Page 115 of Heartbreak Hockey

“Yeah, okay. I get it. But, Merc?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m buying the jar of processed pre-made queso as well as the real cheese. I’ve been fucking dreaming of it. If I live one less day because of it, I give it happily.”

“Yeah, fine. Then I’m gonna fuck you until there’s a chance you could be pregnant. I need to own you. Make you mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter24

In The Middle of the Night

JACK

Smile. Say congratulations. Play hockey. Repeat.

When I told Merc that I was fine about what happened in Vancouver, Iwasfine about it.

But.

There was this little place inside me that thought Vancouver was just the beginning. That other teams would want me. But no one does. Not even the scout Rhett promised me—they’ve never showed. I hate that I’m thinking about things Rhett promised me. Rhett and I are supposed to be done. We are done. I’ve moved on and yet, I’m itching to call him. Like he owes me.

Is he responsible for this?

I try not to compare myself to the others, especially my best friends, but I have the top stats on the team. I know that’s not the only consideration, but still. Someone should want me, shouldn’t they?

It gives more credence to Mercy’s theory, and I find myself thinking about it late into the night when I should be getting my beauty rest. We’ve made it into the playoffs, and I need to be at the top of my game.

I’m in our bed for the first time in a while.Ourbed is mine with the guys. Stacey’s wrapped around Dash. Casey’s wrapped around Dirk. I opted to be on the outside even though I was offered a spot in the cuddle pile because I knew I might have trouble sleeping.

Not a wild prediction since I’ve been up the past few nights around this time. It’s also why I’ve been avoiding staying with Merc. He’ll worry about me, and he’s got more than enough to worry about. He’ll notice soon though. My “I need to sleep in my own bed to be in top shape for playoffs” excuse is wearing thin. Hell, it was thin to begin with. As if he wouldn’t make sure that I’m in bed at a decent hour.

Swinging my legs over the bed, I creep into the living room where we don’t have blackout curtains and the bright moon can shed some light onto my dark thoughts. Sprawling on the couch, which does not have the same sinkability as Merc’s marshmallow couch, I stare at the ceiling and toy with the idea of calling Rhett.

It hadn’t occurred to me that Rhett could do such a thing, but Mercy’s so sure about it. How do I call and basically accuse him of, I dunno, paying people not to draft me? It’s a preposterous idea, right?

In the middle of the night, questions are plenty and answers seem easy to snatch from the midnight blue sky. I call and hold my breath while it rings, not expecting an answer at this hour it’s—I check the clock on the stove—two am. Rhett has a strict regimen, which has him in bed early and up by four every morning or his dad will chew him the fuck out. I’ve seen it happen. I doubt he’s stopped just because Rhett’s a big boy in the NHL now. Mr. Elkington is a controlling nutcase in my not so humble opinion.

It rings twice. I should hang up now, I should— “Jack?”

Well, damn. He picked up. His voice is sleep-lush, and I hold the vision I know of him when he’s been jolted awake—dark hair untamed, eyes squinty, his large body curled over itself as he rubs his face.

“Yeah, hi. It’s me.” Hearing his voice has my stomach clenching because I know he didn’t do it. He didn’t betray me. He’s my safe place. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, please. I was praying you’d call.”

He’s been shockingly respectful of my boundaries. Hasn’t called or texted since I told him not to. I know that doesn’t mean he wasn’t planning something, but for a guy like Rhett, it’s progress.

“Won’t you get in trouble with your dad for being up this late?” It seems ridiculous that he could even find something like that out, but his dad always seemed like the all-knowing eye of Sauron.

“Even if he finds out, it would be worth it to me. If there’s any chance I can make things right between us, I want to. Have you broken things off with Coach Brady Bunch?”

That familiar hollow I seem to get about Rhett rises. I hate having to break up with him all over again, even though we’re not together. “No. I didn’t call to get back together, Rhett. I called because I don’t think I’m getting drafted this year.”

It’s not the way I planned for it to come out, but it does, and then so does everything else. It’s natural. So are the tears and the heaving chest sobs. What I’ve been holding in releases in a steady stream of anguish I didn’t know was there. Overwhelming comfort cushions me from the other side of the phone.

And I dunno. Maybe I’m hoping for a confession if there is one. Or for him to just stop if he’s doing it, knowing there’s no more us.