Page 28 of Sexting the Coach (Pucking Daddies #6)

Elsie

Iwake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table, and at first, I reach for it, thinking that it might be Weston and this time, I might just give in.

Answer. I’ve missed him, dreamed about waking up next to him.

About him showing up here to the apartment.

It’s like pushing on a loose tooth, craving that pain.

Missing him almost feels good, because it’s the closest I can get to being near him. If I can’t be around him in person, at least I can turn him over and over in my head. Wish that he was here.

Wish that I could answer the phone and hear his voice on the other end.

But I can’t—I can’t talk to him right now, because he’ll know right away that something is wrong. He’ll demand answers, and I’ll end up telling him the truth.

It doesn’t end up mattering, because the name on the phone isn’t Weston.

It’s Mom. And that’s a million times worse.

I thought she and Dad were in Mexico, visiting one of his resort investments.

That’s what they’re almost always doing, now.

Traveling around and taking advantage of the fact that Dad put money into hospitality, so they get the best rooms and priority treatment.

“Hello?” I try to scrub any trace of how wretched I’m feeling from the tone of my voice, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that wanted her to see through it.

I’ve never had that kind of relationship with my mom. But I still yearn for it, for a mother who would be able to see my hurt even if I hid it away.

“Elsie,” my mother says, her tone cold. “Are you dying?”

“No, I’m just—” I clear my throat. “I have some sort of stomach bug. Been throwing up—”

“Well, have you been to the doctor?” she cuts me off, sounding impatient, and I can imagine her looking at her nails on the other end of the line. “Did you figure out what the problem is?”

I know exactly what the problem is. I open my mouth to try and say something, but I just can’t get the words out.

“Because I got a call from Loraine,” my mother says, and it makes my stomach swoop. I know my parents pulled some strings to get me a spot with the Squids. That my mother and Loraine know each other. Maybe Karlee has been in touch with them, too, about how much work I’ve missed.

A full week.

I know I need to go back, but I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to go back to the arena, face Weston. Hide the truth from him. Keep from falling into his arms.

If there was ever a time for us to stage our “fake” break-up, it’s now. I need to put distance between the two of us.

But the thought of it makes my mouth taste like battery acid.

“…and she’s worried that it might affect your performance review. Obviously, being sick can’t be helped, but you should just weigh how you feel with how much you want that position next year.”

I blink, realizing my mom has been talking this entire time. My mind scrambles, trying to put together what she said, what my response should be.

“Yeah,” I croak, “I will. I’ll go to the doctor today.”

What are my parents going to think when they find out about the baby? I’ll have to lie, have to say it’s not Weston’s. In fact, I’ll probably need to relocate if I don’t want him finding out about it.

“Great,” Mom says, the sharp edge falling away from her voice. “I was already worried this thing with the coach was going to distract you, and you don’t need anything else going on right now. You need to focus, baby.”

“Right,” I agree, rolling onto my back. Tears roll, hot and fast, down my cheeks. I wonder how to cross the weird, intangible block between my mother and me. What I need from her right now is compassion. I need to be able to tell her about what’s going on with me.

My mom and I used to be close. But after Drew got hurt, it’s like everything fell to pieces. Mom and Dad both got cold toward me, and I spent enough time avoiding my family altogether that now I feel a jolt of anxiety anytime they call.

“Elsie,” Mabel says, cracking open the door to my room the moment I end the call. She’s still going to work and reporting back to me that Weston has been in a foul mood. I’ve been trying not to think about it. “Who was that?”

“My mom,” I say, then the rest of the sentence is swallowed by the sobs that start to push through me, full-bodied and all-consuming, like a seizure of despair. Mabel comes in, crawling into the bed, holding me, running her hand over my hair.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says. I want to believe her, but I can’t. When I finally stop crying, the sobs subsiding and leaving behind a dry, hollow feeling, Mabel clears her throat and sits up, taking me by the shoulders.

“Come on,” she says, ushering me out of the bed. “We’re going to Trader Joe’s, and you’re getting whatever snacks you want.”

I want to cling to my bed, tell her no, beg to stay home. But snacks do sound good, and I know better than to tell Mabel no.

So, I get dressed, shuffle behind her, and leave the apartment for the first time in a week.

At first, when we pulled into the parking lot and I saw how busy the store was, I wanted to beg Mabel to turn around and take me home.

But as we walk through the aisles, me with one hand on the cart like a little kid, I realize it actually feels kind of nice to blend in. To join the masses and feel a little of the individuality lifted from my shoulders.

All these people are probably going through their own stuff. Maybe some of them are even pregnant, or trying to figure out what to do about their relationships.

Maybe some of them decided to date the head coach of an NHL team to keep him from getting fired—and to protect their own position at the team—and are now facing the consequences of falling in love with him.

Or maybe not.

“What about this?” Mabel asks, holding up a package of Oreo knock-offs with peppermint inside. It’s not Christmas yet, but all the stores are peppermint everything.

I nod, not trusting myself to open my mouth, and she tosses it into the cart with everything else. After this shopping trip, we’re not going to need snacks for a month.

We’re just turning the corner into the frozen aisle when I hear a voice that stops me cold in my tracks.

“Elsie.”

At once, I’m here and now, and also seventeen in the backyard with him, watching his face shutter, turn to fear, pain, and shock. I’m landing on him and knowing, even before Mom and Dad come running, that something terrible has just happened.

Mabel turns around, her eyes widening when her gaze darts past me, landing on the person who must be standing behind me.

I have no idea what Drew is doing in California. Maybe it’s not even him, maybe it’s just someone who sounds just like my brother.

But it doesn’t matter. Because right now, there’s too much going on. Too much for me to handle. I can’t also take a confrontation with him onto my plate.

If I turn around and meet his eyes, everything is going to happen in the middle of a Trader Joe’s. All the perfect strangers in this building—who, up to a minute ago, I was grateful for—are going to become witnesses to the worst thing I’ve ever done. The biggest mistake of my life.

And I can’t handle that.

So, instead, I run.

I blast past Mabel, dodging between two other shoppers, who look up, bewildered when I mutter sorry, sorry, breathing hard and rounding the frozen aisle. Rather than running into the next one, I circle around the store once to lose him, even as I can hear Mabel saying, “Elsie, what is going on—?”

And when I get a clear shot to the door, I sprint through it, running out into the cloudy day. I don’t stop until I get to Mabel’s car, where I crouch and breathe hard until she appears a moment later, apparently having abandoned our cart to chase me down like a scared cat.

“We need to leave,” I say, hand tight on the passenger door’s handle. “Right now.”

Thankfully, Mabel doesn’t ask questions. She just unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, saying, “Get in.”