"I don't think—"
"Just promise me you won't make any decisions," she repeated. "And if—after we talk more—you do decide to keep it, promise me you'll go after him for support."
"But I told him I didn't want anything from him."
"I don't care. If you keep it, he's just as responsible. Don't let him off the hook. And it's not like he can't afford it." Anna shrugged into her coat, reached behind her and tugged the hair from beneath the collar. That previous flash of regret was gone now, replaced by a calculation that chilled Cara. She'd seen that look on her roommate's face before, and it never boded well.
"Whatever you're thinking, no. I already told him I didn't expect anything from him, and I meant it."
"Of course, you did, hon. But hormones have a way of clouding our thinking."
"Anna—"
"We'll talk later. I really need to get going."
Cara stood rooted to the spot, watching as Anna pulled the door closed behind her. Silence descended over the apartment. Peaceful. Quietly reassuring. Just the way Cara liked it.
She was comfortable with silence, always had been. She didn't need a lot of noise to be happy. Didn't need a lot of people surrounding her to be content. Anna was the one who thrived in the crowds—which only made her wonder once again how they had become friends, how they had become roommates. They were two totally different people, from two entirely different backgrounds. Yet here they were, still friends in spite of their differences.
Cara wasn't foolish enough to turn a blind eye to her faults, though. She knew that Anna always put herself first. It was just the way she was, the way she had always been. Just like a few minutes ago, when that calculating gleam flashed in her eyes. Cara couldn't imagine what she was thinking but she knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was had to be something that would benefit Anna in the long run.
It didn't matter. Anna could think whatever she wanted, she still didn't have a say in any of this. Whatever Cara decided would be her decision, and her decision alone.
She just wished she knew what she really wanted to do.
And a part of her—a very small part—wished she wasn't as alone as she really was.
Chapter Four
Practice was usually a time for Travis to relax. It sounded weird, something he fully admitted to—and something his teammates always rode him about. How could sprints and drills be relaxing? Who in their right mind could relax when pushing their bodies to the limits...then pushing them even more?
The physical exertion didn't bother him. The sweat, the burning muscles, the struggle to pull air into heaving lungs—none of it bothered him. The ice was where he belonged, where he could empty his mind and just be. He'd felt that way since the very first time he'd put on a pair of skates, when he was four years old and his father had taken him to the pond near the edge of their property back home.
Travis only remembered a few of the most general details: the snow-covered ground; the bright sky, so blue it hurt your eyes; the cold air. Nothing more than that, nothing more than a vague sense of that day.
But he remembered how it felt when he stepped on the ice. How he stumbled at first and fell, got back up and tried again. How he struggled to gain his balance, his tiny arms pinwheeling at his sides.
And he remembered how it felt to fly. How the wind bit into his cheeks and roared past his ears.
His dad still laughed when they talked about it, teasingly told him that he wasn't quite remembering the details as they happened. Travis didn't care if he had the details wrong—it was what he remembered, that sense of flying, that sense of freedom.
The ice had been home to him ever since that day eighteen years ago. A refuge. A place to think. To relax. To forget and just be.
But not today. Today, he felt anything but relaxed. His feet refused to find their rhythm, their stride. He kept stumbling and nearly falling. He'd dropped his stick twice already and had yet to complete a pass, let alone shoot the stupid puck anywhere near the net.
A few teasing comments had been made at the start of practice. That had been two hours ago and the lighthearted teasing had since stopped, turning into frustration and growls of impatience. Coach Torresi hadn't said anything—yet—but Travis figured it was only a matter of time before he did. They had a game tomorrow night against Hartford, right here at home. Travis needed to get his act together before Torresi decided to shake things up and move him down to the fourth line.
Travis skated toward the bench on shaking legs then leaned over and grabbed a water bottle. All he needed was a few minutes, just enough time to collect his thoughts and focus. A few minutes and he'd be fine, back to normal.
He shot a stream of water into his mouth, swished it around, then spat to the side. A few minutes? Who was he kidding? It would take more than a few minutes to straighten his thoughts, to get his mind back where it belonged. He'd been off-balance for the last two days, ever since Cara had given him the news.
And he still didn't know how he felt. Still didn't know what he wanted to do.
Still had no idea how to get in touch with her.
If he could just talk to her, just sit down and talk...that was all he wanted to do. She had said she didn't want anything from him but he wasn't comfortable with that. Shouldn't he be involved? If nothing else, he should at least be there to help her with whatever she needed.
Even if she didn't want—no, he couldn't finish that thought. Couldn't even think it. Not yet. Not now.
Maybe, if they talked, he could wrap his mind around everything and go from there. But how could he talk to her when he had no idea how to reach her? He'd torn his place upside down looking for her number, with no luck. He didn't have her last name so he couldn't just call information or go online to get her number. He had no idea where she worked so he couldn't track her down that way.
He was screwed.
Regret raced through him again—not that it hadn't been there since Sunday evening. He'd push it down, pretend to ignore it, succeed for an hour or two before it came racing back to knock him sideways.
He shouldn't have let her walk away on Sunday.
He should have gotten her number then.
He should have given her his number and asked that she call him.
He should have dragged her inside Mystic's, taken her to a corner booth, and insisted they talk.
He should have never taken her home to begin with.
So many things he should and shouldn't have done, and none of them made a difference. Not now, not anymore. It was too late for any of them.
Yeah, he was definitely screwed.
"Bankard! You joining us?"
Travis jerked sideways, jolted from his thoughts and regrets by Coach Torresi's booming voice. He nodded, ignoring the muffled laughter as he skated over to center ice, where everyone was standing.
Waiting for him.
"Way to go, Loverboy." Ben muttered the words under his breath, just loud enough for Travis to hear. He frowned, stifling the urge to whack Ben upside the head with his stick. He'd made similar comments all day yesterday, had kept them up today as well. Loverboy. Casanova. Romeo. Tiny digs that were probably meant as a joke.
Travis wasn't laughing.
He shifted away from Ben, ignoring him as Coach addressed them, discussing tomorrow's game strategy, going over what he expected, telling them what they needed to focus on. His icy green gaze focused on Travis for a split second, just long enough to make the breath freeze in his lungs. Would Coach pull him to the side, ask him what was going on? Tell him he was being moved?
No, nothing like that. Not yet. Torresi's gaze moved away and Travis stifled a sigh of relief. He'd been granted a reprieve—for now. But if he didn't get his act together in time for tomorrow's game, he had no doubt he'd be sitting on the bench, his ice time reduced to single digits.
He skated off the ice, following Aaron and Harland and Zach back to the locker room. Ben was behind him, but far enough back that Travis didn't have to worr
y about hearing any more of his little digs. At least for now. That would probably change soon enough.
He was right. Travis had just started peeling out of his gear when Ben strolled over, a crooked grin on his face.
"So how's Daddy doing today? Any more surprises you need to tell us about?"
Travis frowned, turned his back on Ben and yanked the sweaty jersey over his head. Ben chuckled then dropped to the bench beside him and nudged him in the side.
"What's the matter, Banky? Afraid another baby-mama might show up?"
"That's enough." Aaron's quiet voice came from Travis's other side, strong and commanding. Ben chuckled and Travis didn't have to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes.
"I'm just teasing him."
"I don't think he wants to hear any more of your teasing. None of us do."
"Yeah? Well, anyone who's stupid enough to play Russian roulette by sticking his dick into everything that passes by without protection deserves a little teasing." Ben's voice changed, became just a little colder, a little more brittle. "He just ought to be damned glad a baby is all she gave him. At least that you can get rid of."
Travis jumped to his feet and spun around, blindly reaching for Ben. Hands grabbed him, yanking him back. Quiet words, strong and reassuring, came from behind him.
"Let it go. Don't let him get to you."
Aaron's words slowly sunk in, calming him enough that he was able to unclench his fists. He slowly nodded, not surprised that Aaron still had a firm grip on his shoulders while Zach led Ben to the other side of the locker room, verbally flaying him for being a fucking ass.
Aaron finally released him then motioned toward the bench. Travis dropped onto it and leaned forward, lowered his head into his hands and released a long breath. It didn't help. The anger still throbbed in his veins. Anger at Ben, anger at himself, anger at his stupidity. And underneath the anger was regret, lurking, never leaving, sneaking up on him when he least expected it.
Aaron sat next to him, straddling the bench and simply sitting there. A few long minutes went by, filled with the sounds of a busy locker room: laughter and joking; grunts and groans; the dull thuds of equipment hitting the floor; the echoing hiss of showers running in the next room. None of it seemed real. Travis was too far removed from all of it, felt like he was watching everything unfold around him from a distance. Like a movie.
Or a nightmare.
"Did you want to talk?"
Travis lifted his head, his gaze briefly meeting Aaron's as the older man watched him. There was no judgement in the other man's eyes—just friendship and reassurance.
Travis nodded. Shook his head. Shrugged. "I don't even know if there's anything to even talk about."
"You got blindsided by some major news the other day. That's enough to throw anyone off their game."
"It's not just that. I mean, yeah, it's that. But it's more, you know? I mean..." Travis sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what I mean. I just know I really screwed up."
"This is going to fall under the category of stupid question because I'm sure you've already thought of it but—have you talked to her since Sunday? I don't mean at the bar or on the phone. I mean someplace quiet. Private. Where you can just talk."
Travis looked away, heat filling his face. Not from embarrassment, but from shame. He sucked in a deep breath, held it until he thought he might pass out, then exhaled in a rush. That still didn't make it any easier to admit the truth. Would Aaron frown and lecture him? Would he be able to hide the disappointment from his face? Travis kept his gaze averted when he finally answered Aaron's question.
"I—I don't have her number." Silence, thick and heavy, settled between them. Or maybe that was just his imagination. He sucked in another deep breath and continued. "I thought I did but I can't find it. I looked everywhere at home but...it's not there."
A large hand patted him on the shoulder, maybe just a little harder than necessary. "Do you know how else to reach her?"
"No. I don't even know her last name."
"And her number isn't in your phone?"
"No. I mean, I don't think so. I can't tell."
"How can you not tell?"
Travis looked up, surprised to see Harland standing in front of him. Had he been so preoccupied that he hadn't heard the other man approach? Probably. He'd been preoccupied ever since Sunday night.
He swallowed back more embarrassment and shrugged again. "I just—I can't tell, is all."
"Banky, that makes no sense." Harland dropped to the bench on his other side, effectively pinning him in. Travis pushed away the brief spurt of panic then leaned forward and rummaged through his duffel bag, finally finding his phone. He didn't bother to look at either man flanking him when he passed it to Harland.
"There's a lot of numbers in it." The admission came out as a mumble, barely audible. He held his breath, waiting as Harland scrolled through the contacts. He saw Harland frown, heard the choked sound of surprise as the other man reached across him and passed the phone to Aaron.
More silence, followed by a surprised grunt and a deep exhale.
"This is none of my business, kid, but—shit, I'm not sure I even want to know. Have you slept with all of these women?"
"What?" Travis's head shot up so fast he nearly pulled a muscle in his neck. "No. No, of course not. I would never—I mean, only two, including Cara. But that's all. I swear."
"Then how did you get all these numbers? There must be at least four dozen of them."
"I—I'm not sure. Most of them are from last season. Girls would just show up. You know, from those social media posts Zach showed me how to do. They would show up and ask for my number then call it so I would have it. You know—their number, so I could call them. But I didn't. I didn't even save their names, just the numbers. After that one girl, I just—I don't know, I just didn't, is all."
"Is there a chance that any of these numbers belong to Cara?"
A spark of hope flashed inside then just as quickly died. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Have you tried calling any of them?"
"No. I've been afraid to. I don't want to talk to any of them and if I call, they might think—well, you know."
Aaron and Harland exchanged a quick glance, one filled with silent communication he didn't understand. Aaron placed the phone on the bench beside him then looked at Travis, his dark gaze focused and intense.
"Before we go any further with this, tell me about Amy."
Travis stiffened. Anger swept through him, quickly followed by hurt and disappointment. Amy had been his long-time girlfriend up until early last year—when she broke it off with him because he hadn't been moved up to the Banners yet, because he was still playing for the Bombers in the minors. The news had shocked him, had hurt more than he would have imagined. They'd been dating since high school and he'd been so sure they'd always be together. That they'd been made for each other.
Instead, it turned out that he didn't even know her. She'd changed in the few years since he'd been drafted, since he moved out here to York. Or maybe he was the one who had changed.
Or maybe he'd simply been fooling himself all those years. Maybe they'd stayed together because that was what he was comfortable with. What everyone expected of him.
Travis forced his hands to unclench, forced the feelings of hurt and anger and betrayal away. "There's nothing to say. There's nothing between us. It's over."
"You sure about that? Because I thought you were talking about trying to fix things over the summer."
Yeah, he had—until he'd gone back home and realized there was nothing to fix. He'd figured that out within five minutes of being home.
He met Aaron's steady gaze. "There's nothing there." The words were short, clipped...and certain.
"And if one of these numbers does belong to Cara, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Travis answered honestly—he didn't know. He just knew he wanted to talk to her. Nothing else, simply talk. After that, he wasn
't sure. "I'd like to at least talk to her."
Aaron nodded then looked over at Harland. "You and Courtney feel like coming over later? Help make some phone calls?"
"Yeah, we can do that. Noah will be with us, though."
"Not a problem. Isabelle would be disappointed if he wasn't."
Travis looked first at Harland then at Aaron. The older man was already standing with a muffled groan. He paused, fixed Travis with an expression he couldn't quite read. "Do you need directions to my place or do you remember how to get there?"
"I remember. But—"
"Then be there around six-thirty."
"I don't understand. Why? What are we doing?"
Aaron glanced at the lone phone sitting on the bench then grinned. "We're going to divide those numbers up and make some calls. See if one of them belongs to Cara."
"Seriously? You guys would do that for me?"
"Yeah, seriously."
"What if none of the numbers are hers?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, I suggest you think long and hard about what you want to say to this girl—just in case one of those numbers is hers."
Travis nodded, watched as the other two men walked away, heading toward the showers. Hope flared, but only briefly before he tamped it back down, before reality washed over him once more.
What if they did reach Cara tonight? Then what? Yes, he wanted to talk to her.
But he had no idea what he wanted to say.
How could he, when he had no idea what he wanted?
Chapter Five
Laughter filled the house, drifting from the living room where Aaron's two daughters were playing with Harland's son. Travis shifted on the ladderback chair and leaned to the side, peering through the doorway that led from the kitchen to the living room. The three kids—thirteen, ten, and three—were playing some kind of game, laughing and squealing while the television played in the background.
Travis turned back in the seat and propped his elbows on the table, doing his best to ignore the noise. It wasn't too loud, not really. But the decibels were definitely a little higher than what he was used to. Maybe that wasn't saying much, since he lived alone. And surely he and his brother made just as much noise when they were younger, probably even more.
Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6) Page 3
