Page 30 of Writing Mr. Wrong
“I will. Thanks.”
As he padded away, she turned to admire the view, and found herself wishing, for the hundredth time this trip, that it was only a view. A smoking hot body attached to a guy who otherwise did nothing for her. Pure eye candy.
Mason Moretti felt like a path untaken. A moment when her life could have gone very differently.
But was that true? What would it have been like back then, to be with an up-and-coming hockey star?
All focus would have been on his future, leaving her right where she’d been with Alan, except instead of being the corporate wife, she’d have been the pro athlete wife, left behind to play house while he traveled, with endless women looking to warm him up after a night on the ice.
No, what she saw wasn’t a path untaken. It was the tease of a different door opening now , to a hockey star on the cusp of retirement, recognizing that his life is finally big enough to include someone else.
It was a tease, though, because that wasn’t on offer.
She shook off the pang of something like grief and returned to her laptop. Out of habit, she opened her email for a distraction, before forgetting there was no Wi-Fi or cell service here. Yet she apparently did have a few unread messages that came in before she and Mason had arrived.
She skimmed the list. Daphne had sent a writing pep talk. An old friend had gotten in touch to say she’d read the book. Ava had gushed over the airport-departure pics. All good. None requiring a response—
Her gaze stopped on an email from Alan.
Gemma,
Saw the pics of you going on holiday with the Mace. I’m happy for you, but like I said, I’m worried about you, too. Maybe you know the real reason he whisked you off on a getaway. Maybe you’re in on the PR stunt. But I don’t think you are, and I can’t stand to see him making a fool of you.
You know about Denny Fowler, right? If not, look it up.
Mason took you away because Denny will be back for the next game. Everyone wants to talk to the Mace, see how he feels about it. But he’s not there, is he? He’s on a romantic getaway with his new girlfriend, and his publicist is pumping out photos to divert attention from that.
He’s using you, Gemma.
The Mace is a great hockey player. But he’s a shit human being, and you deserve better.
Alan
MASON
Gemma had been tense and quiet after taking a post-writing walk alone, but once the food came and the conversation flowed, she’d seemed to unwind.
He’d made all her favorites from her Nonna Jean orders—spring-pea risotto and deep-fried artichoke for appetizers and beef-stuffed cabbage rolls and a fried escarole salad for the main course—and she’d eaten with gusto.
When they finished, she started gathering plates.
“Uh-uh.” He plucked both wineglasses from her hands. “Go write.”
She only returned to the table and started collecting the leftovers. “So, big game when you get back.”
“Huh?”
“When you get back. I heard it’s a big game for you.”
He frowned. “Big how?”
She shrugged as she set the leftover cabbage rolls on the counter. “I don’t know. Someone just said it was a big one.”
“Maybe because we’re playing the Flames? That’s always kind of a big deal. Plenty of Flames fans in Vancouver. It’ll be rowdy, that’s for sure.”
“So you really need to be there.”
“I always need to be there.” He pulled plastic wrap over the remaining dessert and then stopped to peer at her. “Are you asking whether I could skip it and extend our stay? I’d love to, but I can’t.”
“You’d love to miss it?”
Now he stared at her, bewildered before laughing and shaking his head.
“Uh, no, I’d love to hang out in a tropical paradise with Gemma Stanton for another day.
But it’s not like a regular job, where you can call in fake sick.
” He put the dessert into the fridge. “I even had to text and let the coach know I won’t be back until game day. ”
“Is that okay?”
He shrugged and shifted, feeling a twinge of discomfort. “It’s not ideal. Apparently, he tried to call me back instead of just texting, which makes me a little nervous but…” He rolled his shoulders and tried for a smile. “I’m Mason Moretti. What’s he going to do? Fire me?”
“We’ll make sure you get back.”
“Oh, I will. I can joke, but I don’t mess around with shit like that. As soon as we’re on the mainland, I’ll text and let him know I’m on my way, just so he doesn’t worry.”
GEMMA
Mason didn’t know about Denny.
She’d finally let him shoo her onto the porch to write, mostly so she could work this through.
Mason was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an actor. When she called him out on his bad behavior, he admitted to it. He made mistakes, and he owned up to them, which was part honesty and part knowing he was a shitty liar.
Denny must have been declared fit to return after they left Vancouver. That was why Mason’s coach called. To warn him.
Should she warn him?
She’d seen how Mason talked about the Denny incident. It bothered him—a lot—and he was taking a much-deserved break after weeks of dealing with the fallout. What would be the point of telling him now? He couldn’t call and talk to his coach.
Was it patronizing to withhold information, deciding that was “best” for him?
She spent a long time thinking about that, long enough for the sun to disappear without her even noticing the sunset. She’d tell him as soon as they were back in the land of cell service, and he could talk to his coach.
That was her decision. She only prayed it was the right one.