Chapter 32
Olivia
Olivia woke alone on the couch with an awful taste in her mouth. She rubbed crusted drool off her cheek as she padded to the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Leaning over the sink, she drank from the tap.
She’d had no intention of getting drunk the previous night. Despite the grogginess and throbbing head, she smiled. She loved that Connor was willing to drop whatever his evening plans had been to give her a spa day.
Thankful she could take an entire day to recover from a night of ill-advised drinking, she popped two ibuprofen, then brushed her teeth and got dressed before tackling her new hair.
She sat at the desk in her room and ran a brush through her hair.
Connor had styled it beautifully the night before.
Or so she thought. In the daylight she realized it was possible she’d thought it looked good because by the time he finished she’d been under the influence of too much rum.
The color was beautiful. But it stuck out weird in some places, and the bangs were a hot mess.
Olivia found her curling iron in the kitchen and brought it to her room.
Apparently, her plans for the day were to clean up their mess.
But first, she would style her hair again instead of panicking about it. That was the rational thing to do.
She spent twenty minutes curling it. To her relief, it came out decent. Except the bangs. No matter what she did, they lay wonky on her forehead. After fiddling with the wispy strands for far too long, she decided to ask for help. If anyone could get them to cooperate, Connor could.
Olivia knocked on his bedroom door, and when he didn’t answer, she let herself in. Connor wasn’t in bed, or the bathroom. The clock on his bedside table read one pm. He’d been at the rink for hours.
She sighed and pinned her hair out of her face with a hair clip they’d abandoned in his bathroom.
Olivia rolled the sleeves of Connor’s sweatshirt and set to work cleaning the messes they’d left throughout the house.
Beauty products and stained towels covered every surface of his bathroom.
She’d been right. His bathroom had pink streaks all over the place.
Pink dye still sat in one spot on the toilet.
She wiped it away and covered the spot with bleach cleaning solution, but the porcelain would never be the same.
They hadn’t swept the hair they’d cut off in the kitchen.
Her styling tools and products were strewn about the table.
In the living room, empty glasses littered the end tables, and a box of crackers had spilled on the couch.
It took her two hours to bring the house to acceptable living conditions.
She cooked dinner, expecting Connor to be home. Her texts throughout the day went unanswered. Phones off at the rink. He was doing everything in his power to get on the ice as soon as possible.
Olivia admired the dedication to his sport.
It showed in every aspect of his life. He stayed true to his meal plan and training schedule the vast majority of the time.
It made nights like the previous one special.
He loved to play, but getting him to let loose had been a struggle since he’d gotten injured.
He wouldn’t have tossed his routine aside for anyone else.
Checking her phone again, Olivia served herself a plate of food. She sat in Connor’s spot and flipped on the Freeze game. Which she watched alone.
Valentine had a two-goal game. Cheering for him all by herself felt ridiculous, but she did it anyway. The Freeze went into the third period up a goal, and they maintained the lead until there were thirty-two seconds left on the clock.
“Fucking fuck fuck,” Olivia said aloud.
She threw her hands in the air. When the puck dropped again, she leaned forward in her seat and watched the timer count down with her fingers splayed out over her forehead and her butthole clenched tight enough to make a diamond.
Connor got home two minutes into overtime. Her eyes remained glued to the TV.
“Hey!” he greeted her.
“You aren’t watching the game?”
“Nah, not today.”
She didn’t hear his answer because on the screen one of Houston’s players bodied Valentine when he didn’t have the puck.
“What the fuck was that?” Olivia yelled.
The referee’s arm flew into the air.
“Yeah, that’s right, it’s a fucking penalty,” Olivia muttered under her breath.
Then the ref announced the penalty. On Seattle.
“Motherfucker! How was that a penalty on Seattle?”
She looked to Connor for answers.
“Did you see that? What the fuck was that?”
The replay provided no clarity. The announcers were as confused as Olivia.
Connor shrugged. “Sometimes the call goes your way, sometimes it doesn’t.”
He didn’t sit to watch the rest of the game with her. Instead, he disappeared down the hallway.
She registered his response as weird, but she was outraged, and the play resumed. When Houston scored on the power play, ending the game with a minute left in OT, Olivia groaned.
For a few minutes she sat in stunned silence while the broadcasters explained the breakdown that cost the Freeze a vital point in the standings.
When Connor sauntered into the living room, Olivia gave him her full attention. He was dressed in dark jeans and a button-down with his sleeves rolled up. He’d styled his hair.
“I thought you were working,” she said.
“I was.”
Olivia frowned. “Oh.”
He stood behind the couch and watched the announcers recap one of Valentine’s goals. “Gorgeous,” he said.
He kissed the top of her head and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
Connor shoved his phone and keys into his jeans pocket. “I have a date. Don’t wait up.”
With a wink and a wave, he left her sitting there gaping after him, his team’s post-game show blaring over her thoughts.
It would have been less shocking if he slapped her. Connor didn’t date. Especially on game days.
She’d never felt more stupid in her life because she’d somehow gaslit herself into believing things were changing between them. With a single sentence he stomped on her heart again, and it was her own fault.
Connor had been clear with her. They were never, ever going to happen. Why couldn’t she get it through her thick fucking skull? She didn’t have anyone to vent to. Her friends were commiserating a devastating loss.
Fuck.