The Workaholic and the Realist (New Hampshire Bears #2)

by Mary Smith

  I thought about all the good times we’d had. Keaton made me laugh. He’d put up with my mouth, cussing, and independent ways. He’d listened to my stories and adventures, as I had his. We’d bonded and not just through sex, but our personalities as well.

  A single tear slid down my face. I missed him. I missed his laugh, his smile, his touch. All of it.

  I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Missing him quickly turned into anger. I sent him a long-winded message as fast as my fingers could type.

  When I finished, I turned my phone off, put the bunny back on my dresser, and went to bed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Keaton

  You’re a jerk.

  You just quit talking to me.

  Do you know how childish and immature that is? I thought you cared for me.

  Guess I was wrong.

  We had something good, and you left it on the curb like trash.

  You suck.

  I’ve stared at my phone all afternoon. It’s been almost ten days since I last spoke with Harlow. I was a jerk, immature, and childish. She wasn’t the only one I couldn’t face. I’ve seen no one outside of practices and games.

  I threw myself into school. I only had a few weeks left, and I didn’t want to fail this part of my life. I desperately wanted to hang my master’s degree on my wall. Yep, it was silly to say, but it was within my grasp.

  But I missed Harlow too.

  I jumped slightly when Remington plopped down across from me at The Latte Bean.

  “Hey ass, how’s it going?” He gave me a dirty look.

  “Great,” I mumbled.

  Remington took a deep breath. “Look, Jaco, we’re all real sorry about Grams. She was one hell of a lady, but you can’t let this grief eat you up inside. Your game sucks. Your life sucks, and God knows what else does.”

  “I don’t want to talk right now.”

  “Too bad. I think you need to.”

  “You’re wrong,” I hissed at him.

  “Really?” He smirked. “You’re not scaring me.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he would take the hint and leave. Nope, I was wrong. Remington began to talk about our first round of playoffs. Game one was tonight. I could honestly say I didn’t want to attend. It would be the first time Grams wouldn’t be at a playoff game of mine. Sure, she’d missed regular games, but never a playoff game.

  “Harlow coming?”

  The sound of her name made me open my eyes and pay attention.

  Remington stared at me, waiting for an answer. “I asked if Harlow would be at the game.”

  “Um…no, we’re not together anymore.”

  “What?” Remington looked as if he’d taken a slap shot to the face. “What the hell man?”

  “Exactly what I said,” I growled. “I don’t need your permission on who I date and don’t date. It’s my fucking life.” A couple people turned around to see what the commotion was, and I realized I’d raised my voice.

  “Keaton, I just want to be here for you. Harlow is good for you. I never saw you so happy.” Remington kept his voice low, hoping I’d do the same.

  “Whatever.” I shrugged.

  My teammate and friend shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to fuck up your whole life because of grief. You can’t let that happen. Grams would be so upset if you pushed those you loved away because of her death.” He stood up and glared into my eyes. “And don’t pretend I’m not right either.”

  I watched him leave The Latte Bean, and I did my best to try to forget he’d hit the nail on the head.

  I stopped by Gram’s house before I headed to the arena. I hadn’t touched any of her belongings yet. Hell, I’ve not seen Felicia either. For all I knew, she’d left. No, someone in the promotional department would have told me.

  I unlocked the door and stepped in. The smell of sugary sweets hit me, reminding me of Grams’ baking, but I knew it had to be a mistake.

  “Felicia?”

  She turned from the stove, and I could see the cookies cooling on the small rack on the counter.

  “Hi, Keaton.”

  “What are you doing?” I could hear the sternness in my question.

  “Oh,” she waved her hands at the cookies. “I tried to do it like Grams. I don’t think they turned out the same.”

  I thought of Grams’ letter. I’ve been carrying it around in my wallet. Her words about Felicia hit me harder at this moment.

  “I’m sure they’re fine.” I lowered my voice and tried to devoid it of the previous harshness.

  Felicia stepped back from me in shock. “Um…”

  “Listen,” I cut her off. “I need to get to the arena, but you can stay here until you find a place.”

  She blinked several times, but said nothing.

  “But don’t touch anything. I’ll handle it later.” This time I did use my stern tone.

  “I won’t touch anything.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Keaton.”

  “Yeah…well…” No other words came out, and I rushed away from her and headed to the arena.

  My teammates and I were quiet as we got dressed. Well, I’d been the quietest of them all. I didn’t play two-touch or really warm-up. I sat on the bench, in my stall, and stared at my hands.

  Kyson and several of the other guys tried to talk to me, but I didn’t respond. I kept taking deep breaths, in an almost meditative like routine. I couldn’t care less about that crap, but right now, it seemed to be helping me.

  Coach Long emerged from his office and began his lengthy speech about our attack plan. “Hit ‘em hard and keep driving at the net.”

  Simple but sound plan.

  The crowd became electrifying when we skated out for our warm ups. Normally, I‘d be joking around with the guys, trying to steal the puck from them, or tossing pucks to the fans. However, I’ve not horsed around since coming back.

  I skated around our half of the ice, but not really doing anything. I should stretch, shoot the puck, or at least practice some stick handling; however, nothing sounded good to me.

  Going back into the locker room, I tuned out Coach and kept taking deep breaths.

  Great, now I’m going to turn into some yoga guru.

  I grabbed my stick and followed the team out to the ice. I felt antsy as I stood on the line with the guys, listening to the national anthem. I tried my best to push thoughts of Grams not being at the game away, but Harlow fluttered through my mind instead.

  Could she be in the crowd?

  I looked over my shoulder, behind the goalies net, but I only saw Meadow.

  Could she have seats somewhere else?

  Maybe.

  Before I could dwell on it anymore, the anthem finished, and it was time to win this game.

  The first period ended up being a complete disaster. Almost every one of my shifts, I ended up in the sin bin. Tripping twice, slashing twice. And those resulted in three points for the Liberty Eagles.

  The second we hit the locker room before the coaches came in, Hamilton got in my face.

  “Those three points were because of you.” He didn’t usually lose his cool.

  “Get the fuck out of my face,” I yelled.

  Hamilton started to say something else, but Coach came in. “Hey, you two sit your asses down.”

  I glared at our captain as he went to his stall, and he gave me the same look.

  “Now, Jaco, get your shit together, or I’ll be cutting your ice time. Stop acting like some damn rookie out there.”

  I ignored him and he continued with his assessment of the period and how to fix it in the second period. Kyson and Remington both tried to talk to me, but I walked away from them. I sure as hell didn’t want to hear from them, no matter what they had to say.

  Luckily, in the second period, I didn’t end up in the box. However, we remained at zero as the Eagles tacked on another point.

  Coach gave almost the same speech, but again, I didn’t pay attention. When the third
period started, I was ready to score and fight, but neither of those things happened. When the final buzzer sounded, we were shut out and none of us were pleased.

  Most of my teammates were giving me dirty looks, blaming me for the loss. They could blame me all they wanted, but I wasn’t the only one on the ice tonight. However, none of them wanted to point to themselves.

  I scrubbed off, put on my suit, and left the locker room without making eye contact with anyone, including the media. When I reached my truck, I didn’t want to go home or drink or eat. I didn’t want anything…

  …but sex.

  I knew where to go for a piece of ass, and I drove straight to her house.

  I hesitated for a split second when I parked in her driveway, wondering if I should just back out and find a piece of strange instead. Then my dick twitched, and I jumped out of the truck and knocked on Harlow’s door.

  “Keaton.” Her wide blue eyes greeted me.

  “You alone?” The question came out gruff, and my body was hard, wanting her.

  “Yes,” she answered, perplexed.

  I pushed my way into her house, kicking the door shut with the heel of my shoe. I cupped her face and directed her toward the nearest wall, crushing her with my body.

  “Kea—”

  Before she could finish my name, I stuck my tongue in her mouth. She made muffled sounds, and her body stiffened. She gripped my wrists tightly, trying to move them away from her face. I maneuvered and pinned her hands above her head with one of mine. I took my other hand and made it into the shorts she normally wore to bed, only to find her dry. She wiggled and squirmed until she broke free and shoved me hard in the chest.

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” I watched as she wiped her mouth and face.

  I stared at her.

  “What the fuck, Keaton? You don’t talk to me for weeks and think you can walk in here and treat me like this.”

  “You never complained before.” I narrowed my gaze at her.

  “Fuck you. It’s one thing to have some rough fun in bed; it’s another to treat me like a blow- up doll.”

  I crossed my arms. “We’ve had sex before.”

  “I’m aware. I happened to be in the room when we did. It’s different now, Keaton. You can’t walk in here and treat this way when I’ve not spoken to you in almost three weeks.”

  I had nothing to say because she was right.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” She shook her head. “I gave you space because I knew losing Grams was going to be hard for you and that you needed to grieve. But, I refuse to be treated like this.”

  “I’m looking for sex. Are you going to give it up or not?” I yelled, actually yelled at her. I didn’t want to hear about my grief.

  Harlow stumbled back against the wall. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Her mouth parted, and her eyes were wet. “The only sex you’re getting is from your right hand. So, I suggest you leave my house this instant.”

  “You’re going to kick me out?” She and I were in a relationship. Well, not at this exact moment, obviously, but she’d had casual sex with me before.

  “If you don’t leave in the next ten seconds, I’ll kick you square in the balls and shove my size nine foot up your ass.”

  I suddenly felt myself being yanked into reality, as if I’d had an out-of-body experience. What the hell was I doing? “Harlow.” I went to reach for her, but she shirked away.

  “Don’t touch me ever again. You don’t understand anything about treating a lady.”

  “I’m sorr—”

  “Stop.” She held up her hand to silence me. “You want to hear something about me? I told you before you had the ability to break me; you just did that tonight. I’ve cried before when relationships ended, but nothing like with you. You broke me, and right now, all I want is for you to get the fuck away from me.”

  A single tear rolled down her beautiful cheek. The strong, fierce Harlow I’d grown to love faded away as she hugged herself, showing me how vulnerable she was right now.

  “Oh, fuck.” I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “What have I done?”

  “Go, Keaton and don’t come back until you grow up, can deal with emotions, and learn how treat a woman.”

  The seriousness in her voice left no room for an argument or even an apology from me. I stared in her eyes a full moment longer as more tears fell before I hung my head and left.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Harlow

  When Keaton left, I remained rooted in my spot against the wall. I sobbed harder than I ever remember doing over any other man. I hadn’t lied when I told him he’d broken me. I cried like I never had before in my life.

  I hardly slept that night and when the sun rose, I had to get out of Manchester to clear my head. My nerves couldn’t handle it.

  I dialed my favorite hotel in Boston and was luckily able to get a room. I sent a text to Meadow, Maxima, and Dacey letting them know I’d be gone for a few days. I packed a suitcase and hit the road.

  I listened to my some of my favorite 80’s hairbands as loud as I could stand. Bon Jovi, Guns N’ Roses, Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard, and so many more bounded through the speakers of my SUV until I pulled up to the Boston Harbor Hotel.

  I easily checked in and went up to my room. I shut my phone off because there wouldn’t be anyone I needed to talk to. Since the day just started, I watched the people hustling around from my window. Some heading to work, some leaving, some just strolling, but all of them seemed to have a purpose.

  I had no purpose. At least for the next few days I didn’t have one. Well, except food. I needed food, and a shower. Definitely a shower.

  I unpacked my clothes and the few pairs of shoes I’d brought. I put my Kindle and iPad on the chargers and emptied my bathroom items on the counter, making sure everything was in order.

  I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into a steamy hot shower. My tears mixed with the water as I thought about Keaton.

  Everything we’d talked and said to each other. All the times we’d laughed, joked, and teased each other. He made me feel good, and he’d always called me out on my shit.

  It seemed silly to be shedding tears over him. Would I consider our time together a relationship? Actually, I did. Even the sex, albeit starting out casual, I’d felt something between us. I thought it was just the way his dick moved in me, but no, it meant more than sex.

  Our talks.

  I’d told him a lot: my parents, my jobs, and my goals. Hell, I ran to him after getting the new job offer. Normally, I wouldn’t be speeding in my SUV to tell anyone, anything. Yes, I’d eventually tell Meadow and Maxima, but not the way I did Keaton.

  My fingers were beginning to prune, and I figured I’d been in the shower long enough. I dried off and wrapped myself in the fluffy robe and sat down on the bed to lotion my body and aimlessly wonder what Keaton was doing right now. Practice? Had he thought about what happened last night? Did he feel any regret at treating me like a common whore?

  Doubt it.

  I finished getting ready and headed down to the hotel restaurant. I ordered a coffee, a veggie omelet, and fruit. I’d brought my iPad and emailed Dacey, telling her some additional things I needed done. Even though I’d abruptly left, I still had stuff to do.

  I checked a couple of my own personal emails, but nothing seemed too serious to gain my attention right now.

  The waitress brought my food, and I open my Kindle to read the book I’d started the other day. I loved romance novels, but thankfully, my current novel was blood, gore, and paranormal. Since kicking Keaton’s ass was lawfully wrong, reading about a vampire slayer seemed more logical.

  I slowly ate my food, reading intently, until I finished. I signed the slip, charging it to my room, and headed back up. When I reached my room, I noticed it had started to rain. It was perfect for me to finish my book.

  And I did.

  I decided not to leave my room for din
ner, and I curled up in the soft sheets early and went to bed.

  When I woke up, the sun was peeking through the small slit of the curtains. I rolled out of bed and looked out to a cloudless sky.

  I’m not staying locked up today.

  I showered and changed into a pair of comfortable jeans and a light sweater. I checked my phone, even though I shouldn’t have, but my curiosity got the best of me.

  Meadow. Maxima, and Dacey had all emailed or texted me. All of them carried the tone of concern for me. I quickly let them all know I was fine, leaving my phone again. I headed downstairs and strolled out into the Boston air.

  I was able to get a cab, and luckily, it was a short ride to the Museum of Fine Art. I’d never dubbed myself an art aficionado, but walking around and gazing at the paintings and sculptures could be calming and even relaxing.

  I slowly strolled through the exhibits of Dutch Painting in the Age of Rembrandt and Vermeer. I studied each painting in awe of the details and simplicity. The vast variety of paintings showed so many differences and interpretations of nobles, merchants, and milkmaids, among more objects and people.

  I, who couldn’t draw a straight line even with the help of a ruler, always thought artist had a super special DNA gene. I included authors in this same category. Painters and authors were in a class of their own in the way they could suck you into their work whether with words or a picture and make you question your life.

  I stared at Johannes Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring in wonderment. I’d seen the particular painting before, but never in person. One would think it looked more like a photograph, but there were soft hints of brush strokes. I studied the pearl. It seemed wrong to me. Her face and appearance showed the innocence of a young girl who tried too hard to fit into a world she didn’t belong in. Hence, the massive pearl earring.

  Stay young, I silently told the seventeenth century girl, because you’ll just end up with a jerk.

  I stopped at each painting for a few moments until I strolled into the next exhibit of pottery and clay pieces. They varied in time periods, but all were unique in colors, shapes, and sizes. Like the paintings, I stopped at each one and observed every tiny detail.