Here We Go

by Shannon Stacey

  “This relationship of yours, with that hockey player…I’ve been thinking about that.” He paused, giving her a look that made his distaste for the situation clear. “How serious is it, exactly?”

  Kristen gave herself a moment to consider her answer before speaking. While he didn’t seem to approve of hockey players, he was a fan of stable and respectable relationships. But she knew she was walking a fine line, too, because if this man thought she was going to be distracted by wedding planning and then babies in the near future, he might pass her over for the promotion on those grounds.

  Why the hell she couldn’t get the promotion she’d earned based on nothing but her exemplary job performance was something she couldn’t think about right now or she’d do or say something she’d regret.

  “I’m not sure he’s as serious about our future as I am. Was,” she said quietly. Since she and Will would go their separate ways in the future anyway—and holy crap, did that hurt to think about—and her boss was already biased against him, she might as well lay the groundwork for the end of her relationship. She’d also be putting to rest any concerns he had about her ability to focus wholly on work in the near future.

  “It’s probably for the best,” he said, not exactly oozing sympathy. “I mean, athletes can be attractive and wealthy, which appeals to a certain kind of woman, I’m sure, but the lifestyle...I expected you to have higher standards.”

  No. Not just no, but oh, hell no.

  Standing up seemed to happen without her intending to, as if her body realized before her brain that she couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep selling herself out in the hope of working her way up to a job she could barely stomach.

  She was so done with this judgmental asshole, and he could shove his promotion up his ass. “With all due respect, Stan—which is absolutely no respect, by the way—you can go fuck yourself.”

  She took great satisfaction in watching him gape and gasp—except for the few seconds he clutched his throat and she was afraid she’d killed him—before he started spluttering. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I quit. Effective”—she looked at her watch and then back at him—“now.”

  Before he could turn his strangled sounds of outrage into words, Kristen turned on her heel and walked out of his office, pulling the door closed behind her with enthusiasm.

  She went immediately to her office and started gathering the few personal belongings she kept there. They all fit in her tote—her favorite pen and coffee mug, along with a framed picture of Erik she’d taken herself when he was in a sweater and jeans, and it was one of the very few photos of him out of his hockey gear.

  Annie popped her head in. “What’s going on? Why are you packing?”

  “I’m done.”

  “No, you can’t be done. If you just calm down a bit and—”

  “I told Stan to go fuck himself.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you’re done.” Annie stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind her. “We have so many contacts and you’re freaking awesome, so you’ll get a new job in like seconds, but I’m going to miss having you here.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. The rest of it? Not so much.” She couldn’t find anything else she was taking with her, so she gave her friend a hug. “We’ll get together in the next few days, okay? But right now, I’m walking out of here.”

  There were a few other people she said goodbye to on her way out, but judging by the ripple of conversation through the office, Stan was recovering from the shock and the shit was about to hit the fan.

  In the elevator, the emotions started rolling through her, though. Anger at Stan, though that was familiar enough. The realization and accompanying horror at finding herself suddenly unemployed, and in such a way that wasn’t going to garner a great reference, to say the least.

  And utter disgust that she’d wasted so many years of putting up with Stan’s shit because the job was a part of her journey, not her destination, only to blow it all up and derail everything in a fit of temper.

  But, really, he was a dickhead, and it was a miracle she’d put up with it as long as she had.

  There was a possibility that promotion was never going to come, she admitted to herself. If Stan couldn’t value her when was giving almost everything to the job, he wasn’t going to value her in the future. Eventually she was going to meet a guy and finally feel the urge to settle down and start a family. And Stan knew that.

  By the time she stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind her, she’d experienced the full range of emotions several times each, and she was exhausted.

  She wanted Will.

  As shitty as her day was, all she wanted right now was to climb onto Will’s lap and let him wrap his arms around her. It wouldn’t help her situation any, but for a few minutes, she’d be able to let everything go and just feel warm and safe and cared for.

  She actually had their existing text chain pulled up on her phone screen, with her thumb ready to type, when she caught herself.

  He had practice today, and they were preparing for a road game tomorrow. They played regionally, and it was a matinee game to benefit a local fundraiser, so he wouldn’t be gone overnight, but it didn’t matter. He had hockey to worry about, not letting Kristen cry tears of disappointment and frustration into his shirt.

  Maybe if he was an accountant or sold cars or fixed people’s plumbing, she would have sent the text. But she knew that being a professional athlete at Erik and Will’s level wasn’t about the hour of regulation gameplay. Practice and strategy. Films. Focus. Dedication.

  There was nothing he could do. She’d already quit, and the next steps were updating her resume and reaching out to some of the contacts she’d made over the years.

  She wasn’t going to break Will’s focus because she needed a hug.

  Will stepped up behind Kristen, who’d been washing the same wine glass for at least two minutes, and kissed her neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Are we celebrating or mourning or raging or what?”

  “I don’t really know.” She rinsed the glass and set it upside down on the drying mat. “I’m doing all three at the same time, I think.”

  “That sounds exhausting.”

  “Two glasses of wine didn’t help.” She leaned back against him, and he felt her relax a little in his arms.

  “You could have texted me instead of waiting until I got here to tell me. I would have been here earlier.”

  “Yeah, like you leaving the ice because I had a bad day at work is a thing that should have happened.”

  Will heard the old wounds under the sarcasm and turned her to face him, tipping her chin up. “You didn’t just have a bad day at work. I know how hard you’ve been working for that promotion and toward your end goal and, even though you made the right decision for yourself, it has to be devastating. And when your world gets rocked like that, you can call me and I’ll be here for you.”

  She made a face that told him she’d go along with the sentiment, even if she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it.

  He cursed Lamont Burke, though he didn’t dare say the words aloud. And maybe she was right not to believe him. Would he have skipped out early if she’d called him? Probably, unless it was an actual game situation. It had to have been a huge emotional blow for her.

  But he shouldn’t be promising that she could call him and he’d be there because it wasn’t a promise he’d be able to keep very much longer. When he was with Kristen now, he felt the same kind of urgency he felt in the final minutes of a hockey game. Time was running out.

  “At least I was smart enough to buy ice cream when I went shopping yesterday,” she said, giving him the first genuine smile of the night. “So I can drown out my sorrows with mint chocolate chip and a funny movie.”

  “Sounds perfect.” He kissed the back of her neck again, smiling against her skin when she shivered. “You ready for it now?”

  “You scoop while I go wash away my self-pity and throw on so
me movie-watching pj’s.”

  He slapped her on the ass as she walked past him and laughed at the saucy look she threw over her shoulder. Then he pulled open her freezer drawer and couldn’t help smiling. Next to her mint chocolate chip was a carton of maple walnut ice cream.

  It was a small thing on the surface, maybe, but it was just another way she really saw him and made him feel important. And the first thing he’d thought when she told him she’d quit her job ran through his head again, resurfacing despite his resolve not to go there.

  She was free to go to Baltimore with him.

  It was there now, in his head again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. That hadn’t been part of the deal. The dating was supposed to be fake—a relationship made up to keep people from dragging Kristen’s name through the dirt—but it had stopped being fake for him. He wasn’t sure exactly when, but what he felt for Kristen was real.

  He was in love with her.

  The arguments were all there. It was too soon—way too soon. She hated hockey, which was a huge part of his life. She was a complete stranger to his family, and her family wouldn’t shed a tear if he got hit by a bus.

  All of that was true, and none of it put a dent in the truth. He’d been sent to Boston, chose a place to eat based on the grilled chicken, and met a strong, amazing, sexy woman who changed everything. And he couldn’t stay here, but he didn’t want to go home without her.

  By the time he’d scooped them each a dish of ice cream and carried it into the living room, he had his emotions mostly under control again. He wasn’t going to be able to put them totally in a box—he was too shaken for that—but he didn’t want her to read his thoughts on his face. Not yet, anyway.

  “Perfect timing,” he heard her say as he set the bowls on the coffee table.

  He gave himself a few more seconds of trying to shove his feelings in a box for later before he looked up. Her movie-watching pajamas were a long-sleeved thermal top that had been washed so many times, it barely had any pink left to it, and flannel sleep pants with unicorns on them.

  “Thank you for the maple walnut,” he said, and she paused for a kiss he was only too happy to give her before picking up her bowl and settling onto the couch.

  He sat next to her, in the corner, and he smiled when she settled against him. She had the remote control and flipped through the channels until she found an old eighties comedy they both found ridiculous but also funny. After tossing the remote on the table, she dug into her ice cream.

  But with the first bite of his maple walnut, he felt that clock ticking down again. The standard conditioning stint was almost over, and he felt good. The Harriers weren’t going to try to get him an extension, and he knew he should at least bring it up. It had to be talked about, if only so he’d know if she felt the same way he did.

  She’d made room in her freezer for his favorite ice cream, even though she thought it was disgusting. That had to mean something. Or maybe he was reading too much into it, hoping for signs she might be falling for him as hard as he’d fallen for her.

  But not tonight, he decided. She’d had a spectacularly shitty day and right now she needed ice cream and laughter. It wasn’t the time for a deep, emotional discussion. And if she didn’t feel the same he did, he’d probably have to leave to hide the hurt, and he didn’t want her to be alone.

  So he’d eat ice cream, watch a dumb comedy, and then take her to bed. There was still a little time left on the clock.

  There were very few woes that that couldn’t be cured by ice cream, a movie, and multiple orgasms, Kristen thought as she skimmed her fingernails over the sheen of sweat on Will’s naked back. She was almost breathing normally again, and her muscles were so relaxed, she wasn’t sure she’d ever move again.

  Not that she wanted to right now. She loved the weight of his body on hers, and she smiled as he lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss it and then her mouth.

  Then he looked at her, his mouth curved in a smile that was so sweet, she sighed and stroked his hair back from his forehead. At this moment, she didn’t care what happened beyond her apartment. Nothing else really mattered because all she needed was this man, who she had somehow fallen so fast and so hard in love with, looking at her the way he was right now.

  And this man loved her, too.

  It was there on his face—in his eyes—and she couldn’t look away.

  Will was the man who would love her for the rest of her life. Her Prince Charming. Her knight in shining armor. He would hold her hair and rub her back when she was sick, and bring home champagne when she had something to celebrate. He wouldn’t hold her back or slow her down, but he would be at her side forever—his hand at the small of her back to reassure, comfort, or encourage.

  Until the ice called, she reminded herself. He might love her, but he had a life and a team waiting for him in Baltimore, and when push came to shove, he would love hockey more. She knew the drill—she’d lived it her entire life—and she wouldn’t try to change his mind. He wouldn’t stay, and hearing him actually say the words out loud would hurt more than just knowing them in her heart.

  A tear slid down from the corner of her eye, running toward her temple before she could blink it away. Will wiped it away with his thumb, his brow furrowing slightly.

  Before he could speak—maybe saying something that would change their lives—she buried her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so she could kiss him.

  Sixteen hours later, the ice called, and it all fell apart.

  She could see it on Will’s face as soon as he walked through the door after a road game she knew they’d won. He had something to say that she wasn’t going to like, and she knew before he opened his mouth it would have to do with hockey.

  “What’s up?” she asked when he looked reluctant to say what was on his mind. “Just say it.”

  “There’s been a lot of talking—the team doctors and physical therapists and, hell, everybody in the Harriers organization, it feels like—and we’re not going to try to extend my conditioning stint with the commissioner. They feel like I’m ready to rejoin the team in Baltimore.”

  And that was it, Kristen thought. It didn’t matter how much love for her she saw in his eyes. Hockey summoned, and he was leaving.

  “Congratulations,” she forced herself to say, knowing how brittle the smile she forced was. “When do you leave?”

  “I fly back in the morning.”

  “That’s…soon.” She felt weak, as if her muscles were losing their ability to hold her upright, but she tried to focus on not letting it show. She sat on the couch, though, just in case her knees gave out. “They’ll be glad to have you back.”

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting on the other end. In his corner, she thought. He had a designated corner of the couch. His own ice cream in the freezer. “So, we should talk about this.”

  “What’s to talk about?” She lifted her chin, knowing pretense was the only way she could get through this. “The story’s over.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  He said that now, while he was sitting in her living room with her, but as soon as his plane landed in Baltimore, his focus would shift to the Harriers and helping his team make up the ground they’d lost while he was out.

  “That idiot and his Hometown Hoser piece have been old news for a while now, Kristen. The real story—our story—doesn’t have be over.”

  “I don’t date hockey players,” she said with absolutely no conviction in her voice.

  He laughed. “I’m not buying that. You’ve been dating a hockey player.”

  “Was.” She looked away. “Past tense. I blew up my promotion, and the hockey blogs will all be talking about your big return to the Harriers, so it seems pretty over to me.”

  His expression hardened, but she could see the truth in his eyes. He was hurting, too, though not enough to stay. Then he took a deep breath and reached across the cushion between them to put his hand over hers.

  “Come
to Baltimore with me.”

  The words fell between them, and it seemed to Kristen as if neither of them even breathed for several seconds.

  “Come with me,” he said again.

  “I can’t do that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Why not? You’re between jobs right now. Just come with me.”

  “And do what? Sit alone in your home, waiting for you?”

  “I’ve been here every night with you,” he pointed out, but she could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart and the voice in her head telling her she’d been right all along.

  Hockey always wins.

  “You and I both know it’ll be different when you’re back with the Harriers. And you’ll be going extra hard to prove your shoulder’s better and to try to make up lost ground in the standings.”

  He didn’t deny it. “That doesn’t mean there’s no room in my life for you.”

  “We’ve been so happy,” she whispered. “Why can’t you just stay here? Hang up your skates and we can make a life together.”

  He looked shocked that she’d suggest such a thing, which didn’t surprise her. “I can’t go out like this.”

  “What do you mean? You’ve been playing a long time. You’ve hoisted the Cup more than once. You’ve also taken a beating. Nobody would be surprised if you decide it’s time to retire.”

  “If I retire now, it looks like I went down and couldn’t make it back.”

  “So what?”

  He recoiled as if she’d struck him. “So what? How can you say that to me?”

  “Your career speaks for itself, Will. What could you possibly have left to prove to anybody?”

  “I don’t have anything to prove. To anybody.” She winced because there was probably some subtext in that statement aimed at her. “I love playing this game, and I’m going to play it as long as I can. I’m not ready to retire because I’m simply not done yet.”

  “Then go,” she said, amazed at how calm her voice sounded when she was shattering on the inside.