Page 59 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
Will I ever have the kind of love that my parents shared? And if so, how long do I have to wait to meet him? Or have I met him already?
Beneath the insecurities and regrets, a name echoes in the recesses of my healing heart.
Alex Braun.
Mom and I say our good-byes with plans to make mother-daughter calls a biweekly thing. I hang up and silence wraps around me like a cashmere blanket.
I finally have a moment to myself to just sit and think, so I soak in my surroundings, as messy and stressful as they are. Out the window, the afternoon sun is starting to set, casting a golden glow across my floors. It’s almost as if Boston is saying, Welcome home, Aspen.
This is my place. All mine. I don’t have to inconvenience anyone else ever again. I don’t have to share it with anyone.
Though I wouldn’t mind sharing it from time to time with a certain hockey player by day, master chef by night, but I can’t let myself imagine the possibilities. I’ve made my bed, and now I’ve got to lie in it.
As for what could have been? I guess I’ll never know.
23
* * *
ALEX
After a grueling workout off the ice, the guys and I suited up in full gear and hit the ice for another hour of drills, and then listened to Coach Wilder give us an inspirational talk. At least, I think it was supposed to be an inspirational talk. But it’s clear his drawn-out and very public divorce has messed with his head, because the dude was all over the place.
Our team captain, Reeves, jumped in and saved the day with an encouraging story that had us all laughing. And when you’re dead tired and starving . . . laughter can be hard to come by. But Reeves is just that kind of guy. Everyone loves him.
Our first preseason game is in six days, and training camp is behind us. It’s go-time, and for the most part, I’m feeling ready for the season to begin.
I told myself that this was my year. My time to shine. Time to leave all the bullshit from my past behind me. But I never counted on skating into this season with a broken heart.
I never meant to fall in love with Aspen.
But it is what it is, and I can’t help how gutted I still feel. Finding her note and realizing she was gone . . . That was one of the hardest days of my life.
I’ve texted her a couple of times to say hello and see if she found a place to live. She’s replied with one-word responses, or worse, the thumbs-up emoji. Like she couldn’t even be bothered to type out a few basic words to appease me.
My somber thoughts are interrupted by Saint and Lucian, who have gotten into yet another argument about American politics. Annoyed, I decide I can’t listen to them go back and forth for another second. Rising to my feet, I ball up a towel and throw it at Saint’s head.
“Enough. You’re both idiots. Neither one of you is American, and you can’t vote, so drop it.”
“Someone needs to get laid,” Tate says, giving me a skeptical look.
I narrow my eyes at him.
Saint drops the towel into the laundry hamper and sits down on the bench next to me. “Everything . . . okay?”
I haven’t spoken to him much since returning, other than to say a quick thank-you for offering his cabin for the summer. I’ve avoided him for good reason. He’s a good enough friend that I’m sure he’ll see right through me if I talk about my summer. The conversation is inevitable, but I’m just not ready to have it yet.
“Fine.” I growl out the word and finish lacing up my sneakers.
Saint doesn’t look convinced. “You want to go get something to eat?”
“Sure,” I say, since I am starving.
It’s only after we’re seated at the diner that Saint starts in with his questioning. “What happened this summer?”
I set the sticky menu down on the table and glare at him. “Nothing happened.”
“Come on, Braun. I know something must have happened. We’ve been friends for a couple years now, right?”
“I guess so.”
He shrugs. “Which means I know you. And I know something happened.”
Our waitress swings by the table, and we place our orders. Both of us get the same thing—double cheeseburgers minus the buns, and a side salad.
Saint flirts with the waitress, who lingers at our table longer than necessary. Then he swings his attention back to me. “Seriously, let’s talk. Should I book an appointment at the tattoo parlor?”
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
The truth is, I really can’t answer Saint, because even I don’t know what happened. I thought Aspen and I were building something, but then she left and ghosted me, and now we’re back to practically being strangers. I hate that.
