Page 39

Leo

The only thing holding me together is seeing Caleb at practice.

I tossed and turned all night, missing him and afraid he’s alone and hurting.

My texts to him turn green instead of blue.

That’s a terrible sign, and I refuse to google what it means.

I’ll talk to him face to face, and we’ll figure out how to get through to Mason.

They might have worked it out last night after practice, and Caleb turned his phone off. I’m fully aware I’m clinging to denial like it’s a life raft.

Mason’s ignoring me, but I can handle that.

I had to drag myself out of bed but couldn’t eat, so I’m earlier than the players. Without a purpose, I lace up skates and get on the ice. I take deep breaths and let the familiar smells of cold and sweat calm my racing pulse. Caleb will be here, and I’ll feel better as soon as I have eyes on him.

The last time I skated the circumference of the rink was with Caleb, and he raced me. I pick up speed, but it’s not fun without him.

The team filters out on the ice, including Mason.

Coach slaps me on the back. “You brave enough to get your pads and step in goal for a scrimmage?” He chuckles, and I’m confused when he takes an exaggerated step back. “You might be the carrier. First Griff Jr., now Benz. Maybe you should isolate too.”

“You don’t call him Griff Jr., do you?” I snap in frustration.

“Nah. He’s not actually a Junior.”

Then I process his words. “Caleb’s isolating?” I picture Caleb feverish and needing me.

“Sounded terrible yesterday. Told him not to come back until tomorrow. We’re hoping to have him play a period or two to rest Liska’s back, but it depends on the shape he’s in.”

My shoulder and neck muscles seize with tension as I skate over to Mason. “Caleb’s sick?”

“So he says,” Mason replies without looking at me.

“How did he seem last night?” I fail to keep the irritation out of my voice, and my fists clench.

“His door was shut. I’m not his keeper,” Mason’s voice rises, and the team listens in.

“I’m going to check on him,” I say out of courtesy more than permission to enter his apartment.

As I rush down the hall, I bump into Grayson coming out of the training room. “Hey, you, okay?” he asks.

In my rush, I don’t answer him, but he follows me.

“Leo?” He leans against a locker across from where I’m taking off my skates.

“I haven’t heard from Caleb, and I didn’t know he was sick.” The faster I try to go, the harder things get and it takes longer. Apparently, I’m bad at putting socks on.

“How sick is he? Do you need me to go with you?” Gray straightens up.

I hang my head and clasp my hands behind my neck. “Mason found out about us, and he could be upset or sick. But he stopped answering my texts yesterday.” My head aches. Our bright future is vanishing with incoming stormy black clouds and endless days of loneliness.

Gray sits next to me. “He’s probably fine. Our Benzy wants everyone to be happy, and I bet it’s killing him he upset Mason.”

I nod. He’s probably right.

“You have my cell, right? Text me if you’re concerned about him, and I can assess him over video. Sound good?” When I agree, he gives me a one-arm bro hug. “He’s sensitive but tough,” he assures me as he walks out.

The drive back to the city takes forever. I’ve aged ten years by the time I actually step into his room. It’s a mess. But the closet is mostly empty and so are the drawers.

He left.

I sit on his bed and text him.

Me: Baby Doll where are you?

Me: Are you okay?

The messages are still green, and I fucking google it.

He blocked me.

The man I love is missing and blocked me.

I want to burn down the city to find him. Call the police and check his credit card activity. With my fame, I might get away with it. But the cost to Caleb’s dignity would be too high. I have to trust him to take care of himself and honor his responsibilities.

The clothes on the floor seem to be a mixture of clean and dirty.

I begin sorting through them, bringing the sweaty ones to my nose to inhale his scent.

We can’t fix us if he’s not here, but I can wait for Mason and try to explain to him.

Just in case Mason knows more than he’s saying, I send a text.

Me: He’s not here. Do you know where he’d go?

Folding and making a pile of dirty clothes makes me feel useful. When that’s done, I grab a garbage bag and pick up food containers and protein wrappers. My man is a slob at home but picks up everything at my place.

An hour later, I get a text from Mason.

Mason: Not my problem

I’m furious with his uncaring attitude and leave so I’m not angry when I speak to him. That won’t fix anything.

The thought of going back to my empty apartment alone guts me. I’ve lived alone for well over a decade, but last night my apartment was desolate and depressing. Caleb makes everything brighter and alive.

I bring up my contacts and realize I haven’t made friends outside the team. At first, I split my time between Montreal and New York with my focus on Mason. Then my focus was on Caleb. As I scroll, I stop on a former teammate, Derek, who moved to New York.

I send him a text to see what he’s doing. Can’t be worse than spending the night alone.

The outing definitely keeps me busy as I end up chasing three kids, ages seven, nine, and ten, through a maze of a two-story play area with my former teammate.

Caleb

Everything hurts from missing Leo. It’s physical and emotional, but I’m determined to do the right thing for him. I don’t know how I’ll get out of bed, let alone live in a world separate from him.

At least the bed is comfortable with soft sheets and firm pillows.

I’ve got the duvet pulled up to my neck.

It’s not terrible. The hotel has a small shop with a few food items I bought: sports drinks, water, ramen, and protein bars.

The TV keeps me company as I stare at the screenshot of Leo’s text messages telling me he loves me and he misses me.

The half of a protein bar I ate earlier sits in my stomach like a rock. I should get healthier food, but it’s so much work.

My phone rings and I jump, tossing it in the air so it lands on the floor next to the bed. The decision whether to pick up my phone or not seems monumental. It stops ringing, and I sigh with relief, but it rings again.

My arm is long enough to snake out from the covers and snatch it up. Oh no.

“Hi, Mom.”

“What’s wrong? Your energy is so off I can feel it from Vermont,” she says as if every mother does this to her child.

“I’m fine. Recovering from a tough practice,” I lie.

She harrumphs, clearly not believing me. “Do you want me to guess what kind of crystals to use and healing energy to send, or are you going to tell me? If I had to guess, this has to do with Leo. What did you do?”

“W-w-what did I do?” I sputter.

“Little Bear, that man loves you, and you can’t get out of your own way to see it.” She drops that bomb, and my head goes static-y.

“Mason hates me,” I confess.

“Oooh,” she says, understanding the situation. “He’ll get over it.”

“You didn’t see him. Leo can’t be with me if it costs him his relationship with Mason.” The truth hollows out my chest, leaving a gaping black hole and self-hate.

“Did Leo say that?” When I don’t answer, she offers more mom advice. “Leo is a grown man, and if you take away his ability to make decisions for himself, you’re not the right man for him. He gets to decide how to navigate his relationships with you and his son.”

“I’m doing what’s best for him,” I cry indignantly.

“Or are you deciding for him because you’re afraid of the future?”

“Mom.” I throw my arm over my eyes.

“I’ll do work on my end, but you have to do your work as well.” She clicks off the line.

Only my mother would tell me I’m not right for Leo in the middle of my heartbreak. One time, I’d like her to say “He’d be a fool to let you go.” Or “You’re better off without him.” My mother should be on my side, dammit.

I turn up the volume on the TV and try to sleep. But after hours of tossing and turning, I give up. We haven’t been together that long, but I already miss the weight of his body on mine. I hate knowing I won’t wake up to him kissing my neck or bringing me tea in bed.

They say time heals all wounds, but right now, that sounds like bullshit. I’m not crying, I’m exhausted and frustrated, so my eyes are watering. The lies I tell myself keep piling up.

I do what any self-respecting guy does when his heart shatters—I stalk Leo’s social media to see his pictures.

Leo

I know I’m putting off the inevitable sitting in the conference room instead of facing Caleb. Fighting for a relationship is hard, but I can’t fight for something he doesn’t want.

“You okay in here?” Jayce McKenna, the Director of Player Development, leans on the door frame.

“Fine. I had to make a call,” I lie and wave my phone. “Thanks for checking.”

“No problem. I’m here to check in with Benz and saw you stewing.”

“Benz? What’s going on?” I’d run, but I don’t know where he is.

“Grayson called Doc to give him IV fluids since he’s been sick. My job description includes things I’m not qualified to assess, but I’ll ask him if he’s eating enough calories to play.” Jayce shrugs.

“Which training room?” I respectfully refrain from grabbing his suit by the lapels and shaking him.

“Room two. I’m…”

I don’t wait for him to continue, shooting toward Caleb at a dead run.

“Caleb,” I shout, bursting into the training room. His eyes are closed, and there are dark circles under them.

“He’s fine.” Gray catches my arm and steers me out.

“I need—”

Gray faces me with a sorrowful expression that stops my heart. “He asked me not to let anyone in.” He cringes.

My back hits the wall, and my heart cracks wide open; my hand flies to my chest as if it can stop the damage. “But he’s fine?” The clarification of his well-being helps deter my total annihilation.

Jayce walks up behind us.

“Doc’s been here and cleared him to play. Says he needs to eat something and get fluids. Other than that, he’s good to go.”

“Okay.” I straighten my suit jacket and tie to regain my composure. “Okay. I’ll see him on the ice.”

Jayce squeezes my shoulder with a sympathetic look as I turn to walk away. For all the times I called Caleb out for not having a poker face, now I’m the one giving away my feelings for him.

To respect his wishes, I keep my distance. Mason’s smug when he notices the tension.

I used to have a blank face. A mask I wore in public to hide all my emotions. As a goalie, you can’t let your opponent think they can get in your head. The media spotlight separates those who can control their emotions and who can’t.

Decades of practice and training to shut down my feelings have vanished at the thought of losing Caleb. Coach asks me if I’m okay, and even Liska punches my shoulder to cheer me up.

Caleb gets in goal, and after failing to save a few shots, it’s obvious he doesn’t have his game face on. I can’t fix us, but I know how to get him in game mode.

“I’m going to help him track,” I tell Coach, holding up a water bottle.

The ice is slick and super smooth before a game. My dress shoes slide across it, and it’s another day at the office.

“Hold up.” I raise my hand so the players stop shooting on goal. I’m not worried since it’s not uncommon for a coach to confer with a goalie before the game.

My eyes are fixed on Caleb, and it’s as if time slows down. He sees me with resignation on his face, then his eyes go impossibly wide as he reaches for me and screams, “Leo.”

Everything goes black.