Page 17
Chapter seventeen
Eric
I should be back at the house, sorting things out. Facing Jessica. Doing something, anything, to make things less messy. But instead, I’m out here in the freezing Denver cold, wandering through ritzy townhomes and penthouses, trying to distract myself from the disaster that is my life.
The real estate agent—a blonde in her twenties with way too much energy for this early in the day—has been talking nonstop since we left the first property. She’s enthusiastic, I’ll give her that. A little too enthusiastic, though, since she hasn’t quite figured out that I’m not interested in the flirting that’s oozing from every word she says.
“This next place is amazing, Eric,” she gushes, flashing me a smile that’s probably supposed to be seductive, but mostly just makes me want to roll my eyes. “It’s right in the heart of downtown, top floor, great views of the city… you’ll love it.”
I nod, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket as we walk toward the entrance. The cold bites at my skin, the December wind whipping through the streets of Denver, making me wish I were anywhere but here. I barely slept last night—actually, I haven’t slept well for days. Crashing at a teammate’s penthouse isn’t exactly my idea of peace and quiet. But it’s better than staying at the Stanton house, avoiding Jessica every time I hear her footsteps in the hallway.
Things between us have gotten weird. Awkward. So, I did what I always do—I ran. And now, I’m stuck in limbo, unsure of what the hell to do next.
“Eric?”
I snap back to the present, realizing I’ve been lost in thought while the real estate agent—what’s her name again? Christy? Caitlin?—is looking at me expectantly. We’re standing in front of the last property of the day, and she’s waiting for me to follow her inside.
“Right,” I mutter, forcing a smile that feels as fake as this entire day. “Let’s check it out.”
As we step inside, I glance around. The place is nice—nicer than anything I’d ever need, but that’s kind of the point. Big windows, high ceilings, sleek modern design. It screams “professional athlete with money to burn.” It also screams “not me.” I’m not looking for something like this—I’m just looking for a way to stop feeling like everything is out of control.
“Beautiful, right?” the agent says, her voice sugary sweet. “I can totally see you living here.”
I nod absently, wandering toward the windows that overlook the Denver skyline. It is beautiful. The city stretches out before me, the mountains in the distance, the snow covering everything in a white blanket. But no matter how impressive the view is, I can’t stop thinking that I’m not supposed to be here. This just isn’t where I’m supposed to be right now.
The agent is still talking, walking me through the features of the place, but I’m not really listening. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, glancing at the screen. Another message from Allison. She’s been texting me nonstop ever since the cafe incident and photos, trying to smooth things over. Trying to get me to play along with the narrative that the media is running with—that everything between Jessica and me is fine, that there’s nothing going on with her, and that the pictures of me and Allison were just a misunderstanding.
But I’m tired of pretending. Tired of trying to keep up with the lies.
I swipe the message away, shoving the phone back in my pocket.
“Hey, look at this!” the agent says suddenly, her voice bright with excitement. “You’ve been tagged in a social media post with me and that teenager from earlier. How fun!”
I frown, turning toward her. “What?”
She holds up her phone, and sure enough, there it is—a picture of me and the kid from earlier. We ran into him outside one of the buildings, a local teenager who recognized me and asked for a quick photo. I didn’t think much of it at the time—just a fan who wanted a picture. But now it’s all over social media, with the caption: “Just ran into Eric ‘Gator’ Warren! Looks like he’s house hunting in Denver!”
I groan inwardly. This is the last thing I need. The world is already watching every move I make because of my trade mid-season and then the situation with Jessica and then Allison, and now this ? Now people are going to think I’m moving out, that I’m done with her, that I’m moving on. The headlines will write themselves.
“Great,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Just great.”
The agent looks at me with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What’s the problem? You’re a celebrity, Eric. People are going to talk. It’s good publicity.”
“Yeah, except I don’t want people talking,” I snap, more harshly than I intended. The agent’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on that same fake grin she’s been wearing all day.
“Well,” she says, a little more cautiously, “if you need a day or two to think it over, I’m sure this place will still be available. It’s a great investment.”
I nod, not really paying attention to what she’s saying. I just need to get out of here, away from all of this. Away from the pressure, the expectations, the constant need to perform—both on and off the ice.
“Thanks for showing me the properties,” I say, already heading toward the door. “But I’ve got to go.”
The agent looks like she wants to protest, but she doesn’t. “Of course,” she says with a forced smile. “Just let me know if you have any questions.”
I barely acknowledge her as I step out into the cold, the wind whipping at my face again. My breath fogs up the air as I exhale, trying to clear my head. But it’s no use. The weight of everything is pressing down on me, and I don’t know how to handle any of it.
I should call Jessica. Explain. Tell her that the house hunting thing doesn’t mean what it looks like, that I’m not planning on moving out right away or leaving her behind. But the truth is, I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know if I can fix things between us, or if they’re even worth fixing.
I walk down the street, pulling my jacket tighter around me as I head back toward my teammate’s place. It’s not far from here, just a few blocks away. I’ve been crashing on his couch for the past few days, telling myself it’s just temporary, that I’ll figure things out soon. But “soon” keeps turning into “later,” and I keep running away from the problem instead of facing it.
The problem is, I don’t know how to face it.
By the time I get back to the penthouse, I am more unsettled than I should be. My teammate, Ryan, is out for the day, probably at some charity event or meeting with sponsors. He’s good at that kind of stuff—handling the media, playing the part of the perfect athlete. I envy him for that. For how easy it all seems to come to him.
I toss my jacket onto the couch and collapse onto it, staring up at the ceiling. My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it this time. I don’t want to talk to Allison, or Kip, or anyone from the team. I don’t want to deal with the mess I’ve made.
The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Jessica. About the way things ended between us, about how I walked away when things got hard. I never should have let it get this far, but now that it has, I don’t know how to fix it.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen. No messages from Jessica. She’s probably seen the post by now—hell, the whole world’s probably seen it. And if she hasn’t, she’ll hear about it soon enough.
I swipe through my notifications just in case, half-expecting to see something from her, but there’s nothing. Just more texts from Allison, a missed call from Kip, and a few random messages from teammates.
I scroll through social media, finding the post the kid put up earlier. It’s already got hundreds of likes, comments from fans guessing about what I’m doing, why I’m house hunting in Denver, if I’m moving out. Some of them are even asking about Jessica, wondering if we’ve broken up, if the relationship was all for show.
It’s funny, in a twisted way, because they don’t even know how close they are to the truth.
I throw my phone onto the coffee table and rub my face with my hands, frustrated.
After a few minutes, I grab my phone again, hesitating for a moment before opening Jessica’s number. I start to type a message, but I stop. What am I even supposed to say? That I’m sorry? That I screwed up? That I don’t know how to fix this?
I delete the message before I even finish it and toss the phone aside again.
I lean back against the couch, closing my eyes and letting out a long breath. The tension in my chest isn’t going away, and the silence in the penthouse feels suffocating.
I don’t know how long I sit there, lost in my thoughts, but at some point, I hear the sound of the door unlocking. Ryan walks in, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as polished as ever.
“Hey, man,” he says, glancing at me as he kicks off his shoes. “Rough day?”
I let out a dry laugh. “You could say that.”
Ryan doesn’t push for details. He’s good like that. He knows when to ask questions and when to just leave me alone. Instead, he grabs a beer from the fridge and tosses me one, sitting down in the armchair across from me.
“Things with Jessica still messed up?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of the beer. “And now the whole world thinks I’m house hunting because I’m moving out and breaking up with her or something. It’s a mess.”
Ryan nods, taking a sip of his own drink. “You know, man, sometimes it’s easier to just face things head-on. You can’t keep running from that girl forever. Just talk to her. Let the chips fall where they may.”
I shoot him a look. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil.”
He grins, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just saying it might be worth talking to her before things get even more out of hand.”
I know he’s right. I know I can’t keep avoiding this. I can’t keep crashing here with Ryan.
Eventually, I’m going to have to go back to that house and deal with this.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’m just going to sit here, drink this beer, and pretend like I have everything under control. Even if it’s all slipping through my fingers.
***
I walk into the Stanton house feeling the familiar blend of exhaustion and adrenaline. The last of the holiday games are behind me, and it’s been one hell of a week. Three games in five days, plus all the off-ice activities—charity events, hospital visits, meeting fans. I should be relieved, maybe even proud of how we’ve been playing, but as I close the door behind me, all I can feel is the heaviness of the silence.
The house feels cold. Not physically—it’s warm, the heat doing its job—but there’s a chill in the air between Jessica and me that has nothing to do with the temperature.
I step into the living room, half-hoping she’s not home, half-hoping she is. When I see her sitting on the couch, typing away on her laptop, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. I haven’t seen her in days. Haven’t really talked to her either. The last few conversations we had weren’t exactly pleasant, and I haven’t been around much to fix that.
“Hey,” she replies, glancing up briefly before focusing back on her screen. Her voice is flat, professional. Not cold, not warm—just… neutral. From her remote work days, I know this is the same tone she uses in meetings, with clients, with people she doesn’t really care about. It’s not the way she used to talk to me.
I shift on my feet, unsure of what to say next. “Busy day?”
Jessica nods, still not looking at me. “Yeah, just catching up on some work.”
“Right.” I move toward the kitchen, needing a distraction. I open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and take a sip, trying to gather my thoughts. The tension in the room is suffocating, and I hate it. I hate that this is where we’ve ended up, that we’re tiptoeing around each other like strangers when we used to be… something more.
I turn back to her, leaning against the counter. “Listen, Jess. About everything—about how I treated you, when you were just trying to help—I’m sorry.”
She finally looks up at me, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize, Eric.”
“I do,” I insist, stepping closer. “You were just trying to do something good, and I shut you out. It wasn’t fair.”
Jessica closes her laptop and sets it aside, leaning back on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking over me like she’s trying to decide how to respond. “You were right,” she says finally, her voice steady. “It wasn’t my business. You don’t need my help to find your mom.”
There’s no bite to her words, but the way she says them makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It’s not anger—it’s resignation. Like she’s already decided to pull away, to stop caring.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—”
“It’s fine, Eric,” she cuts me off, her tone cool but not unkind. “I get it. You don’t owe me an explanation. You were right. It’s not my place.”
Her words hang in the air, and I can feel the distance between us growing with every second that passes. I thought apologizing might fix things, might make her see that I wasn’t trying to push her away. But now, standing here, I realize it’s too late. I waited way too long. She’s already put up her walls.
“Okay. I respect your decision,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ll go to Vegas on my own, then. I’ll meet her without you. Maybe that’ll be easier.”
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I’m hurt, or maybe because I want her to fight back, to say that she still wants to help, that she still cares. But she doesn’t.
Instead, Jessica’s eyes flash with something sharp, something I can’t quite place. “Great,” she snaps back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You might as well stay at that new place you were looking at downtown while you’re at it.”
I freeze, caught off guard. “What?”
She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest. “The house hunting, Eric. You didn’t think I’d find out? The whole world saw that picture of you and the real estate agent. I figured you were just getting a head start on moving out.”
My stomach drops.
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, trying to explain. “I wasn’t planning on moving out tomorrow or even next week. I was just looking. That’s all.”
“Just looking?” Jessica laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Eric, you’ve been avoiding me for days, staying at Ryan’s, and now you’re out looking at new places? What am I supposed to think?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have an answer. I have been avoiding her, staying at Ryan’s place, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. And now it’s all coming back to bite me.
“Look, it’s for the best anyway. We are only here temporarily. It’s just… You could have told me,” she continues, her voice quieter now, but full of frustration. “You could have given me a heads-up, instead of letting me find out from social media.”
I run a hand through my hair. She’s right. I should have told her. But I didn’t, because I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to make things more heated than they already are.
“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you,” I say finally, my voice low. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Jessica shakes her head, her eyes hard. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Do whatever you want, Eric. It’s your life. This whole damn thing has only ever been about you—not me, not what I need. So just go.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I’m not sure what to say. It feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a chasm, and I don’t see how to bridge the gap.
“Jess,” I say quietly, taking a step closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get like this.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks at me with those guarded eyes that I used to be able to read so easily. But now, her walls are too thick for that.
Finally, she sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “I don’t know what you want from me, Eric. We’re both in over our heads. Maybe it’s better if we just focus on being civil and getting through the holidays. You should move out as soon as is reasonable. I mean it.”
Her voice is calm, measured, but there’s a finality to her words that leaves me feeling hollow.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly, ice gripping my heart. “Maybe you’re right.”
Jessica doesn’t respond. She just gives me a small, tight smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes, before turning and walking out of the room.
I stand there for a long time after she’s gone. I know I’m losing her, and I know it’s my fault.
Four days before Christmas, and it feels like everything is falling apart.
Table of Contents
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- Page 17 (Reading here)
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