Page 67 of Him

There’s nobody in the rocking chairs, so I set Holly up with the wi-fi password and tell her I’m going to get us a couple of drinks. “I’ll be right back,” I promise. Then I shoot up the stairs and drop by our room, hoping that Wes is there.

The room is empty.

Before I leave again, I dig out that gift box Wes had sent me in Boston. I’d brought it all the way to Lake Placid, because I was trying to decide whether I should restart our meme. But then he showed up here, and I forgot about it entirely.

Now I dump a motherlode of purple candy into the box and close the cover. Setting it on his pillow, I wonder if I should leave some kind of note. But what the hell would it say?

Before Holly showed up, it didn’t seem to matter that Wes and I were hooking up without any sort of discussion about it. We didn’t need a label. This room was like our private bubble—everything that happened here was just between us. The rest of the world didn’t matter.

And that was fine. Except the rest of the world still exists, whether I remember it or not. Suddenly this whole thing has gotten all kinds of tricky, and not because of Holly—that was just an awkward moment with a friend. In a few short weeks, though, he and I would land on two different NHL teams in two different cities. We were heading for an upset regardless, and I just hadn’t realized it.

Hurrying back downstairs, I grab two sodas and take them to the porch where my ex-fuck-buddy waits. “I found a place just outside of town,” she says. “It wasn’t even expensive.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to—”

She holds up a hand, silencing me. “It’s fine, sweetie. And in the morning I’m going to drive back to Massachusetts, okay?”

“We could—”

Holly shakes her head. “You have a job to do. And it’s not yourfault, Jamie. I didn’t… I wasn’t being smart.” The words are firm, but her eyes water a little, and it kills me to see it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I do care about you but…”

Once more she waves me off. “You were never dishonest, Jamie. Don’t start now.”

Well okay then.

We go out to dinner together. I pick a nice seafood restaurant right on the water, but as we eat our crabcakes, the mood is subdued.

“Will you tell me about her?” she asks at one point.

I shake my head. “Let’s not do that.”

Holly gives me a rueful grin. “I was just trying to be a big girl about it.”

I take a long look at her. “Can I tell you somethingI’mtrying to be a big girl about?”

Holly giggles, and I’m happy to have made her do that. “What?”

“The idea of moving to Detroit depresses the hell out of me.” I haven’t said that to anyone yet, and it feels good to get it off my chest.

She stirs her drink with her straw. “I know it’s not the prettiest city in the world, but you can find a nice place there, I bet.”

I shake my head. “Urban decay isn’t the problem.” Although it isn’t helping me picture a life there. “I don’t know a soul. And I’m not getting any playing time next year. Let’s be honest.”

“Oh, honey.” She sighs. “The first year could suck. But you’re good at what you do.”

“See, I know that. It’s not that I lack confidence. But the odds of really making it as a goalie are awful. It isn’t just the first year that might suck. It could be five years where they play me twice a season, and I’m just waiting around for my big chance. Or they send me to the minors, and I play seven games instead of two.”

“Or someone could get hurt, and your number could come up.” She puts her hand over mine. “But I know what you’re saying. It’s a long shot. And it won’t be your fault if it doesn’t work out.”

A waiter comes over to take our plates out of the way, and Holly orders a piece of blackout cake. “And two spoons.”

I’ve never been a fan of blackout cake, but now is not the time to point that out.

“I don’t like feeling ungrateful,” I tell her. “Everyone is so excited for me—they hear ‘NHL’ and get stars in their eyes. I’m not sure what to do.”

“I guess you show up and try it. Give it a year?”