Chapter 17

Ihaven't seen Bailey in weeks, not since the night of our kiss. The next morning, she was nowhere to be found, and when I woke up alone on that stupid floor with the pillows and blankets I laid out for her, all I felt was empty. And I still do—the emptiness is more present than ever as I've tried contacting her with no luck. She either has blocked my number or is ignoring me. Considering my calls go straight to voicemail, I will go with the former. Which I guess also means she's ignoring me as well, but to-ma-to, to-mah-to.

My lowest point was seeking out her best friend, Cheyenne, in hopes of getting more information. However, she said Bailey was a very private person and didn't give her a home address, and that she's also been taking on more shifts at work again. Oh, and they're not on speaking terms right now. I asked her why, and she wouldn't tell me. She said Bailey wouldn't like it if she talked about it. So, at least she's loyal. Just when I need her to not be.

The only positive thing in my life right now is hockey. I passed the test; the MRI came back clear. My skull fracture is healed, so I'm no longer benched. I should be happy, really. Ecstatic, even. Yet all I can think about is her. The way her lips felt against mine, how her hips shifted when I bit her lip, how she tangled her tongue with mine.

Her scent.

Everything about her.

I'm going crazier than ever, feeling abandoned. I know the feelings aren't one-sided. She fucking likes me, so why is she acting this way? Was she not ready for that kiss? She was the one who initiated it, after all. She asked me to stop her, and now, looking back, maybe I should've. It would have saved me a bunch of heartache.

Though I'm not sure why I'm feeling this sad over a silly kiss. Except nothing about it was silly. That single act touched my soul in a way I won't be forgetting any time soon—if ever. Will I see her again? Hear her voice? Caress her skin? I don't know. But I can confidently say that I'm not done with Bailey, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get her back in my arms. Even if that makes me look insane.

She's not a bad person, just scared. I can practically taste the fear emanating from her pores whenever we spend time together, and I really don't know how to put her at ease. If she were to give me a chance, regardless of how minuscule it is, I'd play by her rules.

"T!" Jeremy yells, skating up to me. "You ready to crush them?"

"Absolutely." I grin, feeling more than ready. There's something to be said about the way my chest tightens from happiness at the opportunity of being here today. Seeing as I'm not benched anymore, and my career isn't over, I'm so damn lucky.

"Let's do this, boys!" Yells Oliver, taking his position in front of the net.

The adrenaline lasts me all the way from the first period to the third—where we're leading by three goals. Three to zero, to be exact. With only two minutes left in the game, I'm more ready than ever to protect Oliver, our goalie. So just as the Colorado offense comes barging toward us, more than determined to sink one in, I intercept the puck from the opponent and take off.

I go the opposite way, flying through the rink with one objective: scoring a goal. I could pass it to our left winger right now, in fact, I could pass it to just about everyone. But since I'm practically flying through the ice, I keep my eyes on the net. Three Colorado players come after me, trying to barrel me into the boards, but I don't slow down, and they miss me.

I can see Jeremy, Matt, and Noah skating my way, trying to clear the way and ready themselves for a pass that never comes. As soon as I find my chance, I rear back and slap the puck into the net, skating away with a grin on my face. With one knee on the ground and my other skate on the ice, I glide while pretending to play a guitar, then my teammates come rushing toward me to hug and tap my helmet.

Just like that, the buzzer goes off, and we win.

We step off the ice and make our way to the locker room, high-fiving some fans on the way through the tunnel. The high of the win doesn't feel as good as usual, and I know exactly what's dimming my good mood—and I can't ignore it anymore.

Finally, in the locker room, we take off our nasty gear. Many stand around in base layers, while others are already naked and getting in the showers. I, on the other hand, am checking my phone like a thirteen-year-old girl, waiting for her crush to text her. But the problem is, there's never a text, and I'm starting to feel sad instead of just disappointed. Did I mean that little to her?

I take out my phone and read over the messages that I've sent her over the past few weeks, like the love-sick puppy I am.

Theo

Bailey, please. I need to see you.

Theo

We need to talk.

Theo

Please answer me.

Theo

Baby. Please.

Theo

Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Did I misread the room?

Theo

Five minutes. That's all I'm asking for.

God, I know I am pathetic. Even still, I type again, sending one more message—one I hope she replies to but probably won't.

Theo

I'm really so sorry. I don't know what I did wrong. I thought you wanted me to. It doesn't matter what I thought. I swear it won't happen again if you don't want it to. Just come back to me. I miss you.

The strangest thing happens after that.

Bubbles.

As in typing bubbles.

They appear and disappear repeatedly, and just when I think she's about to reply, they disappear again. Poof, gone. Goodbye.

My heart sinks in my chest and I put my phone away, taking off my base layers and going in search of an empty shower stall. Once I find one, I set the water to the hottest temperature I can handle and get in. Maybe I can drown myself in it for a little while so my brain stops overthinking. Only that's what happens when you're going insane over someone, and it's unrequited.

Am I a masochist? Is that what this is? Do I just love the pain of rejection? I know I should be moving on without a glance back. I could have any woman I wanted, even if I'd never be sure if it was for me or my money. Instead, I'm hung up on the only one who wants nothing to do with me, and make no mistake: she wants nothing to do with me. She left me behind, discarded me, and now she won't even answer my messages. So why do I want to seek her out? Why am I wondering if she's the one who isn't okay?

I lean my forehead onto the shower tiles and bang my head softly against it. "Don't give yourself another brain bleed, T," Jeremy jokes, taking a shower stall next to mine. "Or crack your skull open any more than it already is. We need you out there, man."

"Oh." I chuckle. "I know. I'm just…thinking."

"Thinking real hard there, dude." I don't look at him even though I can feel his eyes blasting my face with heat. "Wouldn't happen to be about a sexy nurse we all know and care about?"

"You don't care about her," I spit, realizing my mistake before I've even finished my sentence. That was his plan all along, to rile me up and get me to talk since I haven't been saying anything to them. They don't even know she came over.

"Ah," Jeremy replies. "So it is about, what's her face again? Bailey?"

"You know her name," I say coldly, getting soap and lathering myself up with it.

"You're so touchy." He smirks, "Now tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened."

A laugh erupts from him, loud and quick. "You're a freaking liar, T. Just look at you—like a puppy whose treat was taken away. Now tell me what has a stick up your ass all of a sudden."

"I was seeing her," I blurt, glancing at Jeremy, whose brown eyes widen. A grin takes over his face immediately, but I want it gone, so I look away and keep talking. "Went out together a few times. A couple of weeks ago, she came over, and we watched TV, and one thing led to another and?—"

"Oh my fucking God." Jeremy gasps. "You had sex with her?"

I want to say I already did that–which he knows–but I refrain.

"She kissed me. We fell asleep. She left me without saying goodbye." I swallow and look at him. He drops his eyes to the shower floor and busies himself by lathering soap on his own body. "Now, she's not answering any of my calls or texts."

"Ouch, bro." Jeremy winces. "Maybe it's time to move on."

"Maybe," I agree, knowing damn well I'm going after her regardless. "Or maybe she just needs someone to fight for her."

"Whatever." He shakes his head, "You're a fixer, T. But you can't fix everyone."

"I know," I sadly whisper, "But maybe I can fix whatever happened between us to make her run."

"Don't get your hopes up," he says, but my hopes are crushed already, so there's no problem in that department. "Some people just can't be put back together."

"My hopes are nonexistent," I affirm. "Don't worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you." He laughs, "You're my brother. Now let's go get some pizza and beer."

"Alright."

I go back to showering, trying to finish up as quickly as possible, but I can't help thinking of Bailey. Everyone has already cleared out, and I'm tense as fuck. I need to—I don't even know what I need. But the longer I stand here, the more I realize it's something I can't have. And the next best thing is in my memories.

Bailey's lips against mine. Her tongue in my mouth. Her hips shifting under me, seeking me, her release. My hand in her hair, fingers gripping the soft strands. The sounds she made as I kissed her.

My dick hardens immediately, and I look around to make sure I'm alone. And I am. If I don't take care of this, I won't be able to leave here. I'm so hard it's actually painful, and when I wrap my fist around my dick, I think of her.

With every tug, I think of her.

My hand picks up speed, fisting myself and tugging harder. I moan lowly, trying not to have anyone hear me as pleasure skates down my spine. With every brush over the head, I think of her, and when my thumb touches the little nerve under the head, my stomach flips. Then, when I'm finally coming down the drain, I think of her, too. My palm slaps against the tiles as I groan loudly, unable to control myself now.

Fuck.

I want her back.

No, I need her back.

So I get out of the shower and get dressed. Sitting on one of the benches in the locker room, I get my phone out of my bag. I do the only logical thing: I get a plane ticket home instead of waiting to fly back with the team tomorrow. I text my coach to let him know, then grab all my stuff from the hotel room, and bounce.

Thankfully, Jeremy is not in the hotel room when I come in, so I'm able to slip out undetected. I feel kind of bad because they invited me out to dinner, and now I'm ghosting them without an explanation, but I have business to take care of. I need to fix whatever I did, even if I don't know how.

After almost eight hours of flying, driving, and overthinking, I'm sitting in my car outside the hospital. It's nearly time for Bailey to be off work, so I take off my seatbelt and enter the building through the ER doors. No one questions me as I navigate the halls that lead into the inpatient area, and I'm grateful that I remember exactly where I'm going.

Except once there, I don't know what I'm going to do.

I don't have to think about it long though, because as soon as I step onto the floor and walk toward the nurse's station, I see Bailey. She freezes on the spot, just a few feet away from me, and without hesitation, I grab her arm and haul her into an empty room, closing the door behind us.

Bailey is shaking, and it's so noticeable that even her teeth chatter. Now I'm wondering if this was a good idea. But when she whispers, "Theo—" my composure breaks, and I cage her against the wall.

"I told you I wouldn't let you ruin this thing between us."

Then I slam my lips against hers.