Page 22

CAM

The Rebels’ first three games were at home. I went to all of them—with the boys for the first two, by myself for the last one—and loved every minute.

The first game where I was on my own was admittedly kind of jarring.

I was used to being responsible for the boys, and I was used to their company.

Their comments about the game were funny and sometimes even observant in ways I wouldn’t have expected from kids their age.

They really knew the sport, and they’d taught me a thing or two.

Then it was just me, sitting alone in the owners’ box with the staff, the owners, the general manager, and a couple of players who’d been healthy-scratched.

I wondered a few times if I should’ve taken up Jenni or Kristina on the still-open offer to join the spouses and partners, but…

no. Bryan was there with the kids, and I didn’t want to create any tension.

If one of the boys innocently interacted with me, Bryan could easily twist that into me pulling them away from him or some bullshit like that.

Maybe I was paranoid, but he seemed just vindictive and conniving enough that I needed to be on guard about everything.

The kids were easy. The ex-husband was exhausting.

And then, right after that game, Trev and the team had gone straight to the airport. They’d be on the road for three games, which meant I had most of this week to myself. No Trev. No twins. Just this huge house that was suddenly devoid of all noise and activity that wasn’t mine.

Not gonna lie—I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. It was weird, being here without him. Without them . I hadn’t seen Trev in almost a decade, but now I was losing my mind after he’d been gone less than twenty-four hours.

It reminded me of the way we’d been in school. Of that disappointment that would tug at me when the teacher took attendance and Trev’s chair was empty. A whole day without him? Ugh. What the fuck.

Well, I was going to have periods of time where both he and the boys were gone, so now was as good a time as any to figure out how to handle it.

I could get in the car and go explore Pittsburgh.

Trev and some of the Rebels spouses had told me about a few restaurants and shops I absolutely needed to try.

They were especially emphatic about a few in the Strip District (whatever that was) and out in Cranberry (where some of the other players lived).

Plus there were some parks that were great for walking while the weather was still nice.

The various museums were supposed to be top notch.

But while I was a little stir crazy, I decided to save the exploring for when cabin fever set in.

Right now, despite the restlessness, there was also something to be said for some quiet downtime with no one around and nothing pressing to do.

I didn’t quite know what to do with that, hence being twitchy about it, but I thought it might be a good idea to just…

sit with it for a while. Just be by myself, enjoying the silent solitude and the lack of some urgent matter to attend to.

It was weird and not completely comfortable, probably because I wasn’t used to it anymore.

As I lounged on Trev’s couch, chatting about nothing with the guys back home, I tried to think about how long it had been since I’d experienced the luxury of restless boredom.

Not while I’d been with my mom before coming to Pittsburgh; I’d been panicking and flailing because my whole life had been upended and I didn’t know what to do.

The last year or so with Daniel had been its own shitshow, with me alternately walking on eggshells and fighting with the man I later discovered was porking one of my clients.

In fact, even the years before that had been their own minefield as I vacillated between trying to keep him happy and scrambling to atone for whatever I’d done to piss him off.

Pressing my head back into the couch cushion, I stared up at the high ceiling and released a long breath.

God, no wonder I couldn’t relax into this.

It was like I’d been in a constant state of fight-or-flight all this time, and now that the danger had passed, I didn’t know how to reclaim my equilibrium.

As the adrenaline drained away, I couldn’t remember how to function.

Christ. I should’ve left Daniel ages ago.

Wasn’t that the truth.

So, yeah. I needed to just sit with this and get used to being by myself without a dark cloud over my head or a fire that needed to be put out.

Of course, knowing that didn’t make the twitchiness go away, and just because I wasn’t going out didn’t mean I had to sit here on the couch until I went insane.

I could get up and move around. Maybe finish unpacking the handful of boxes that had arrived this week—things I’d left at my mom’s house and she’d shipped after I’d confirmed I was staying with Trev for the foreseeable future.

I could hit the gym downstairs. I could do… I don’t know. Something.

I put my phone aside, pushed myself to my feet, and shuffled into the kitchen. There was a cabinet in there where I could keep snacks and munchies I liked, but when I opened it this time, something caught my eye.

It was a green-and-yellow box of Crayola crayons. Taped to it was a note, hand-written in blue crayon:

It was me. Sorry I stole your crayons in 3rd grade.

Trev

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh, swoon, or cry. It was such a funny and cute gesture, and it made me wish that much more that he was home right now. I didn’t know what I’d do or say, only that I wished he was here.

But he’s not, Cam, so pull yourself together and don’t spend all this time pining.

I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. But… I did indulge in a moment to adore his cute little gesture with the crayons.

Just a moment, though. Then it was back to figuring out what to do with all this time to myself.

I left the crayons on the shelf, dug a protein bar out of a box, and closed the cabinet. Then I wandered the house.

When Trev had first given me a tour, I’d been aware of a lot of the photos on the wall, but hadn’t looked closely at any besides the ones of his kids.

Today, I paused by some of the framed photos I passed multiple times each day, and I actually looked at them.

These were from Trev’s hockey career, starting with his first couple of seasons in the minors and all the way through to the present.

There were shots of young Trev holding up a trophy after his college team won or biting a medal after some international competition.

An old framed photo showed an adorably young Trev grinning down at the Winnipeg jersey he’d pulled on over his shirt and tie at the draft.

Across the top of the wall, a row of eight-by-tens documented his professional career in his annual team portrait.

First as a baby-faced rookie playing for Winnipeg’s minor league affiliate, then after he was traded, playing for Pittsburgh’s farm team.

In his third season, he’d been on the starting roster for the Pittsburgh Rebels, and every portrait after that showed him growing up in that jersey.

His features had sharpened. His haircut had gotten shorter and neater.

His scruff had darkened to something I’d have killed to trail my fingertips over.

He also seemed to evolve from a starstruck kid to a slightly overwhelmed early-twenty-something to a more confident man who knew he belonged there.

Maybe I was just feeling a little maudlin today, especially after the crayons, but I almost got choked up as I gazed at the portraits.

I hated that I’d missed so much. Watching him on TV and reading about him in sports articles just wasn’t the same.

The absence of my best friend had weighed on me for a long time, and I resented Daniel for that more than I did a lot of his other bullshit.

This visual of all the time Trev and I had lost—that was heartbreaking.

And what if I’d never caught Daniel cheating? What if we’d never split up? What we’d gotten married like we’d talked about, and I’d never found myself desperate for a solution to my living situation? What if Trev’s ex hadn’t given him an ultimatum at the same time my life had been in chaos?

I swallowed hard as I gazed at Trev’s portraits. We’d lost so damn much time, and it was only through dumb luck and asshole exes that we’d come crashing back into each other’s lives.

That thought lingered for a second, and I chuckled to myself. We both apparently had terrible taste in men, but hey, they weren’t completely useless if they’d made my path cross with Trev’s again. Would it be petty to text Daniel and tell him that? Probably, yes, but it sure was tempting.

I laughed again in the silence of the hallway. No, I wouldn’t actually do it, only because I didn’t want to reestablish contact with him. A clean break was the best thing.

It was just super satisfying to imagine the look on his face.

I moved on from those portraits to the other images from Trev’s career.

The shot of baby-faced Trev celebrating a goal with Anson Harper, a legendary player who’d retired after Trev’s first season with Pittsburgh.

I could only imagine how much Trev’s inner fanboy had lost his mind over being in the same locker room with that guy, never mind being on the same ice with him.

In fact… ah. The framed puck beside the photo made sense.

White tape had been wrapped around it, and someone had written in black Sharpie, Goal, Pit vs.

Wash., Allen from Harper . So that veteran had assisted on one of Trev’s goals.

God, I wished I could’ve been there to see him afterward.

I could imagine him sitting at home afterward, clutching that puck like a gift handed to him by Santa Claus himself.