She would not cry for him. Crying over a man never did a woman any good, and she wouldn’t be that woman. She’d grown up with that woman.
“Hey rockstar,” Baz called out when Ben walked into the locker room the following night, and Ben fought the urge to cringe. His secret was out. Like completely out for all to see. The number of texts and notifications he’d received today had been so brutal that he’d eventually shut his phone off.
He’d wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear, but he had a job to do. And that was beat Calgary tonight, and get them closer to the next round.
“Yeah, why don’t you play for us?” Boosh yelled across the room, and Ben glared at everyone.
“I dabble a bit. Maybe we could play on the road?” Timmy asked, and Ben bit back his snarl. The kid didn’t need that from him.
“I can’t believe you never told us you played. That video was fucking sweet,” Sully said from a few spots down.
“Uhh, thanks, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. We have a game to focus on,” he said, grabbing the stick he forgot to tape before walking into the locker room.
Shit. His concentration was shot. And his sanctuary was gone. The years of playing with the guys obliterated with one post on a stupid bunny site. Not that he’d believed his secret would stay hidden forever, but he’d been quite successful so far. Until she’d found him. If Amanda hadn’t shown up that night, hadn’t written that article—even if he wasn’t mentioned—then he’d still be in the clear. At least that’s what he’d told himself since she’d stormed out of the bar, and he’d hastily signed autographs on paper—not breasts—before leaving the club.
He’d apologized to the guys for bailing, but he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to continue playing. To catch the bunnies watching him.
Fuck. It’d been a nightmare.
And then he’d gone home to wallow and wonder if he could ever go back to the club. That place was like his second home, and if she’d ruined that for him…
He shook his head. It was beyond frustrating. Not to mention that he’d glossed over his game day prep routine at home, his heart not into playing the song that always brought him comfort and settled him.
It better not screw up his game tonight. Shit. He was a damn mess.
He still saw her face as he rained down accusations on her last night. How she yelled back at him, fire in her eyes. She’d sworn that she hadn’t leaked anything. But he’d kept it a secret until her, the only difference in his life from then until now was her. It was too much of a coincidence.
He wanted to believe her—fuck—how he wanted to believe her, but every time he tried, he second guessed himself. He’d been burned by someone he cared about before. Why was she any different? And if he was wrong about her, he’d been a total ass and she probably wanted nothing to do with him, so it was best to give them some space. Give him time to figure out what happened last night and how anyone found out about the club.
He was a damn coward.
“Earth to our resident rock star,” Baz said, stopping in front of Ben’s stall while Ben focused on lining up his water bottles.
“Knock it off,” he bit out, glaring.
“Touchy, touchy. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the rumor posted on the Bunny Hop page, and then pictures a few hours later,” Baz said, shaking his head.
“And you didn’t think to warn me about the rumor?”
“It’s a rumor, man. There’s a shit ton of them floating around on that page. You never know what to believe,” Baz said, leaning in closer, and dropping his voice. “There’s even a rumor on there that I’m a secret genius.”
Ben choked out a laugh. “Guess you can’t believe everything.”
“Not nice, Cheesy. Not nice. I’m sure my IQ is stupendous,” he said, puffing out his chest. His bare and tattooed chest. The man had an issue with clothes. In that if he didn’t have to wear them, he wouldn’t.
“Leave Cheesy alone,” Harty said, sitting in his stall next to Ben’s. “Although, the video is pretty awesome, man. Can’t believe you never mentioned you could play like that.”
“It’s just a hobby. Just playing around,” he said, shrugging, and wishing he could focus on taping his stick and not on the video of him playing that was currently floating around everywhere. Actually, there were multiple clips.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“That is more than just playing around,” Harty said. “It was fucking awesome. Wish I had some musical talent.”
“Yeah. Women love that shit. You should be advertising it,” Baz said. “Not that you need to reel them in now that you have Amanda.”
“Right. Amanda,” he mumbled.
“What the hell did you do?” Harty asked, his voice low. Ben caught his gaze. For a split second he’d forgotten that Harty’s girlfriend was Amanda’s best friend. And based on Harty’s expression, he had no idea what Ben had done last night. Had Amanda cared so little for him that she hadn’t mentioned what happened at the club to her best friend?
Whoa. That thought was both arrogant and fucked up on his part.
“I was an asshole to her, and I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We have a game to focus on.”
“Nope. I’ll probably hear about this when I get home, so fess up or it’s going to eat at you on the ice and we need to win tonight. It’s already messing up your concentration. I’ve never watched you tape a stick in that direction,” Harty said, nodding to the stick across Ben’s lap. The tape on the blade was going from the shaft to the end of the blade instead of the other way around.
Dammit.
“What did you do, Cheesy? We like Amanda,” Baz said, squeezing in next to Ben, and running his fingers down his beard in an attempt to look deep in thought. “She makes you less of a robot. Less serious.”
“I’m not that bad.”
Baz arched his brows.
“Oh fuck off. I’m not a robot,” he growled. And then he thought about how much Amanda loved it when he growled. Jesus. This was a disaster. He couldn’t get out of his own way. “I may have accused her of leaking the fact that I played at the club.”
Harty’s eyes widened. “You’re an idiot.”
“Not cool, man,” Baz said.
“It was a logical conclusion. I’ve been playing there for years, no one ever found out, and then she showed up, wrote that article, and fucking bunnies showed up,” he said, exasperated.
“How is that logical? I’m sure that conversation went over well. I’m surprised Penny isn’t in here castrating you,” Harty said. “And did you ever think that maybe it was a coincidence? How long could you play on a public stage without a hockey fan walking in and recognizing you, bunny or not? I don’t care how much of a dive the place is. And what does she have to gain for letting out your secret?”
“She’s in the media. She’s not happy with her job. Being my girlfriend puts her in the public eye.” He was grasping. It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud.
“That’s total bullshit, and you know it. You need to get over your press hang-up. They can be a pain in the ass, but it’s part of our jobs as professional athletes. And Amanda isn’t like that. How many times did she tell you that she only cares about writing about travel spots? She’s not doing in-depth news pieces. She’s not writing some exposé on you.”
“Yeah, I know what she writes. I get it. I don’t want to talk about it right now. I have—we have—a game to focus on. It’s the damn playoffs, and we need to win tonight.”
“Yes we do. But we also need your concentration, which appears to be shot to shit tonight,” Harty said, nodding toward Ben’s incorrectly wrapped stick.
He ripped off the tape and started over, wrapping from the tip of the blade—the overlapping edges of the tape precise—and in the right direction.
“I’m working on it,” he muttered, finishing one stick and grabbing another. He’d fucked up all three.
“So, did
you call her?”
“No. We need some space. I need to figure some things out.”
Excuses. Excuses.
“I call bullshit again,” Baz said.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe she had nothing to do with it, and I’m an asshole for not listening to her. But I can’t deal with that now. We have a game to win tonight. That’s the only thing I can think about,” he said, leaning back in his stall and taking a long pull from his sports drink. He needed to focus on his game. Amanda would have to wait.
“Really? You sure you’re capable of only thinking about the game?” Harty asked.
“Of course. This is what I love more than anything in the world, and we are making a deep run,” he said, wondering if anyone else heard the hitch in his confident tone.
“Sure, Cheesy. But you better call her tonight. Don’t be an idiot. It never works out when we are,” Harty said, nudging Ben’s shoulder, before standing and walking across the room.
“Just call her. She’ll forgive you,” Baz said, and then pointed his finger at Ben. “Don’t fuck this up again. We like her.”
Baz stalked off.
Ben lined up his bottles again and turned up the volume on his earbuds.
Would she be at the game? He shook his head. He’d let his assumptions get the better of him. He was usually smarter than that. He’d let her walk out of the club, her head down. He’d done that to her. For what? Because he couldn’t escape to the club and play in peace? Because bunnies would start flooding his sanctuary?
He may have jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it’d been the first thought that had come to him when those bunnies had shown up.
And what did that say about his relationship with Amanda?
***
When the final buzzer sounded and some stranger who’d occupied Amanda’s typical seat got up and left, Ben knew he’d been an idiot. It hurt way too much not seeing her there to support the win they’d just squeaked out.
He skated off the ice and gave her seat one last look. How badly had he fucked everything up? And when was he going to stop letting his past control his future?
Chapter 19
Fields of bluebells sway next to my feet. Spent the afternoon meandering through the Blue Forest in Belgium. The bluebells only bloom from April to May so don’t miss it. Paths are carved through the fields. A much needed peace after that crazy museum party last night. More to come on that.
~ Adventurous Amanda, May 2014
“You’re up early,” her mom said when she walked into the kitchen, and Amanda bit back a groan. It was six o’clock in the morning. Why wasn’t her mother asleep? Or at Kurt’s. Or Greg’s. Or anyone else’s.
She shuffled her notes in front of her. “I have a phone interview this morning.”
“Really? For a new job? I didn’t realize you were looking.”
“Yes. I need a change.” She’d sent out a dozen resumes in the last two weeks and this was the first one that had panned out.
“Change can be a good thing,” her mother said, giving her a smile. “Is it for another magazine? Which one? Here in the city? It’s really early.”
“It’s for an online magazine. They’re based in New York, so this isn’t early for them.”
“New York. If you take it, would you have to move?”
Amanda couldn’t read her mother’s expression. It was a strange combination of hope and sadness. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“I’m not sure. Why? You want the house to yourself? Imagine what that’s like.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She did not want to have this conversation, or any conversation with her mom right now. She was having a shit-tastic week, and she hadn’t heard from Ben in six days.
Okay, that was a lie. He’d texted her yesterday, asking if they could talk when he was back in town later tonight, but she hadn’t responded. He hadn’t said anything else, except that he wanted to talk. Apparently texting it’s over wasn’t how he planned to break up with her. He’d rather do it in person, and she was not up for that today.
We have to talk was up there with the worst sentences possible. No good came from that sentence. If he planned to apologize for being a total ass, his text would’ve said something different. Like maybe, I’m sorry. Or I’m a total ass. Forgive me.
So many options to avoid the dreaded we have to talk.
“I hope it goes well. This could be just what you need. To get away. You’ve always loved a change of scenery. I can’t remember the last time you stayed in one place this long. Maybe since college,” her mother said, and Amanda was a little shocked that her mother actually knew that. And then she felt like a shitty daughter for thinking so little of her own mother.
“Yeah. I’ve been home for almost twenty months now.”
“And your grandfather’s been gone for eighteen of those months. What’s keeping you here?” Her mother paused. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that harshly. He would want you to live your life. Not spend your time taking care of his house. And in a job you hate.”
“Why, because you want the house? He left it to me, mother,” she said, any further words dying in her throat as her mother’s face sank. Jesus, she was a bitch.
“I know that I haven’t been there for you when I should’ve. And I relied too much on your grandparents to help raise you, but I don’t want this house. He gave it to you. He had his reasons why he didn’t list me on the deed. I understand that, but this is the house I grew up in, and I’m your mother. At least give me a little consideration, instead of annoyance and disdain. You know I love you. No matter what you think of me, I’ve always loved you.”
Amanda took in a shuddering breath. They never talked about anything that brushed below superficial conversation. They existed more as acquaintances, barely friends, and not as mother and daughter, for longer than Amanda could remember. Between her mother and Ben, she was about tapped out on revelations and emotional chaos. Maybe getting away was the best idea. Maybe this interview was happening at the best possible time.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just frustrated and stressed. We are just so different, and you tried your best,” she said, trying to care. God, she wanted to care, but for years she’d cared too much, and the walls she’d erected were fortified with each disappointment, with each new home her mother had brought her into, only to leave it before they could settle into a routine.
Routines. She bit back her snort. Thinking about Ben would only make it worse. And how long could she avoid him if he really wanted to see her? He was determined like that, but now was not the time to think about her failing relationships.
“Just know that you can talk to me if you need to,” her mother said, awkwardly patting Amanda on the shoulder. “And good luck with your call. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Yep. She was a total asshole.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a small smile.
“And get that Ben over here soon. I still owe him pancakes,” her mother said before walking out of the room.
Not the parting shot she wanted.
She glanced at her phone, only five minutes left before her interview was scheduled to start. She pulled up her blog. Her page views and subscriptions had continued to drop. She still had a few ads and affiliate links, but it wasn’t what it used to be only a year ago. She’d never said how long she was putting her travels on hold, and she needed to get back out there and create content that her readers wanted.
She missed traveling. The freedom. The adventure. Every trip a new experience, and she’d met some great people along the way.
Her phone rang. She took in a deep breath and slid her finger across the screen. This could be the answer she was hoping for.
“Hello, this is Amanda,” she said.
“Hi Amanda, this is Charlotte, editor-in-chief. Is this a good time?”
“Perfect,” Amanda replied. They went through the formalities, and a little back
story about the online magazine. Amanda had done her homework on The Savvy Traveler before she’d submitted her resume and portfolio. She’d provided a mix of articles from the magazine and from her blog, so they could get an up-to-date sense of her writing style.
When the listing had popped up online, she’d wanted to bounce in her chair. She was at her wit’s end with Betsy, and they were never going to bump her up to a staff writer.
“We’ve just started the interviewing process, but we are looking for one, possibly two, full-time staff writers, who want to report on unique travel spots and provide tips for every type of traveler. We’re very impressed with your blog. The tips for solo travelers are spot on, and I think your voice will appeal to our varied demographic.”
“Thanks. I’ve been landlocked for a while due to family issues, but they’ve been resolved, and I’m ready to get back out there. I’ve kept up my existing blog since I’ve returned, focusing on travel tips and local spots, to keep interest up.”
“I did want to make sure that you were ready to travel again. Almost two years of staying stateside is a long time, but I’m happy to hear that you are ready to get back out there.”
“Yes. My end goal has always been to support myself while traveling, and being a staff writer for your magazine is something I’m extremely interested in,” she said. It was what she’d wanted for so long, but the words felt slightly hollow.
Dammit.
She wanted this job. She’d worked hard to get to this point. She needed to get back out there, but Ben sat in the back of her mind. Hell. Who was she kidding? He was always inching his way to the front, if he wasn’t there already. But she had no clue where they stood. And after that text…
She shook her head, focusing on what Charlotte was telling her.
“I know you are out in California, and that while we are a completely online publication, since we are based in New York, we like to have our writers somewhat local to come in for meetings periodically. Would you be willing to relocate to New York?” Charlotte asked.
New York. She hadn’t been prepared for that question. Traveling was one thing. Months away from home, but always coming back to her friends and family. Not that she had much of a family left. She paused. This question never would’ve made her pause before. She’d continually travelled for six years, crashing with friends along the way, the bulk of her stuff in storage or at her grandparents’—now her—house.
Skating the Line (San Francisco Strikers Book 2) Page 20
