25. Wes

Wes

After our 3-2 win over Minnesota, I heave myself into the first row of seats on the bus. I should be riding the same high as the guys around me, but I’m not. I’ve been a basket case for two days now. It showed on the ice tonight—I didn’t score a goal. Didn’t get an assist. I skated my ass off, but I couldn’t seem to summon up any magic.

Jamie took all the magic with him when he left me.

He didn’t leave you. He’s on vacation.

Bullshit. He left me.

Lemming boards the bus and accidentally locks eyes with me. I know it’s an accident because he quickly looks away again. He passes the open seat next to me and heads toward the back.

Yeah, not all of my teammates are psyched to sit next to the gay guy. It turns out that growing up in Beantown wasn’t enough of a common bond with Lemming after all.

Ten minutes later the bus pulls up in front of a five-star hotel in downtown Saint Paul, and my teammates and I trudge off the bus and into the lobby. I’m in a sour mood as I head up to my room. I change out of my suit and into sweats and a hoodie, but sitting around in the empty suite only bums me out, so I decide to go down to the hotel bar. Eriksson and some of the other guys planned on going to a strip club tonight. They invited me, but didn’t look surprised when I turned them down. They’ve come to accept my antisocial grumpiness, I guess.

I ride the elevator down to the lobby, and I don’t care that I look like a slob. The suit-and-tie routine is reserved for travel and after-game press, but the spotlight isn’t on me right now and if I want to have a goddamn drink in my sweats, then I damn well will.

I slide onto a tall stool at the long, shiny counter and order a whiskey, which the male bartender delivers in speedy fashion. Maybe he sees the desperation in my eyes. But he doesn’t try to go all Cheers on me and initiate a heart-to-heart, which I appreciate.

Sipping my drink, I check my phone to see if Jamie has texted. He hasn’t. Frustration bubbles inside me, hotter than the burn of the alcohol as it slides down my throat. He called me when he landed in San Francisco, but other than a few “I’m fine, folks are doing great” messages, I haven’t talked to him.

I wonder if he’s rehearsing the breakup speech he’s going to give me when he gets home.

My heart cracks at the thought. I slug back the rest of the whiskey and order another. The bartender delivers it with sympathetic eyes.

After about five minutes of sitting in stone-faced silence, I pick up my phone again, my fingers trembling as I find Cindy’s number and press send. It’s nearly midnight in Saint Paul, but only ten on the West Coast.

Jamie’s mom answers right away. “Hi, sweetie! You must be tired after that exciting game! Why aren’t you in bed?”

I smile despite the massive lump in my throat. Cindy Canning is the mother I never had. It’s so humbling to have someone actually give a damn whether I’m getting enough sleep. “I’m not tired,” I tell her. “But you watched the game, huh?”

“We all did. Jamie almost punched the TV when that jerk tripped you in the second period.”

My heart does a happy flip. Jamie watched the game. He got mad when an opponent tripped me. That has to mean something, right? Like maybe he’s not going to dump me?

Cindy’s uncanny mind-reading abilities must have been triggered by my moment of silence, because she says, “He was very proud of you tonight.”

My throat squeezes shut. “I…didn’t even score a goal.”

She laughs softly. “You don’t need to score goals to make him proud, Ryan. It’s enough for him to see you on that television screen, playing professional hockey.” She pauses. “Why don’t you just ask me whatever it is you called to ask?”

Mind reader, damn it. “Is he okay?” I blurt out.

“He will be.” Jamie’s mother goes quiet for a second. “I’ll admit, he’s not entirely himself, but I think that might have something to do with all the medication he was on.”

I furrow my brow. “The painkillers?”

“I was thinking of the steroids they gave him. I’m no doctor, but I can’t imagine all those meds not having any sort of side effects. He’s sad, a bit withdrawn, but I wonder if coming off the meds has contributed to that.”

Worry pokes at me again. God, I can’t stand the thought of my laughing, easygoing Jamie being sad and withdrawn.

“But the fresh air has helped,” Cindy says, her tone brightening. “He’s out with his father right now, actually, taking a night stroll. And he spent yesterday with the twins, helping Scottie pick out a new surfboard. Sometimes the best medicine for what ails you is just a healthy dose of family.”

My eyes feel hot. I thought Jamie was my family. I thought his family was our family. It kills me that I wasn’t enough for him, that he had to seek comfort from the Cannings when I’ve spent weeks freely offering my comfort to him.

“I’m glad he’s doing better,” I choke out. “Just…keep taking care of him, okay? And don’t tell him I called to check up on him. He doesn’t…” I bite my lip. “He doesn’t like it when I worry. It pisses him off.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not true. I know he appreciates your concern. It just shows how much you love him.”

She reassures me for a few more minutes, but I still feel like total shit when we finally hang up. I miss Jamie so fucking much. I hate being apart from him, which is stupid if you think about it, because what’s really changed? Regardless of where he is right now, Toronto or California, we’d still be apart. I’d still be in Saint Paul on this road game.

I can’t wait for this season to be over.

“Buy you another round?”

The male voice startles me. I steady myself before I fall off the stool, turning to see a blond guy sitting beside me. He’s gesturing to my empty glass. I don’t remember downing this second drink, but a third isn’t an option. Frank would lose his shit if someone reported seeing me sloppy drunk at the hotel bar.

“No thanks,” I say absently.

The guy keeps watching me. He’s in his early thirties, handsome, and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s checking me out. And not in a “Are you NHL player Ryan Wesley??” sort of way. His gaze conveys pure sexual awareness.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he drawls.

I grit my teeth. “Talk about what?”

“About whatever put that ravaged look in your eyes.” One muscular forearm rests on the bar as he twists around slightly, angling his body so he’s facing me. He’s in a dress shirt and trousers. I suspect he’s a businessman. “What was it? Messy breakup?”

My molars nearly turn to dust. I’m grinding them that hard.

As my silence continues, he chuckles and leans even closer. “I’m sorry. I know I’m coming on strong. But…” He shrugs. “I know who you are. Ryan Wesley, right? I’ve seen your mug everywhere these days, so I know your deal, that you have a boyfriend and all that.” He sounds a bit sheepish. “But that look on your face…it tells me that maybe you don’t have the boyfriend anymore…?”

I don’t answer. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Hitting on me even though he’s aware I’m a relationship is a bold move. Unfortunately for him, it’s not the kind of boldness I appreciate.

He proves to be even bolder when he reaches out and touches my wrist, stroking lightly. “And if that’s the case, then I’d be more than happy to—”

“Get lost,” a sharp voice snaps. “He’s taken.”

My head whips around to see Blake looming over us. His green eyes glitter menacingly, and the glare he levels my suitor with has the desired effect. Mr. Bold hops off his stool, shrugging carelessly. “Worth a try,” he says before wandering toward the exit.

Blake usurps the guy’s chair and directs the glare to me. “What the hell are you doing, man? Stepping out on J-Bomb? What is the matter with you?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing a damn thing. I was about to tell that asshole to get lost before you showed up.”

My teammate’s massive shoulders relax. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

“I thought you were going to the strip club with Eriksson.”

He nods. “S’posed to. But then I got out of the cab, saw the sign and got right back into the cab.”

That spurs a chuckle. “Why’d you do that?”

“Dude, you know what the place was called?” He pauses dramatically. “The Black Sheep!”

My chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh. It’s the first time I’ve experienced genuine humor since Jamie left for Cali, and I’m not surprised that Blake is the one to elicit this response from me. Somehow, in the short time I’ve known him, this guy has become my best friend. I’m glad to have him back on the ice with me. And unlike some of my other teammates, Blake genuinely has no problem sitting next to me on that damn bus.

“Now, if that ain’t a sign from the universe to stay far, far away, I don’t know what is.” He shakes his head in dismay. “Swear to God, Wesley, sheep are the devil.”

“I know they are,” I say sympathetically, patting him on the arm.

Blake glances behind the counter. “Barkeep! Beer me, por favor!”

My lips twitch as the bartender comes up and lists all the beers they have on tap. Blake takes an interminably long time deciding, a process that involves two lager jokes, a pun about hops and a detailed account of the first time he ever drank Heineken. The bartender looks dazed by the time he hands Blake a glass of a local craft beer.

Me, I’m trying hard not to bust a gut.

“What?” Blake narrows his eyes at me. “Why are you grinning like that?”

“I…” I shrug. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

His entire face lights up. “Missed you too, brosky. Does that mean you’re ready to stop sulking?”

Just like that, my good humor fades. For a moment, I actually forgot that my boyfriend deserted me, and the reminder of Jamie’s absence is like a skate blade to the jugular.

Blake sighs. “Guess not.” He raises his bottle to his lips, sipping thoughtfully. “You talk to J-Bomb?”

“A couple texts.”

“Did he say when he’s coming home?”

Pain shoots through me. “He is home,” I mumble.

“Bullshit.” Blake taps his fingers on the counter, while his other hand toys with the label of his beer bottle. This man is the poster child for ADD. “His home is Toronto. With us.”

“Us, huh?”

“Yup. You and J-Bomb are my best friends. We’re the three amigos.” He pales. “J-Bomb knows that, right? Or does he think I’m only friends with him because of you? ’Cause I’m not.”

“I know that.” I wonder if Jamie does, though. He’s been so miserable in Toronto all these months. When he’s not with me, he’s alone. I think the only time he went out with his work colleagues was the night we ran into each other at the pub. And it’s all my fault. He’s been isolated because of me, because of my need to hide our relationship, because of my career.

But that’s not who Jamie is. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had friends and family surrounding him. He’s been popular, adored by everyone he meets, and why wouldn’t they adore him? He’s the nicest, friendliest, most endearing person I’ve ever met.

No wonder he left. I doomed him to a life of isolation.

“It’s too bad we don’t play Anaheim until April,” Blake muses. “We could’ve surprised him in Cali.”

I nod bleakly because I’ve already done that math. But we’re heading to Dallas tomorrow, not Anaheim. And after Dallas, we’re back in Toronto, where this time I’ll be the one sitting alone in our condo while Jamie gets to bask in the love and support of his family.

My whole body trembles as I slide off the stool. “I’m going to bed,” I say woodenly.

Blake is clearly ready to argue. I don’t give him the chance. I just lumber off, walking to the elevator with a cloud of misery hanging above me.