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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cam

I’ve barely taken my leg pads off when my phone rings on the shelf in my open locker. When I grab it, Dancer’s picture pops up on a video call. I quickly swipe to answer.

“Holy crap!” I fly up from the bench and spin, slamming my back against my cubby, almost squeezing myself into it. My adrenaline from our win is immediately channeled to another type of energy.

“Wha-? Hey lover,” Chris’s words are slower than normal. She’s half-asleep, but she doesn’t usually sleep naked. The phone keeps dipping to show a boob. “Great game tonight. You were amazing.”

“Thanks…” I look around. The visitor locker room is older and cramped. The guys are rowdy from the win, so even with a third of them in the showers already, it’s loud in here with celebrating. In addition to wanting to keep her identity and lack of dress private, I don’t care to share my teammate’s hairy asses with her. So I find my earbuds and connect them. I attempt nonchalance as I ask, “How’s the jersey?”

She pans down her body. Scans. Her. Full. Front. My name is upside down between her legs. I swallow. I really wish I’d had time to remove my cup before this call.

Her hand enters the frame, sliding over her pouty pussy. Based on how swollen she is, it isn’t the first swipe she’s made. I have to lock my arm to stop my hand from shaking. “Chri—” I glance around and lower my voice, not using her name—“sweetheart, what are you doing?”

“Thinking of you. Thanks for calling me. It’s nice knowing you were thinking of me, too.”

Okay, based on a few slurs creeping into her words, I’m guessing she’s had more wine than she should. I don’t correct her about who called whom. The view is too good. I’m not going to spoil my own fun. Hell, I wish everyone would go shower so I can free my cramped dick and jerk myself off to this screen.

“What were you thinking of?”

“Positions where that goalie stance could work well.”

Oh man. I’m never going to get into my stance again without a hard-on, no matter how focused on a game I might be. A dozen ways go through my head on how to put that to good use for when I see her next. “Hmm…like when we were at the barre?”

One of the guys calls out, “Which bar?”

I gulp and wave him off, pointing to the phone with my free hand that was clenching by my side trying not to grab my cock.

“Yeeaahh. A double plié,” she says with a sigh. Her hand is still over her lower half. “And I thought maybe doggy style with me kneeling by the bed.”

“Mmm, that’s a good one.” I lower my voice further given that the guys heard, “barre.” Choosing my words carefully, I glance around the room. Jack is frowning at me, probably because I’ve never hovered with my butt almost stuffed into my locker, but otherwise the place is rowdy with celebration. “What about with me over you, you up on some pillows?”

“Yessss.” Her hand is moving faster now.

“C, you’re killing me here,” I say with a groan. “Can you bring the phone back to your face?”

“Oh! Were you staring at me while I master-mastur- rubbed one out thinking of you? Perv,” she says with a giggle. “How did you manage to do that?”

Drunk Dancer would be a lot of fun in person, I can tell. Or even on the phone if I was in a private room.

She continues to babble. “You sexy beast. How can you be so cute and young and innocent-looking, that dimple popping every time you smile. Then you get on the ice and into that crouch, and you’re the fiercest warrior ever. It’s a pussy-destroying combination, I tell you. Even before you showed me mad skills in bed.”

I might be blushing in the middle of the locker room. Hopefully the guys will assume it’s because I’m still in my pads and sweating.

“It’s a shame this can’t last after the holiday thing,” Christina is saying, her words slowing.

“Why not?”

“Cuz—” she hiccups. “Cuz—I can’t have babies.” With that, she starts sobbing and hangs up.

What? She worded that differently than she had before. I swear she said she wasn’t planning to have children or maybe that she didn’t want them. Not that she couldn’t have them.

No matter how many times I call her back, before and after I shower, she doesn’t answer.

* * * *

Two more second line players come over to me at the bar under the cover of celebrating to ask for tips on things they could improve. Petrovsky already thanked me for the couple things I told him to try, and Buzz and Saint have both come by to bang on my shoulder and tell me I did good. One of them must have said something to these two.

I love that I seem to have conquered the trust barrier with these guys, but I can’t enjoy the celebration of our win or my breakthrough. I’m concerned about Christina and losing my mind over her last statement.

Finally, I text Maria even though it’s after midnight in Austin and she may have to open the café tomorrow. She has a key to Christina’s house so she can swing by and check on her either tonight or tomorrow morning.

Telling myself I can’t do anything more, I put the phone away and chill with the team.

Hours later, I lie in bed wide awake. Did she really mean she can’t have children? If she can’t have children, she may still want to have them by other means. If she doesn’t plan to have children, I assume she’s not interested in exploring those other options. However, until I understand where she is at, I can’t assume anything.

Bottom line, does it make a difference to me? I want a family, children. Do they have to have my genetics? And what about my contract? Do I care anymore if I have a chance to be with her?

Right now I’m so confused I can’t think straight enough to answer that for myself.

The next afternoon, I get off the plane and throw my bag in Jack’s car telling him I need to make a stop and to drop it in my room. Christina dislikes the noise in the office and she likes to do most of her work remotely so I’m guesstimating she’ll be home. I head over there not caring about my car being in the driveway. Talking to her is more important right now than appearances.

Not wanting to invade her space after last night, I knock and wait.

Chris comes to the door in makeup and a pretty burnt orange sweater that clings in all the right places over dark skinny jeans. Her eyes widen and her cheeks flame when she sees me, but she steps aside and says, “Come in.”

I hesitate, unsure about leaning in and kissing her like usual.

She ducks her head, stepping around me to close the door and walks over to the living room to sit in an oversized armchair.

Her choice of the single seater over the couch is loud and clear. I strip out of my suit jacket and throw it on the back of the sofa while perching on a cushion.

Her tone is half-hearted when she offers, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

I shake my head once. “Maybe later. I wanted to talk first.”

“K.”

I grin, hearing a trace of defensiveness in that one letter. “How do you feel?”

“About how you’d expect.” She mock glares at me. “You outed me to Maria.”

Chuckling, I say, “I wanted to ensure you were okay. I’m sure you both already have seen each other under the weather from partying too hard.”

“Yeah, but not from sitting alone in my house watching my boyfr—dance partner play hockey.”

Boyfriend? She’s the one who always wanted this to be casual and secret. That word shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“Cam,” she continues. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who called who but I shouldn’t have answered, should have hung up when I realized it connected, given the extra glass of wine I had. I was riding your win and got carried away.”

“Hey, you can drunk dial me any time. I learned I almost fit into my locker last night, and the view was spectacular.”

Her head dips again, bringing a curtain of hair to hide her face.

“Chris, do you remember the whole phone call?”

She nods, the curtain shimmering. Then she drags her gaze up to mine. “I’m sorry about that, too. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. It never seemed the right time to tell you, especially when our…fling has the expiration date of the charity ball.”

“You don’t think it was important to tell me why you didn’t plan to have kids?”

“What did it matter?” Her voice is sharp. “Would you not have respected a choice not to have children, but it’s okay if it’s only physical?”

“That’s not fair. I’ve respected all your choices—secrecy, dance lifts, you name it. But it might have answered some questions I had, or maybe created new questions, I don’t know.” I grab my hair and tug on it, trying to find the right words. Saint’s guidance comes back to me and now more than ever I get what he was saying about trust being vital beyond the rink. “It’s your decision. I guess I’m hurt—you trust me in the studio to always catch you, but this feels like you didn’t trust me with information.”

“Because it wasn’t relevant. We always had an end date, not only because you want kids and I will never have them, but also because Greg would have both our heads and you have a great future ahead of you if we don’t let this get in the way.”

“What if it didn’t get in the way?” I spew, my thoughts unfiltered, possibly not even consciously configured until this minute. “What if we knew we wanted to be together? Wouldn’t Greg and the organization respect that?”

“But we don’t.”

I suck in a breath. That hurts more than the lack of trust and even more than a direct hit from a puck travelling a hundred miles per hour.

Her eyes are huge and sad. It could be pity but I prefer to think it’s mourning for what our relationship can’t include. “Cam, I won’t consider it because I would never want to stop you from having children and living your dream. You’ve been clear about what your goals are. You’re a driven young man and will have huge successes and get everything you put your mind to.”

I want a family, I’m clear on that. But I want Christina, too. It seems that I can’t have both; however, I’m not yet ready to let her go. The Holiday Ball will be soon enough for that.

I stand and cross to her, capturing a hand to tug her up. Enveloping her in my arms, I round my shoulders over her as though to protect her from the world.

“I’m sorry about your health. I’d like to understand that better, if and when you’re ready. I’m…frustrated at you not sharing until now, but that’s on me. I respect that it’s your decision, and I get why you didn’t tell me.” It might kill me worrying about what condition it could be and how her ongoing health is impacted, but I’ll respect her boundaries.

Her arms land on the middle of my back and she returns the hug. Her response is muffled by my dress shirt when it comes. “Thank you.”

“What do you want to do now? Dance? Dinner? Neither?”

She lifts her head to meet my gaze. “Let me finish telling you about my condition. I hate talking about it so it would be harder to come back to it. Then, I might like to try out that position that drunk me thought up?”

I groan and release her, adjusting my hardening cock in my suit pants. “Tease.”

Her grin is fleeting, but I’ll take it. She seems a few degrees less forlorn, less hungover. Following me back to the couch, she sits with our knees touching, holding my hand.

She takes a steadying breath and says, “When I was dancing competitively, I started to gain weight without cause, sex became painful, and my energy level was all over the place, as were my menstrual cycles.”

I nod, squeezing her hand.

“They discovered endometriosis. Have you heard of that?”

“Yes. A girlfriend in college had a friend who had it. My girlfriend borrowed the diagnosis when her parents found her birth control. I guess that helps manage it?” I find myself wishing I’d paid more attention. And hurting in empathy for past Chris, because part of why I’ve been struggling over her lack of trust these past few days is because of how in love with her I am. I have a new appreciation for why Petrovsky and the guys got defensive when I tried to improve their performance. Trust is essential in so many aspects and layers of life. And I can see how the parameters of our agreement precluded the need for this information. Regardless, I want to know all the things about her. I want baby pictures and home videos of dance recitals. She has found this incredible balance of supporting her family and following her dream, and it’s freaking impressive. To say nothing of her graceful skill on the dance floor, her intelligence…

I tighten my grip on her hand and she wiggles her wrist. Loosening it, I refocus on the details she’s sharing with me now.

She answers my question with, “If it’s mild enough, or caught early enough. Mine required surgery, due to a cyst, and well other things that you don’t need to know about now. It wasn’t fun.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t remember a surgical scar?”

“It was laparoscopic. If you look closely at my belly button, you’ll find it. But personally, I enjoy you spending your time on other areas.” She smiles when I bark a laugh.

“Okay. I may need one detour, but I hear you. What did the surgery do?”

“For now, given my age and health, they wanted to see how my body would react to the surgery, so they removed the cysts and tissue deposits. They were able to save my ovaries, but if it comes back, I could need a hysterectomy. I’m on a pretty high dose of hormones to regulate that.”

“And the only way to have children is to go off the hormones,” I guess.

“Right. And possibly more surgery to clear the Fallopian tubes if there’s been any buildup. If you understood the amount of pain I was in by the time I was diagnosed, you’d understand why I can’t face that.”

I nod, still trying to process all this.

“I am sorry you had to go through that.”

“That’s why I eat healthy and rarely—last night aside—drink more than a glass of wine at a time. And why I drink more tea than coffee. The right diet helps manage my hormones. I also have to keep about ten more pounds on me than I did when I was dancing fulltime, but that’s not as much of a hardship.”

“I bet.” I snicker, but a new thought occurs to me, my heart pounding. “Wait, you were in pain the other night. Could it be back? Do we need to get you to a doctor?”

“Calm down,” she smiles as she brings my hand down from where it was thrashing. “I wondered that too. I checked with Mar—the doctor.”

“Why would you check with Maria ?” I’m aghast that I wasn’t here but also that she’d assume Maria could help with a medical condition.

“Because she was there when it all went down the first time, and I was freaking out so I needed moral support. It was also before the doctor’s office opened.”

“Oh. So what did they say?”

Chris snorts.

I start to pull my hand out again, to do what, I’m not sure.

“They said it hurt because you’re so big. And I needed a bit more warmup time than we had patience for that night.”

“Oh.” I sigh in relief. Then a grin blooms on my face.

“That.” She points. “That is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’re so—so—”

“Cocky?” I ask.

We both nearly fall off the couch laughing before I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.