Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
BETTSY
Vicky’s waiting for me when I swipe through the back entrance of the rink, and if I didn’t know any better, her glum expression tells me she’s about to deliver bad news.
Shit.
It’s been over a week since my visit to the police station and I’m still on edge—waiting for something that may never happen. My sleep’s been crap, and my game’s been lacking focus, and now Vicky—standing here, staring at me in the way she is—has the alarm bells ringing.
Did Rochelle rock up and give her a false version of events? Is this the end of my career? Is she here to march me up to the GM’s office, watch him tear up my contract and order me to clear out my cubby? That’d leave me with no hope or prospects for any sort of career in hockey.
I stop in front of her, bracing myself for the summons, waiting for her to rip one half of my heart out. My mouth’s dry. My palm sweaty against the strap of my gear bag … everything in me braced for impact .
“Michael, I…”
I keep my eyes on the ground, forcing myself to take deep breaths.
“Make it quick, Vic,” I say, swallowing down the fear as best I can.
I grip my bag tighter, my knuckles probably white, telling myself not to cry—telling myself it’s only a game.
“Michael,” Vicky says again.
But it’s not just a game. It’s—almost—everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s the best job in the entire world.
“Mike, I—I just wanted to catch you before practice. To apologise.”
It takes a second for the words to hit me.
Apologise? Apolo?—
I straighten up, glancing in her direction—keen to check if she’s about to burst out laughing or something.
Her expression flicks to a meek smile, one of desperation.
She means it.
She’s not joking.
There’s only sincerity in her eyes.
“I was wrong about Ellie and … I’m sorry. She’s great—in fact, I think she’s better than great. We’ve been chatting about the wedding hair and … I think she’s great for you. And I hope you can forgive me.”
There’s a swell of pride in my chest, knowing that someone else sees how fucking perfect Ellie is—how perfect she is to me, anyway.
“Right,” I say.
“Mike—”
“I just wish you’d met her before you made such an assessment,” I say.
“I know and I’m sorry. I am.”
“And I wish you’d kept your opinion to yourself because Johnny?—”
“I know,” she says. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. I’m working on it. I promise you.”
See, one of the things about me is, as much as I want to hold a grudge, I can’t. I’m genuinely surprised I’ve lasted this long.
I linger for a moment, letting Vicky sweat with the knowledge I may turn her apology down because she’d hate that. I know it and she knows it. But after another beat, I drop my bag on the floor and hold my arms out.
She steps forward and squeezes me into an embrace before pulling away.
“I know I’m shitty but … I was trying to look out for you and?—”
“Yeah, I get it. But still. You owe me a favour though,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “In way of an apology.”
“Is this about the socials because I’m already on it. She’s coming down on the weekend for the game and we’re meeting beforehand to run through things. Friday … hair, Saturday, before the game … social media.”
That’s when I’m reminded that Ellie will be here. Watching me play for the first time.
The butterflies arrive in full force. My stomach dancing with an energy that makes me feel beyond nervous. I’d go as far as to say I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been about anything—except maybe my visit to the police station.
Vicky’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she fishes it out, glancing at the screen.
“You don’t have long,” she says. “Suit up and I’ll see you later.”
She pats me on the shoulder before hurrying away, leaving me a clear path to the dressing room.
I take several steps forward, stopping a few feet away from the entrance, where I take my phone out of my bag. Ellie could be free now—depending on what time her next client is due—and since I figure she won’t answer if she is busy, I hit dial before pressing my phone to my ear.
“Vicky’s just reminded me you’re coming to the game this weekend,” I say .
“Oh yeah? How could you forget?”
I chuckle. “I guess I’m over-thinking. She was waiting for me when I got to the rink and I thought the worst … like she was… actually, never mind.”
“Mike—” Ellie says, “try not to think about her. Focus on what’s important … this coming weekend. And seeing me.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait … when do you think you’ll get here?”
“I’ll be there for ten and the girls will be over around eleven.”
I groan. “All of them?”
“Yes, all of them. But until then…” she says. “… I need you to do me a favour. Try to relax.”
“Yeah, of course I will,” I say, forcing myself to smile.
“Promise me you’ll try.”
Damn. Even over the phone, she can read me like a book.
It’s not like I haven’t been trying. I mean, aside from the usual stuff that keeps me occupied—the gym, hockey, renovating Ryan’s house for free … I’ve tagged along to Johnny’s morning swim and I went as far as baking banana bread…
Nothing worked, though. None of it switched my mind off. I’d argue that these things made free-thinking even more achievable. But I consider Ellie’s suggestion, wondering if there’s something else I could try, something that would fully immerse me.
“I probably need to find a new hobby,” I say.
“Maybe I should join video game night with Liam and Danny, listen to audiobooks about the civil war or spend my time figuring out who’s behind the ‘justice for Bettsy’ hashtag …
because since the forum posts have died down, so has my own personal cheerleader. Danny says there’s not been a peep?—”
“Why would you want to do that?” she says.
“I’m just curious … that’s all,” I say. “I mean … there’s someone out there on my side—apart from you, of course…
and my immediate family and guys. Someone random.
Someone I’ve probably never met before. If I can figure out who it is, maybe I can thank them for keeping me going through the tough times. ”
“Mike—”
“Fine, maybe I should join a mariachi band, then?”
“You’re joking?”
“No? If Kelly can play the cello, I can learn the trumpet—the genes are there.”
She chuckles down the line. “Okay, park the trumpeteering. What would you normally do in your spare time? Why can’t you do that?”
“I’m saving myself for you,” I say, trying to suppress a grin.
I can hear the frown in Ellie’s voice. “You’re insatiable.”
“Forgive me, but sweetheart, I’m dying here. I miss you. Hey, what are you doing later today? I could drive to your place, and you can help me relax,” I say. “Help me take my mind off things.”
“Come on … by the time you get here, it’ll be time to turn back, and I mean, we’re—” Ellie inhales sharply. “—oh, crap.”
“Is everything okay?” I say.
“My sister has just pulled up outside.”
“Wait—how did she find out where you’re working?” I say.
“I don’t know, but she doesn’t look happy.”
I don’t remember Kathryn all that well, but I don’t recall ever seeing her happy, not unless she was bossing someone around.
“What do you think she wants?”
There’s a beat of silence before Ellie replies. “I think it’s about my visit to her salon.”
“Visit? What visit?”
“The night of the event … I?—”
“Did you do something?”
There’re voices in the background, and the unmistakable sound of a door slamming before I pick up a shirty greeting from Kathryn.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later. ”
She hangs up, and I’m left staring at my phone for a few seconds before putting it away only for it to ring again and, assuming it’s Ellie, I answer it with my most playful voice, hoping that she’s changed her mind about visiting tonight.
“Is that a yes to the sex, then or?—”
“Michael.”
But it’s not Ellie. It’s my mother.