeling behind them. Like they were empty. Like he was empty.
He refused to look at her, staring over her shoulder, most likely out the bedroom window.
It made her want to cry, or maybe scream.
Anything to get him to show some emotion.
She wanted him to be frustrated or hurt or sad.
Angry, at the team, or maybe the universe.
Anything but the broken man in front of her.
“Nick.” She reached for him but he stepped out of the way. It was like a punch in the kidney, quick and sharp. She swallowed down a gasp, refusing to let him see how much it hurt.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll be okay getting back to your hotel?”
She nodded, even as her soul screamed in denial. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked hard a couple of times, hoping the shadows would hide them.
He stared at her for a minute, the light from window behind her highlighting the devastation and heartbreak in his eyes. He looked so lost.
She wanted to badly to go to him, to hold him, and tell him it was going to be okay. They’d get through this together. The urge was so strong, so overwhelming, that she grabbed handfuls of her skirt to stop from reaching for him again.
He took a breath, and for a second, she thought he was going to say something. But he just inclined his head and then spun and walked to the door. He pulled it open and paused, his back to her. His shoulders were stiff, the lines of his back rigid.
“Goodbye, Alex.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. And then he slipped into the hallway and shut the door softly behind him.