Page 49 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

"Hell no. That ass is mine. I marked it and everything."

"That you did. Thanks for that, by the way. I really appreciated the hickeys you left all over the backs of my thighs and ass. It definitely made my first NHL locker room and shower experience memorable."

"Aww, come on. They weren't that bad." Those hickeys were barely red when I finally let him up to shower before driving him to the airport.

"They're still there," he deadpans. I choke on the snort I unsuccessfully attempt to hold back. His lips quirk.

"I bet they all think your little wife is a freeeaak."

"Ew, gross. Dude, that's your sister!"

"I'm not talking about my sister, pervert. I've started referring to myself as your little wife to make myself feel better."

"Oh, well that's cute. "

I feel like I've accomplished something by lightening his mood a little. "I love you."

"I love you too, little wife."

It's only three weeks. Three measly weeks.

How bad could it be?

"There you are."

The slight chemical smell of the ice burns as cold air saws in and out of my lungs. I turn towards the unexpected voice, mopping sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my hoodie. Dr. Shelton leans on the barrier between the ice and the player's bench.

"Hey, Dr. Shelton," I say uncertainly.

Did she have an appointment meeting her here today?

Practice ended over an hour ago. I thought everyone had already left.

I just wasn't ready to go home yet, so I put my skates back on and decided to work on some drills for a while to clear my mind.

Not that it's really working. I've been coming early and staying late for the last two weeks, spending so much time at the arena that Coach and the trainers have started hounding me.

I've upped my lifting schedule and weights, been throwing myself into cardio, doing sprinting and shooting drills until my exhaustion outweighs the doubts that have been plaguing me lately.

"Do you have time for a short breather?" Oh boy. When a blank stare is my only answer, she gives me a half smile. "I only want a few minutes of your time."

With a curt nod, I skate over to the bench and take a seat a few feet away from her.

"What's this about? "

"Coach Dempsey asked me to stop by. He mentioned you might still be here, so I thought I'd swing by.

" She smiles kindly at my wary expression.

"Seems you've been putting in some extra effort lately," she says in an attempt to ease into whatever it is she came here to talk to me about. I'd rather she just get to the point.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not when you might be taking things too far. Coach says you're isolating again as well." I grumble and call my coach a snitch under my breath, but Dr. Shelton hears it and chuckles. "He's just worried about you."

"You mean he's sick of my bullshit," I say pointedly.

He more or less told me so today when I approached him about missing Friday's game.

Not only did he not approve of me missing one of the last three games of the season, but he very eloquently suggested that I "get my head out of my ass" and shake off my "moody bullshit”.

I can't blame him for being irritated. I feel myself shutting down with each passing day, but I don't know how to stop it.

My head turns towards Dr. Shelton, where she's waiting patiently for me to say more.

I huff and let my head fall back, looking up into the rafters.

"I've been having a rough time lately, is all.

A lot has changed, so I'm… I dunno, processing, maybe?

Everything will be fine, I'm just stressing over things I might not need to stress about.

Or maybe I'm not stressing enough. I don't really know. "

Dr. Shelton hums noncommittally and nods. "We could talk about it, maybe figure it out."

My teeth scrape along the inside of my cheek as I ponder what I could safely say.

"You know everything we talk about is strictly between you and me, right?

I'm bound by law to keep everything you tell me confidential.

The only exception is if I believe you to be in danger of hurting yourself or someone else, which I don't believe is an issue at this time.

" I nod to show I heard her, but I still hesitate.

She doesn't push, just waits patiently. Maybe she knows I'll talk eventually, can sense that I want to tell her, because talking to her really has helped me process a lot.

Still, I beat around the bush about the specifics.

"That friend of mine, the one I had a big falling out with?

He was my best friend, more even, he was just that important to me.

Well, we had a talk and finally cleared some things up.

We started spending time together again, a lot of time, actually.

And it's been good. Really, really good," I say, my heart clenching.

"Maybe it was too good, I dunno. But lately…

" I swallow and pick at my thumbnail. "He, uh, he had to leave for a while.

Had this once in a lifetime opportunity that he couldn't pass up.

And I'm glad he's following his dreams, I am.

I'm so proud of him, I actually get choked up watching his games.

" I pause, realizing I might have given too many specifics, but knowing he's a hockey player isn't going to give it away.

"Ever since he left, it's like all that distance that was there before is coming back.

He calls less, says less when he does call.

And it's like he doesn't want to share this part of his life with me at all, because he won't talk to me about the new team or how he's feeling about all these changes.

I'm trying not to take it personally, I know their schedule is brutal, even worse than ours.

I don't want to be clingy, but I miss him," I admit on a harsh expulsion of breath as some of the pent-up emotions try to leak out. "I worry I'm losing him."

My conversations with Silas have gotten rapidly shorter over the past two weeks. Less personal. Messages go hours without a reply, and sometimes there's not a response at all. It's hard not to take it personally. Why doesn't he want to tell me about things?

I've stopped pushing for information. It's hard not to let all my self-doubts win. It's gotten to the point that I'm constantly running worst-case scenarios in my mind .

What if he decides not to come back? What if the time apart has given him time to clear his mind and think rationally about how a relationship with me could affect his chances of getting a real contract with the NHL?

And not just because of the very legitimate concerns about potentially being outed and how that could affect his career.

But because of the scandal of having a wife and child while having a relationship with a teammate.

That's what he cares about the most, and I get it.

I'm still coming to terms with a few of our teammates knowing about us, honestly.

Although I've done everything to hide it, the realization that Ives and Valdez figured it out made me physically ill.

But a lifetime in a dark closet surrounded by judgment and fear has made the truth scary when it shouldn't be.

Of course, I don't say all of that to Dr. Shelton. But she seems to get the gist of it.

"Sometimes, people with trauma struggle more when things are going well.

When you're used to chaos, peace can feel like waiting for a bomb to drop.

And the moment there's the smallest amount of stress or pushback, it's like validation that things weren't as good as they seemed.

Whether or not that's the case, it's easy to catastrophize, to twist things into a negative light. "

I think about it, and I can see areas where she might be right. I'm not imagining the way he's refused to talk to me about hockey, and since that's the only thing he has time for right now, there's nothing left but small talk that feels like an insult.

"You're not losing anything," she says. "But it feels like you are.

And it leaves you scrambling to hold on to any amount of control you have.

You go into survival mode. You disengage from the world around you, exercise to the point of pain to distract yourself.

You shut down and put the walls you've worked so hard to lower right back up. "

Okay, she's not wrong about that, I guess. A little .

"These are old patterns for you, Gideon. It's a more evolved version of fasting, isolating yourself to pray, and inflicting pain to redirect your thoughts, but it's the same behavior patterns."

Well, shit. A heavy breath heaves from my chest, and I duck my head, running a hand through my hair.

Dr. Shelton digs into a bag sitting next to her and hands me something. A small, hardcover notebook.

"Sometimes, getting your thoughts and feelings out can help you process.

Seeing them written out can make it easier to see what's true versus your anxiety making things harder for you.

Even if you never let anyone read it. Hell, you can burn the pages as you're done with them.

But it's a good exercise for working through intrusive thoughts and also for coming up with solutions. "

"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. A lot of what she said makes sense, and maybe this gives me a place to start.

Silas has shut down on me, but I'm not making it any better by shutting down on him.

We need a good conversation, and to remember there's only a week left of our forced separation.

We'll be back together before we know it.

The texts I sent earlier were marked read, but there's still no reply.

They had a home game today, he should be back at the extended stay by now.

I push call and listen to the line ring, anticipating the voicemail.

I'll leave a message and tell him that I love and miss him and would really like to talk as soon as he has a chance.

Surprisingly, he answers. Or he picks up, at least.

There's a lot of noise in the background. Laughter, some shouting. Music.

It sounds like he's in a bar.

"Gideon?" He sounds distracted, and too tired to be out anywhere. He laughs at something someone says near him, and I realize that he's drunk. Or, at the very least, tipsy .

He sounds happy and I don't know how to feel about that. I shouldn't feel jealous or resentful that he's out having a good time with his teammates, they're the only people he has around him right now. But he didn't call me back. Ignored my messages. And went to a bar instead?

Silas says my name again, and my stomach hurts all of a sudden. "What's up?"

"Hey," I say, trying to hide my hurt. "Nothing’s up, just wanted to hear your voice and see how the game went. But, I'm actually really tired, and it sounds like you're busy. So, talk tomorrow?" I don't give him a chance to respond, throwing in a quick I love you as a goodbye, and hang up.

When the call ends, I notice I've bent the notebook from squeezing it so hard.

It's not my anxiety. I'm really losing him.

I drop the notebook in the trash on my way out.

Back at home, I flop down on the couch and turn on the highlights from Silas' game because I'm a masochist. The NHL Network is playing a loop of all of today's top plays, and Silas Caldwell is all over it.

His first NHL goal. The winning goal. Two assists.

Remarkable offensive plays and defensive calls that helped lead Calgary to a solid win.

They're calling it his breakout performance.

Speculating whether Calgary could have made the playoffs if their team had looked as good as it did today or if they'd had Silas.

I watch the moment he scores again and again. The way he drops his head back to look up at the sky. The sheer joy and relief on his face. The way he turns towards his team and throws his arms up. The way his teammates swarm him .

Silas hit a milestone today. One of the most important memories he'll keep for the rest of his life. It's a huge deal that he has to be riding high on.

He didn't call me.

My eyes sting. I scrub a hand down my face and rewind again, just to see him smile. I pause the screen and stare until Lily walks in. My voice is flat, not sure I’m ready to talk about it.

"Did you see?"

Her eyes are glued to her phone, face ghostly pale. She didn’t even hear me.

"Lily? Are you okay?"

She looks up at me, eyes distant.

"I have a missed call from Tennessee."