Page 119 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Thanks, folks,” I say. “And I’m sorry to have to dash off, but I’d better go.”

“Yes, you better had,” Mom says. “There’s probably a line of people desperate to get into the laundry room for a pregame quickie.”

I’m not sure who laughs harder, me or Dad.

When he’s gathered himself, he gives her a peck on the cheek. “All right, let’s go eat our bodyweight in pasta,” he says.

“Take care,” Mom says. “And be careful of your shoulder.”

I wave them off to their Italian feast and head back to the locker room.

The only thing left to deal with is what an absolute jackass I was to Natalie.

But before I can think about that, we have to trounce the Ironmen.

CHAPTER 38

NATALIE

“At least come and watch a bit of it,” Aunt Lou calls as I pass the door of the living room, where she’s settled on the couch with a tall glass of cider and a large bowl of popcorn, the national anthem blaring from the TV.

“Seriously, how many times?” I ask as I continue toward my bedroom.

“I know,” she says. “But if you won’t watch for Gabe, come watch for Wyatt.”

“I’ve never watched a single hockey game in my life,” I shout back. “Not even Wyatt’s. And I’m not about to start.”

Technically, Aunt Lou knows nothing about what went on with Gabe and me. But her psychiatrist’s ability to see deep below the surface, combined with knowing me better than I know myself, seem to have told her everything. She can see right through me. Read me like an open book—one with extra large print and drawings illustrating every word.

I shut the door and flop onto my back on the bed.

One side of the room is stacked with boxes, all ready to be shipped to my new life down south next week. The other side looks exactly as it always has since I moved in here last Christmas.

There’s Aunt Lou’s old wooden dresser, set out with my skin care, makeup, and hair stuff, and its matching stool with the pink cushion. A set of shelves that hold my life story in book form—fromThe Very Hungry CaterpillartoThe Wind in the WillowstoLittle Women, some angsty teenage stuff, my college textbooks, dog-eared folders containing scripts from performances I was in, to Viola Davis’s memoir that I got the day before Gabe arrived in town. I haven’t had time to start that yet, what with…everything.

There’s the wingback chair in the corner with its peacock fabric that I remember sitting in at Aunt Lou’s old house when my feet didn’t even touch the floor. It has a pile of clothes on it that I really need to launder and pack. Top of the pile is Gabe’s Apollos shirt, which I somehow wore home from his house that first morning.

Why didn’t I change out of it and give it back? Why did I just throw my sweatshirt over it and wear it home? Sure I loved that spicy orange smell, but that’s not a good enough reason. Did I know something? Have a sense of something? A hope of something?

Or was I already being so sucked in by Gabe’s annoying grumpy banter and his ridiculously handsome face and fire body that I just totally forgot to take it off?

I roll onto my side and curl up with my back to it. Looking at it just brings a knot to my stomach. Which is ridiculous. And possibly a tad pathetic.

I mean, on the surface, we just had a roll in the hay fora few days, then he left town and pulled the dickish move of leaving me a note.

If anyone told me a guy had done that to them, I would tell them to give themselves a shake, because someone who would behave like that is an obvious tool you shouldn’t touch with a hundred-foot pole.

But this doesn’t feel like that. This feels like a misguided soul thinking he was doing it for the best but getting it wrong.

Anyway, whichever the case, the end result is the same—I’ll never see him again.

Unless, of course, I go watch the TV that is currently making Aunt Lou alternately groan then shout, “Come on!”

The inside of my head was already mush with all the Gabe stuff, but after that debacle in Victor’s office, my brain is as divided as this room: One half is packed up and ready to head off to a new adventure, and the other is fully rooted in Warm Springs with a hint of added Gabe.

The committee wants me to stay. With a raise. And the responsibility of starting a new theater program for seniors.

But for the last two months, I’ve been planning this move to New Orleans. It’s all in the works. They’re expecting me. It would inconvenience so many people if I pulled out now. Not to mention how badly they’d think of me if I did.

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