Page 22 of How We End
“They won’t.Are you sure you’re okay?I can be there in, like, twenty.Make it thirty.It’s going to take me a couple minutes to get my pants back on.My fucking shoulder is killing me.”
I smiled into the phone.“It’s okay.I’m okay.It’s been a long day.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”I heard him turn off the shower.“Did some asshole complain about your tits again?Who the fuck does that?”
I laughed.“No.”
“They are really nice, if you want my opinion.Okay, they’re more than nice.They are perfect.So are all the other parts of you.If you were on my team, I wouldn’t scratch you.God, that sounded weird.This entire conversation has taken a turn.I’m going to blame it on the pain and that I’m exhausted.”
“Then you, my hockey god, should get some rest and take a couple Advil.”Having this stupid conversation was what I missed in my life.Having a soft place to land at the end of the day.
“If there was something wrong, would you tell me?”
I swallowed down the sadness.Wyatt wanted someone to talk to her like this.But Julian wasn’t talking to Wyatt, he was talking to Cassidy.A whore.“There is nothing wrong.”I could hear Maverick moving around in the bedroom.He was talking to someone on the phone.“Get some rest.I’ll see you in a couple of days.”God damn it, Wyatt, shut up.
“Okay, if you need anything, call me.I mean it.”
“Good night, Julian.”I hung up the phone and lay back on the couch, grappling with what I was feeling.
“Did you order dinner?”Maverick asked, walking into the room.
I sat up.“Are you heading back down?”
“Yeah.But I’ll be back up later.Stay.”He walked over and kissed me.“And eat something, you’re too thin.”He shook the wrinkles out of his suit coat and slipped it back on.
He said nothing else before he left.Didn’t ask how my day was.I sat alone in the suite, staring at the phone, replaying the conversation with Julian over in my head.Julian thought this was all part of it, like he had to call me and say those things to me.
It was nothing more than that.
CHAPTERELEVEN
JULIAN
October 26
Toronto vs Las Vegas, Final Score 3-4
“That’s how we do it, boys,” Anders yelled, walking into the locker room.“And you, Julian Silver.My sweet prince, welcome back.”He made bowing down motions.
“Yes, all hail Julian Silver, the Comeback King and Prince of Hat Tricks,” Mason Tremblay teased.
“Both of you, shut the fuck up.”I threw my towel at Anders.It was my best game of the season.We had beat Toronto, a tough team.Hopefully, this game would prove to Murry that I didn’t need any help and we could move on.Put last season behind us.
“Great game, Silver.You too, Mason,” Coach said, standing in the middle of the room.“This is our second win in the series, and this one was too close.We have San Jose on Saturday, Chicago on Monday, and they are both scrappy teams, hungry to prove themselves.We need to keep our heads in the game and remember there’s still a lot of season between us and that cup.The bus leaves in an hour.Silver, can I see you?”
I followed the coach into the small office.This was it.I either proved myself or didn’t.The air was stale and smelled like old coffee and a locker room.
“Close the door and sit down,” Coach Murry said, sitting down at a beat-up desk.“The front office wants to know who this trainer is you spoke of.”
“It’s nothing.It was a joke.”
“Is it?Obviously, something has changed, Julian.Do we need to test you?”
“For what?”I frowned, waiting for him to mention an injury or concussion.But that wasn’t the look he gave me.“Are you fucking kidding me?You automatically assume I’m doping?Fuck.”I sat back in the chair.My body ached.I wouldn’t be able to lift my arm over my head tomorrow.But yeah, doping was the reason I was better.
“What else should I think?You haven’t scored a goal in thirty-two games.Thirty-two.And suddenly, not only do you score, but a hat trick.That’s not normal for even you.”
“Not normal?”I snapped.“It’s not normal for a winger to score points?”
