Page 96 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Drive carefully,” I tell her.

“Yup.” She opens the driver’s door. “And remember,Jamal is under strict instructions to not let you overdo it when you’re back in the New York gym tomorrow. Take the weekend to do enough, but not too much. You’re in good enough shape, but not perfect shape.” She gets into the car, then leans out to look at me over her shoulder. “And I’ll see you back at the Launch Pad first thing Monday morning.”

I nod and wave as she pulls out of my driveway.

The second she’s out of view, I head back inside and collapse on the sofa.

Jamal, our trainer, is meeting me at the team’s Manhattan gym tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

All of this is over.

My anti-Christmas experience in Warm Springs—which has turned out to be the exact opposite—is over.

And the inevitable conclusion of all of that is that my Natalie experience is also over.

Do I want it to be? No.

Would it be possible to make it work? Unlikely.

So there’s no point prolonging the agony, pretending there’s a way to continue seeing each other with me traveling on a punishing game schedule and her bringing quirky little plays to the kids of New Orleans. Which, by the way, makes them the luckiest kids on the planet.

But how the fuck am I going to tell her?

Last night was incredible. I was really starting to come to terms with the fact that I’m obviously falling for her.

But now, this.

I mean, we both knew we’d only ever have these two or three weeks. But now our time is suddenly up after one. The rug has been yanked unceremoniously, and with great force, from under my feet.

Talking of rugs, my eyes catch the one in front of the fire and my mind flashes back to Natalie lying naked on it less than twenty-four hours ago.

Fuck.

What the fuck have I done?

The empty, rolling sensation in my stomach says that whatever it is, I haven’t behaved well.

I should never have given in to those lustful feelings that first night in the theater. I should have pushed her off when she jumped on me. What kind of saint would ever have the willpower to do that, I have no idea. But it should have been me.

“Fuck,” I yell, balling my fists and slamming them into the sofa.

And right on cue, my phone chimes with the video call ringtone.

Really not in the right frame of mind for this.

But I guess it will give me something else to think about, at least temporarily.

I grab my phone from the coffee table and swing my feet up onto the sofa.

“You have a sunburn,” I say to Mom, whose nose is red and peeling. And there’s a tan line right across her forehead where her hat must have sat.

“Oh, it was the best day,” she says, beaming. “The best. We went whale-watching.Whale-watching!”

They’ve said every day has been the best, but it fills me with such love and gratitude to see them enjoying the cruise so much and knowing it’s something I’ve been able to give them. Payback in a way for all those years of them driving me to hockey practice before dawn and traveling all over with me when I was on the local Columbusyouth team.

“Did you see a lot?”

---