Page 3

TWO

ELI

Our celebration lasts well into the early morning hours. Although I steer clear of women, I don’t even talk to one who isn’t Clara or one of her friends. That doesn’t mean I didn’t drink a lot, a hell of a lot, because I did.

Moaning, I place my hand on my face, scrubbing it down to my chin, and wish that I didn’t get completely shit-faced last night.

Pushing myself up, I throw my legs over the side of the bed. The cool laminate floor is a welcome sensation to my otherwise hot body. The booze sweats are fucking real. Blinking, I groan as the room continues to spin slightly around me.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I force myself to stand and shuffle toward the bathroom. Once I’ve taken care of business and tried like hell not to puke, I make my way toward the kitchen and the jar of pickles in the fridge.

Shakily, I reach for the jar on the top shelf and unscrew the lid, tossing it onto the counter before I lift the jar to my lips.

I close my eyes as I drink the salty liquid in hopes that it will assuage my hangover. Because I sure as hell need something.

The only good thing about having a hangover today is that it’s a rest day. The bad thing is that I need to be on my A game by tomorrow.

It’s back to practice, training, and getting ready for the playoffs. We have a serious shot at winning the Calder Cup, and I refuse to be the reason we lose.

Once the salty liquid is down, I screw the lid back on and place it back in the fridge before I grab a bottle of water and shuffle to the living room. When Luke lived here with me, he had the whole top floor to himself, and I took the basement.

After I bought him out of his share and he moved out, I eventually moved my shit to the top floor and created a home gym in the basement for myself.

I thought I would love being here alone, but on days like this, when I literally have nothing to do, it’s just… lonely. And when I’m alone, my intrusive thoughts tend to take over. And those thoughts revolve around Wrenly. Which means I sit and analyze all the shit I did wrong in that very small window I had with her.

She fell asleep against my chest, and I knew I shouldn’t have, first off, fucked her on that first night and, secondly, in her college dorm room. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done in my life, but it was closer than my house. I was pretty sure that was a big hell of a no to the rules.

Not that I went to college because I didn’t, but it still felt like a way big no-no.

Thirdly, her roommate walked in and saw me. Her eyes grew about ten times their normal size. That was when I knew I needed to get the fuck out of there. That girl, whoever she was, wasn’t going to just quietly slip back out and pretend I didn’t exist.

The last thing I needed was the cops or something hauling me out of there and to jail. Especially since I was under contract and up for renewal, so I could lose my place on the team for something like that.

I left that dorm room, looking back at Wrenly for a moment, not knowing it would be my last. By the time I got home, I had already regretted not waking her up to tell her I was leaving.

I’d never felt that intensely before for anyone.

Still haven’t.

The moment I sat down to really take in my emotions, which is something I’d never done before in my entire life, I realized that I understood Luke Sullivan. I understood just what the fuck he felt for Clara and how he didn’t give a shit about the fact that she was his stepsister.

He couldn’t breathe without her.

I realized all of this too late because, by the time I tried to find Wrenly, she was gone. Then she blocked me from messaging her, and I was forced to let it go or seem like some sort of creep.

I should have taken my shot and risked the chance of being labeled a freak because the past two years have been straight-up misery.

I keep waiting for the feeling to go away. For the sensation of loss to disappear. But I’m not feeling any less lackluster—I feel almost as if there is a part of me missing. This also seems dramatic as fuck because I literally only knew her for a few hours, and we had sex one time… once .

WRENLY

When the airplane touches down, I wonder why I didn’t just drive halfway across the country. Or maybe why I didn’t call him instead of going about things this way. I’ve done the drive before. It’s brutal, but I’m not sure flying is any better, other than the fact that my butt doesn’t ache.

“Mom, Mom, Mom,” a voice says next to me.

He’s holding my hand, toddling beside me, insistent on walking even though he trips every few steps. But I stay patient with him, knowing that he’s still learning. He’s been with me while I’ve been learning each step of being a parent. I can be patient with him while he learns each step of being a toddler.

Ryan Nicholas Foster.

I named him Ryan after my father, and after some Internet sleuthing late one night when I was heavily pregnant and unable to sleep, I found out that Eli’s middle name was Nicholas and decided that I should give it to our son.

I’m not sure if that makes it better that I never even told him about my pregnancy or not. Probably not. I’m going to go ahead and assume nothing will really make it better after finding out you have a child, and said child is already a toddler.

Why did I do this?

Why did I wait this long?

I was living in denial, and then I was living in exhaustion and chaos with a newborn. I should have told Eli immediately before I even left Ohio, but I was scared. Terrified. And I needed my dad, my one constant, to tell me that everything was going to be okay. And to hold me when I cried and was freaked out of my mind.

My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down and smile at the text. It’s from my dad. Which shouldn’t surprise me, even though I already told him I made it and we landed safely. He isn’t just going to let anything go like that.

DADDY-O: Wrenny, there should be a driver waiting for you at the baggage claim. He will have a sign or something with your name on it.

What????

DADDY-O: You aren’t old enough to rent a car, and I wanted to make sure you made it to the hotel safely. I should have just come with you.

No.

He shouldn’t have.

My dad is only forty-five years old and very much still working. Plus, he’s spent the last two years taking care of me and then taking care of both Ryan and me. He deserves to have a little time alone.

Thank you. I appreciate you so much.

DADDY-O: You need to do this. And know that I always, always have your back. Always.

Smiling, I send him a heart emoji before I bend down and swing Ryan into my arms. With a diaper bag backpack strapped to my back and Ryan in my arms, I make my way toward baggage claim. True to his word, there is a man waiting for me there with a sign in his hand that has my name scrawled on it.

“Wrenly?” he asks.

The man is tall, at least six foot three, and wide. He’s wearing jeans and a light-blue button-down shirt with a black tie. His hair is cut short and slicked back with product. But when he smiles, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like a dad smile.

Nodding once, I verbally confirm that I’m myself. He chuckles, then asks me which bags are ours. Before I can even attempt to reach for my bag, he has it off the conveyor belt and on the floor next to my feet.

Ryan and I follow behind him as he carts two bags and the stroller. I don’t understand how he does it all, and as soon as he stops in front of a black SUV, I decide to ask him.

“Do you have kids?” I ask.

He smirks. “Why? Do I look like a pack mule?” he asks.

“You are really good at handling all that stuff at once. I don’t think I could do it,” I confess.

He turns to me, his lips curved up into a smile, and there is a little sparkle in his eyes. “I’m a dad. My kids are a little older now, but you never forget the logistics of carrying luggage or fitting it into cars for road trips.”

Then he reaches for the car seat in my hand once he’s loaded up the back of the SUV with the luggage, and I watch as he expertly buckles and locks it into place in the back seat. I place Ryan in his seat, buckle him in, then climb into the back and sit down beside him.

The traffic isn’t too bad, and I’m surprised that it’s not worse, to be honest. It only takes us about half an hour to arrive at the hotel. When the SUV stops moving, the driver turns toward me and hands me a card.

“Call me if you need anything at all. Your dad instructed me to take care of you and explained the situation. Whatever you need, I’m your proxy dad here.”

My eyes well up with tears, and I choke out a “Thank you” as I take the card. In black type, the name Patrick O’Shea is written and a phone number, nothing else. I don’t know where my dad found this guy, but I’m sure glad he did.

I thank him again, then Ryan and I make our way into the hotel. It’s directly across the street from the hockey stadium, and there are also some places to shop and restaurants within walking distance. Not that I’ll be doing any shopping, but we do have to eat.

Once we’re settled into the room, I give Ryan a bath and put him to bed. He’s just as exhausted as I am from a full day’s travel and falls asleep almost immediately. It takes me a bit longer to find my sleep. My mind and body are far too anxious to relax.

Luckily, I only have to feel this way until tomorrow night.

Until the game.

Until I see Eli Abbott again.

For the second time in my life.