Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I don’t answer the last message. I just switch off my phone and look out the window, then throw on my own headset and watch Jack Ryan for the next five hours.
The minute I turn my phone on again, I see that the messages are going through.
Uncle Matthew Sr.: You need to call me back.
I roll my eyes and chuckle.
Dad: Hey, so I might have told your uncles.
I reply right away.
Me: Might have?
The one after is from Gabriella.
Gabby: I hope you know what you’re doing. I would hate to have to kick her ass for hurting you or your ass for hurting her. Love you.
Then Ryleigh.
Gorgeous: FYI, cat is out of the bag and my brother knows. Hope you landed safe!
Me: Yeah, figured he was going to find out. My cousins texted me before I landed. Text you when we get to the hotel.
I put my phone away as we get off the plane. It takes an hour to get to the hotel, and when I try to call Ryleigh, it goes straight to voice mail, so I know her phone is off.
I collapse on the bed and crash, only waking at three o’clock in the morning to undress. I grab my phone and see she sent me a message after eleven.
Gorgeous: Sorry, I was trial prepping, and we shut it down. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight.
I call her the following morning, and the conversation is literally five seconds long because she gets another phone call. That night, the game is horrible, and I mean horrible. We end up losing seven to two. Loading up right after the game and heading over to Columbus, we walk into the hotel room at three o’clock in the morning. I kick my shoes off and undress before sliding into bed.
The next day, I wake up after noon and call her.
“Well, well, well,” she says. I swear the minute I hear her voice, I miss her more than I thought I did.
“Morning, gorgeous,” I mumble.
“Did you just get up?” she asks me softly.
“I did. We got in last night after three. Today is an off day, so I plan on chilling in my room. I wish you were here.”
“You and me both.” She exhales.
“Did you get a chance to check your schedule?”
She pauses, and I know it’s probably not good news. “I did, and I don’t think I can swing it.”
“Fuck,” I swear, trying not to sound like a whiny kid. “Okay.” I pretend it doesn’t bother me. “We’ll check again when I get home.”
“Why don’t you get some food, go relax, and call me later?”
“Okay. Miss you, gorgeous,” I say right before I hang up.
The next night is even worse than the last game. We get handed our asses on a platter, five to zero. At this point, we aren’t even going to make it into the playoffs, and it sucks hard. We rush to get on the plane, thankful that it’s only a two-hour flight time.
We get in at midnight, and I text her.
Me: Good night.
My phone rings right away, and it’s her.
“Hey,” I answer, lying on the bed with an arm outstretched and another on my chest.
“Hey, you,” she says softly. “I was just getting into bed.”
“Same.” I turn to look out the window at the night.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks, and I hear blankets rustle on her side.
“I’m okay, I guess. Tired. Want to be home. Want to see you.” I stop talking. “It’ll be okay.”
“You’ll feel better once you’re home.” I close my eyes because will I be better once I’m home? She’s still not going to be there.
“Yeah, I guess.” I stop talking, and neither of us says anything. We just listen to each other breathe. “Wish you were here.”
“Wish you were here,” she repeats, and then we hang up. I toss my phone on the side before undressing and falling asleep.
The bus ride to the rink is quiet. No one is talking. Everyone knows how much this sucks. The minute the puck drops, it doesn’t get any better. I take a stupid penalty for slashing and end up in the box, where they score after forty seconds. The second period is even worse, and we end up losing four to one.
“Can we just go fucking home?” Jay moans after the game, and the coach just looks at him.
“Flight is at noon,” he snaps. “You aren’t the only one who wants to get this fucking week over.”
We pull up to the hotel, and no one utters a fucking word to each other. I head upstairs to my room, tossing the key card on the table along with my phone. I don’t even want to text or call her. I’m so angry about it all that I need to calm down.
I’m about to get undressed when there is a knock on the door. I look over and see it’s almost eleven o’clock. I walk over, not even checking to see who it is before I open the door. The Do Not Disturb sign flies onto the floor, but no one is looking at that because the only thing I see is her.