Chapter 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

Canyon

I've never had a broken heart before, so I'm not sure if it's the cause, but this tightness in my chest is starting to piss me off.

It could also have something to do with Ally being the clingiest, neediest, saddest kid I've ever known. Since the incident with Marjorie, she's started having nightmares. We've been to see the therapist twice in the week since it happened, and when I mentioned meeting the team in Salt Lake City next week, she had a meltdown.

The therapist said that this is actually a good thing, that she's finally starting to work through her anger and grief, but I don't know if I'm going to survive it.

Since it feels inappropriate to bring her into my bed with me, every time she has a nightmare, we wind up sleeping on the sectional couch in the living room, with her on one end and me on the other. As long as she can see me, she doesn't have nightmares, but I'm a big guy and my body isn't pleased with this new development in sleeping conditions.

Not to mention taking time off from the team, not working out, and—and this is the doozy—losing Saylor.

I hadn't been expecting her to dump me.

I'd had a speech planned, asking her if we could back pedal for a while, to give Ally time to get through whatever this is. It won't be forever. It can't be. Even if I take Saylor out of the equation, Ally has to move on, and eventually, I'm going to date. Be in a relationship. Get laid .

Except I don't want to date.

Or randomly get laid.

I just want Saylor .

But she's cut me loose.

I understand.

I'm not good at the boyfriend thing, and she'd had enough with middle-of-the-night interruptions. Canceled plans. Missing important events.

It just hurt that she wasn't willing to give me a little time.

This thing with Ally isn't anyone's fault, and Saylor and I had reached a point in our relationship where we'd discussed how we were feeling. She knows I have feelings for her.

Doesn't she?

I haven't told her I love her—not in so many words—but I've explained why.

That's almost the same thing.

Right?

Maybe not.

I don't know and the events of the last week are running through my head like a movie on fast forward.

I pull out the meatloaf Colleen left us and put a few pieces on our plates.

"Ally! Dinner!"

"Coming!" She's got her ear buds in and she's holding her phone, talking to someone. "…okay, I have to eat dinner, but I'll call you later!" She hangs up.

"Who was that?" I ask, scooping mashed potatoes onto the plates.

"Rhea. Her mom is going to call you. They want to know if I can go shopping on Saturday. Just the three of us."

"Do you want to?" I ask, adding a few pieces of broccoli to her plate.

"Is that broccoli?" she demands, ignoring me.

"Look, we're never having kale in this house. Or liver. Or artichokes. However, vegetables are good for you. And broccoli literally doesn't taste like anything. Take a piece, dip it in the mashed potatoes, and put it in your mouth. Done."

She eyes me suspiciously as I put the plate in front of her.

Then she gives side-eye to the plate.

"Come on," I cajole. "It's not bad. I swear it. I'll give you a dollar."

She snorts. "Fine."

With a look of distaste, she does as I suggested, dipping a broccoli floret into the mashed potatoes and then putting it in her mouth. She chews slowly and her brows knit together, but I can't tell if it's disgust, confusion, or something else.

"You're right," she announces. "I couldn't even taste it."

"Excellent. Now eat up." I take a bite of the meatloaf. "And tell me about shopping."

"Her mom was going to take her shopping for summer clothes, and they invited me." She pauses. "I guess I need summer clothes too?"

"Probably. I thought you were going to go with Stevie."

"I will. But you know, I can go more than once. I might not find stuff I like."

"All right. Are you sure you'll be okay hanging with Rhea and her mom? You've been stuck to me like glue this week."

She dips her head. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry. I just…the nightmares…are scary."

"I know. And I don't mind, but we can't keep this up forever. I have to go back to work." I meet her gaze across the island where we're eating. "The regular season is almost over and we're in the playoffs. I have to be there."

"Can I go to the games?"

"To the ones that aren't on school nights, of course."

"Oh." She looks down. "Are you in trouble? For missing hockey?"

"A little, but they understand that family comes first. However, if I don't play, I don't make money. Do you understand that?"

"Do you make a lot of money?"

"I do."

"Mindy said you make a million dollars a year."

"I actually make more than that." It's public record, so there's no point in lying even though I'm not thrilled that a group of eleven-year-olds have discussed my multi-million-dollar salary.

"That sounds like a lot."

"It is. That's why you can go to private school and have nannies and buy clothes whenever you want—within reason," I add hastily.

"Mom and I never had money."

"I'm sorry about that."

"She never worked. She was on…welfare."

I opted not to say anything and let her talk.

"It was embarrassing. My clothes never fit, I never had lunch money, and she was always either out somewhere or sleeping."

Dammit, Carly.

"But then sometimes she'd come home with money, and we'd go to the grocery store. She'd buy food, and we'd get ice cream on the way home. She would tell me about how one day we were going to have a house on a beach, where we could lie in the sun all day and swim and invite our friends for cookouts." She pauses, chewing the inside of her lip. "But she didn't have any friends. And I mostly didn't either."

My chest tightens again, but this time it's with pain and grief and so much damn guilt.

"I wish…it had been different," I say quietly. "I wish your mom had told me she was in trouble. That she needed me."

"You sent cards at Christmas with money," she whispers. "I saw them, but Mom always spent it for rent. I never got Christmas presents."

"Well." I clear my throat. "You will this year. As long as you behave yourself. Otherwise, there'll be coal in your stocking."

"Whatever." She smirks. "Also, you owe me a dollar."

"For what?" I ask in confusion.

"Eating broccoli. Duh."

* * *

I don't get back to hockey until the last two games of the season, and while no one says anything about my absence, I know the team felt it. They lost two of the last four games, which isn't ideal even though we've clinched our playoff spot. We want to end on a high note, and I'm already stressed because I had to leave Ally so I could fly to Vegas. It's just one day, and I'll be home late, but it's the first time I've left her in nearly two weeks, and she was a little teary-eyed when I dropped her off at school this morning.

Luckily, Colleen is available to pick her up and stay the night since I may not get home until two or three in the morning.

Without Marjorie, I'm heading into the playoffs with a big problem. Stevie and Autumn have both offered to help, which is great, but I'm going to have to figure something out. I can't count on friends to take care of Ally. Not long-term, anyway. However, for the playoffs, we're going to have to come up with a plan. I don't know that any of us are happy about it, but I'm pretty pissed off at the world right now anyway, so it's par for the course.

"Who pissed in your corn flakes?" Jensen asks me after the morning skate.

"No one. Why?"

"You're even surlier than usual."

"Fuck off."

"See what I mean?"

"I live with a needy pre-teen who's been waking me up every night because she's having nightmares. I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in over a week, I'm interviewing nannies again, and my girlfriend dumped me. What the fuck else do you want to know?"

Jensen frowns. "She dumped you? The rumor mill says it was a mutual thing."

"No, it wasn't mutual."

Was it?

It's not like I argued with her or tried to change her mind.

Hell, I hadn't even told her what I'd been thinking about. That I needed a little time for me to focus on Ally. That we didn't have to end things, just take a step back for a few months.

Stepping back was the same thing as breaking up, though.

Isn't it?

I'm tired and confused and horny.

As fuck .

"It doesn't matter," I snap, closing my locker. "I'm not boyfriend material. It was fun for a while, but it ran its course."

"I thought you were doing pretty good." He leans against the lockers. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't fucking want to talk about it!" I snap.

Fuck.

This isn't Big Bang's fault.

He's my friend and I'm being an asshole.

"Sorry," I say after a second. "I'm just stressed about Ally and the game tonight."

"Is Stevie with her?"

"No, she's with her daytime nanny, Colleen. She's been great about helping out while I look for another nanny."

"If you'd get your head out of your ass, Saylor could be living with you, and this wouldn't be a problem."

I glare at him. "If we were going to be together, it wouldn't be so she could be my live-in babysitter!"

"I know that." He glares back. "But from what I hear, she's miserable. And from what I see , so are you. So, what the fuck happened that you're not together and you're both miserable?"

"She let him off the hook," Gabe interjects, though I hadn't realized he'd been listening. "She made a hard decision so he wouldn't have to." He gives me a disappointed look, the same kind my mother used to give me when I didn't do well in school.

"What are you talking about?"

He smacks me in the shoulder. "That girl is in love with you. You know that, right? You can't be so far up your own ass that you don't know when a smart, gorgeous, successful woman is in love with you?"

I frown.

Because she'd basically told me that.

But she'd been the one to end things, and I'm supposed to be focusing on Ally.

And hockey.

"Look, our feelings don't matter right now. The only thing I can worry about is what Ally's feeling. She's the one who needs me."

"You think Saylor doesn't need you with that stalker guy after her?" This from Marty, whom I hadn't realized was also listening.

"What in the fuck are you talking about?" I whirl to stare at him.

He blinks. "You know, the creep who wrote an ugly word inside her gallery and then again on the outside."

"The one who sent her the dead flowers?" Jensen interjects.

"Dead flowers?"

I have no idea what they're talking about.

"That's why she's had her bodyguard with her almost twenty-four seven," Connor adds.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Does the whole team know more about my girlfriend than I do?

Ex -girlfriend.

She dumped me.

She was also obviously keeping things from me.

Another prickle of shame slithers through my subconscious.

"She was trying to protect you," Gabe says quietly. "You've had so much going on, she didn't want you to have to worry about her."

"Fuck." I slam the side of my fist against the lockers. "Dead flowers? I knew there had been more graffiti, but she made it sound like it was just in general, in the alley, not specific to her… God dammit. Is Rage taking care of it? Did they call the cops?"

"Rage?" Connor asks. "Who the hell is Rage?"

"The guy who heads her security team," I mutter.

A really good-looking guy who heads her security team.

Fuck my life.

Am I jealous?

"Harper said Rage is on top of all that," Gabe says. "Both at the house and the gallery. She hasn't been at the gallery much, but the show is coming up on Saturday, so she'll be there for that. We're all going to stop by after the game if we can."

"The show? What show?"

I feel totally out of the loop.

He frowns. "The art show that her kids' class is putting on. It's Saturday at five."

Our last game of the season is Saturday at three.

"Ally hasn't said anything."

"I don't think Ally is doing it," Gabe says. "Saylor told Harper that she hasn't been very cooperative."

"Dammit. She made a commitment to take the class, and she needs to see it through." I shake my head and grab my bag. "I have to go. I need to talk to her before the game tonight."

"You should talk to Saylor ," Gabe murmurs.

"You really should," Jensen adds.

"I don't think she wants to talk to me," is all I say before heading toward the parking lot.

I don't know if that's true, but I have a lot to think about.

Broken up or not, I'm worried about her. It bothers me that she didn't feel like she could confide in me. It bothers me even more that there's a good-looking security guard doing what I should be doing for her. And it really bothers me that I didn't have a chance to talk to her about the situation with Ally.

On top of all that, Ally has some explaining to do.

I'd told her from the get-go that if she committed to the art class, she would stay until the end, whether she liked it or not. Whether she liked Saylor or not.

And she'd committed.

I don't know what show is happening on Saturday, but Ally needs to participate.

If I'm going to be her parent—and I already am—then one of many things I need to instill in her is a work ethic. No matter how hard she fights me on it.