Page 134 of Fake Out Hearts

“Hey, she’s here. But she won’t tell us what happened. What the hell is going on, man?” he asks, skipping the small talk.

“I’m not feeling good enough to talk about it right now. Is she okay?”

“I mean, no. She’s a wreck, but she’s safe, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. Is it okay if she stays there for a couple days?”

“Of course it is,” Callie answers in the background, so Reese must have me on speaker.

“Can I talk to Becca?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. She doesn’t want to talk anyway,” Reese answers and my heart clenches painfully.

“Okay. I’ll try again tomorrow. Tell her… tell her I’m here whenever she’s ready.”

“Alright. Are you good?”

“No, but I need some time alone. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for taking Becca in.”

“Of course. We’re here if you need us. Don’t do anything crazy on us, man.”

“I won’t.”

I hang up and drop the phone on the couch beside me, feeling empty. Like completely hollowed out. Milo must pick up on my mental state because he whimpers and climbs up on the couch, then plops down with his head in my lap.

I feel so lost. Adrift. And I don’t know how or if we’re going to be able to fix this. I wilt over Milo, holding him as close as I can to keep from spinning away into the emptiness swirling inside me, and try not to fall apart.

Eric draws up and sends over the divorce papers a few days later, just like Becca wanted. I haven’t been returning his calls since I reluctantly asked him to do it, and I haven’t left the condo in days, so he had one of his interns slip them under the door. I knew what was inside the nondescript manilla envelope as soon as I saw it, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it.

Until now.

But now that I’m staring down at them splayed out across the living room coffee table, I feel sicker than I thought I would. I’ve had days for it to sink in, to accept that it’s over, but I still feel like I’m sleepwalking through a nightmare. This isn’t the first time I’ve been here, not the first time I’ve had to do this with a woman, but even as much as it hurt with Valerie, it pales in comparison to how this feels.

And I can’t bring myself to sign the papers. I’ve been clutching the pen in my hand so hard for so long that it’s cramping and leaving a semi-permanent mark on my palm. Frustrated, I sling it down on the table and reach for my phone on the table. My fingers fly across the screen on autopilot, tapping to call Becca for at least the twentieth time over the last few days.

I already know what’s going to happen, but I lift the phone to my ear anyway and listen to the dozen or so rings before the line cuts over to her voicemail. I’m disappointed, but unsurprised. I hang up without leaving a message and drop the phone in my lap.

I promised myself I would sign these today, but I still can’t do it. Not until I talk to her, to make sure this is what she reallywants, because there’s no going back. We can’t undo this once we sign and file the papers.

But I need to get to practice anyway, so I leave the documents on the table and head for the arena. At least this will give me something to take my mind off everything. The Aces haven’t played a game since we destroyed the Titans, but we’ve had practice and even with all of this upheaval going on, I’m still playing better than ever.

I know it’s because of Becca. She gave me back my love of hockey, so even if I don’t have her, I’ll always have that part of her with me.

Still, I pass through practice on autopilot, just going through the motions. It does help me stop thinking about Becca for an hour or two, but I’m still not feeling like my usual self. And I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever get that feeling back.

During our lineup for practice shots, I score several times on Grant, but I’m barely even paying attention. And before I know it, the buzzer sounds the end of practice, so I leave the ice, dreading going home because I don’t want to spend any more time in the empty-feeling condo than I have to. Most of Becca’s stuff is still there, but I moved what she had in my room back to the spare just so I wouldn’t have to look at it. I don’t need the reminders.

I’m kicking off my skates in the locker room and getting ready for a shower when I spot Noah staring at me. When my eyes meet his, he gives me a sympathetic look. “How are you doing?”

I shrug. “I’m surviving. That’s about the best I can say.”

He frowns. “Well, it could be worse than that, I guess. Do you need anything?”

“Other than my wife back? No, not that I can think of,” I say, and when he grimaces, I sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a dick.”

“No need to apologize. I get it. I’d be just as much of a mess if something like this ever happened between me and Margo.”

Reese steps around the corner into the locker room and finds us talking. He puts two and two together quickly and tries to go back the way he came, but he’s not fast enough.

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