Page 15 of Cross Checking (Off the Bench #2)

LUKE

My fingers curl around my freshly brewed latte, the heat searing into my hands, but I don’t care. I want to feel something that isn’t helpless, hopeless pining. The day is gray and rainy and dull, and my eyes remain fixed on the building across from me.

I don’t have the slightest desire to do anything else.

It’s been a week since Erik left Toronto. Still, my mood remains as dreary as the glum scene outside.

We weren’t together, but we almost were, and I miss him. I liked, no, like, him way too much to forget about him this quickly.

The fact that my body fucking craves him doesn’t help, either. He really was a killer combo that I had no chance against. The whole damn package of likeable, endearing, and sexy as hell.

My smart speaker chimes, which lets me know it’s time to begin work.

I log on and skim my inbox before changing and combing my hair ahead of a nine-thirty meeting.

Ajay, my manager, hired a new grad who’s based out of Montreal, and I’m going to lead her training for the first few weeks.

In preparation, I load up my monthly reporting files so I don’t have to scramble around on the call, turn my ring light on, and test my camera.

Right on time, I shove my Erik thoughts aside and start the meeting, checking my video feed in the upper right corner to make sure I’m presentable, and then Emily joins.

She introduces herself, telling me that she graduated from McGill in April, and then I do the same.

It’s hard not to notice her relax ever so slightly after I reveal that I also graduated this year.

Then I relax as well. Two fresh grads don’t need to partake in too much corporate bull. I launch into my demonstration of monthly reporting, holding myself back from swearing when the software inevitably crashes on me, but we get through the training largely unscathed.

“Wow, that’s a lot to take in,” Emily says.

I let out a dry laugh. “Sure is. Luckily we only have to do it once a month.”

She tilts her head, thinking, before speaking again. “What do you do when you aren’t reporting?”

Staring blankly at the screen, it takes a while for my brain to catch up.

“Mostly changing the files so they work better?” I say. “Sorry if that isn’t helpful, I’m kind of out of it today.”

“Late night?” she asks.

“Kind of.”

Her face lights up as if I spilled some serious tea. “Oh my god, on a Thursday? That’s so chaotic.”

“Nah, not really. I was up late talking to a friend.”

Said friend: Erik. He went on a run early in the morning, which was midnight in Toronto, and he sent me a picture of the prettiest city I’ve ever seen. Naturally, I asked to see more. That’s what friends do, right? Ask about each other’s lives?

And then he video called me, and we ended up talking until two.

Friends don’t do that.

Yeah, I’m screwed. Do I care? Less than I thought I would, but missing Erik is taking up most of my brain power.

“Anyway,” Emily says, bringing my attention back to the meeting. “I messaged the team chat about an hour ago and nobody read it. Do you know if that’s a problem on my end?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I check the chat and confirm that her message came through. “Nobody else is online yet, so that’s probably why nobody reacted.”

“No one’s online? It’s almost ten-thirty.”

“Yeah, reporting ended yesterday, though, so everyone usually takes an unofficial day off.”

Emily and I make some more small talk before signing off, and I lean back in my chair. With nothing to distract me, my mind wanders back to Erik and how much I miss the guy.

I shake my head. These lingering feelings are way too inconvenient. Not that I have anything to do at work right now, but there’s no way being in a funk is healthy.

Sighing, I open my browser and click on the search icon.

How to get over feelings for a guy who moved away

The first suggestion in the first thread I open? Hook up until you can’t remember your own name, and then you can’t focus on anything else.

I was hoping that wouldn’t be one of the suggestions.

Can anyone even stack up against Erik?

With a shrug that’s directed at nobody, I download the notorious MeatMarkt, an app designed for dudes to organize quick and easy hookups with each other.

I log into my old account, and a sea of profiles greets me.

I don’t even bother updating my own page and start scrolling, but then the familiar stream of messages begins to roll in.

Looking?

Let me suck your dick

I wanna cum on ur abs

Breed me

I bet you have a tight little ass that’s begging to be fucked

(PICTURE RECEIVED)

Jesus Christ. No thanks.

I delete MeatMarkt less than five minutes after downloading it.

If I’m going to get over Erik, I’ll have to wait it out. The prospect of doing that alone makes me sick, and being alone this weekend is gonna suck.

Resigned, I text my parents.

Can I come visit

Mom

Of course! Is everything OK?

Yeah I just need a weekend away

Dad

Oh boy that’s not good

I’ll pick up an extra bottle of something at the liquor store

Thanks?

Mom

You can’t drink all your boy problems away

Who says it’s boy problems

Dad

Your last-minute trips here are always because of boy problems

OK fine

The guy I was kind of dating moved back to Sweden and I’m going through it

Dad

Oh shit I’m sorry to hear that buddy

Mom

Text me your train time and we’ll pick you up

My train pulls into Burlington Station right after nine, and my parents are waiting on the platform.

Clutching my weekend bag, I follow them to their car and settle into the back seat for the short drive to their new house.

We make small talk about work and what I’ve been up to, but from the forced enthusiasm in both my parents’ voices, I can tell they’re holding back.

I put my bag upstairs, and when I come down, my parents are seated on the large sectional in the living room.

Mom pounces first. “Tell us about this mystery man and why he’s got you in such a state,” she says.

“He was—no. He is nice.” I take a sip and let the alcohol run down my throat, a necessary distraction from my dismal feelings.

“A lot of people are nice, Luke,” Dad says. “Nice people don’t usually go around making people feel like crap.”

Mom jumps in again. “I’m guessing he was attractive, but did you like him beyond that?”

Dad sucks air in through his teeth and snickers while Mom glares at him. I’ve never even mentioned what Erik is like to my parents, but they assumed correctly, and they’re probably thinking that I hooked up with Erik and fell for his looks.

Like, yes, he’s super fucking hot. That isn’t the main issue.

The problem is that I like him as a person. I fell for him, and it isn’t like he made it hard. Forgetting about Erik would be so much easier if he treated me like crap, used me for sex, and ghosted me, but he had to go and be the kind of guy people dream about.

“Well? Was there anything there, or was he only a pretty thing who kept your bed warm?” Dad hauls me out of my daydreaming.

Hearing Erik reduced to a “pretty thing” makes me wince.

“His laugh,” I say. “Cutest sound I’ve ever heard.”

My parents’ faces tense up, maybe from surprise, and I keep going.

“Erik made me laugh, too. All the damn time. He was a little shy at first, but he opened up so fast and then he’d light the room up whenever he walked in.

” I breathe out and run a hand over my face.

“He listens. He cares. He’s so damn sweet without even trying, and fuck, that smile.

He’d shoot me a grin and I’d feel special. ”

Silence. My parents exchange a sad look. Maybe they’re trying to figure out how to tell me I’m screwed, as if I don’t already know.

The fact that I can ramble about Erik to my parents goes to show exactly how deep I got, and I didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

Dad clears his throat. “So,” he starts, “what are you going to do about all this?”

I groan. “Cry and let my feelings die?”

Mom sighs. “Do you want to do that?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry buddy, but you’re screwed,” Dad says.

“That isn’t helpful!” Mom scolds him, and he tuts. “And when was the last time you talked to Erik?”

“This morning at two.”

Dad’s eyes widen. “You stayed up until two talking to this guy?”

I nod.

“Your father and I used to talk at two in the morning. That was back when calling was expensive, but nights and weekends were free.”

“Okay, now that isn’t helpful,” Dad says, and then it’s Mom’s turn to tut.

I place my empty glass back down on the table, and Dad fills it up again without any hesitation. “Look, I can’t quit cold turkey, but it’s been a week.”

“Yeah, it’s still fresh for you two. As harsh as it sounds, one of you will lose your feelings first, and that’ll make it easier for the other to follow.”

Dad’s tough truth makes my insides knot up.

The thought of Erik grumbling at my texts is hard to swallow, but for me to dismiss him like that?

Or worse, ignore him? Get annoyed by him?

That’s straight up unimaginable. My brain rejects the notion the same way it rejects an intrusive thought like driving my car into a snowbank.

I can handle wanting him, but I don’t want to see how I react to losing him altogether.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Still, what if that doesn’t happen?”

Mom sighs. “If he loses feelings for you and you can’t shake yours? Then you go to therapy for attachment issues.”

“Claire!” Dad hisses, and Mom shrugs her hands.

“If the two of you don’t drop your feelings,” she continues, “then that’s when you’re screwed. Not even the best psychologists can fix that mess.”

“Oh my god, how is it possible to feel worse than I did before?”

“You came home to sulk in front of your blunt parents,” Dad says. “It has to get worse before it gets better.”

Standing up with shaky legs, I set my empty glass down on the coffee table and face my parents. “Alright, this has been… great. Excuse me while I go upstairs and cry into my pillow.”

“Luke.” Mom stops me in my tracks. “If a man makes you cry, then he isn’t worth your time.”

“The stupid thing is, it isn’t anything he did. He’s a great guy who moved away for work, and I was enough of an idiot to catch feelings for him.”

“You’re a sensitive guy, Luke,” Dad says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I scoff to stave off another rush of negative emotions.

“Yeah, I get it, but look where I am now.” I gesture to myself, my parents sigh, and that’s my cue to leave.

Once I’m upstairs, I brush my teeth and get into bed, but instead of falling asleep like I should, I decide to stalk Erik’s social media for the fiftieth time this week. Because clearly, I hate myself.

His profile doesn’t give off typical hockey boy vibes—his main picture is a cropped group photo in front of a lake, and there are only two pictures of him in hockey gear.

One of them is his most recent post, from a week ago.

It’s of him in his AHL uniform, helmet off, hair damp with sweat, and so damn attractive with his usual shy smile that never fails to make my heart clench.

The post was to announce his last-minute transfer to the SHL, and I sigh, realizing that I’ll keep getting updates on his new life through snippets like this.

And then my traitorous brain gets a boneheaded idea.

I switch to my browser to search for “SHL stream.” It’s not out of the question to support your friends, which is what I tell myself as I navigate to something called SHL+, the league’s exclusive streaming platform.

Their website is entirely in Swedish, but a red button that says “aktivera” probably means what I think it does.

A subscription sets me back 300 in Swedish money every month; I don’t know how much that is, nor do I care.

I pull out my credit card and enter my details, tapping the metal against my phone while I wait for the payment to go through.

Then I download a VPN because the streams are location-restricted to Scandinavia.

Am I being desperate? Yes.

Am I being stupid? Also yes.

Am I feeling happier now that I can watch Erik’s games and support him?

Hell yes.