Page 90 of Ricochet

There’s no avoiding each other during practice and games, but because there’s no real hostility between us, things have at least been civil. It helps that he seems to be avoiding Eric a bit more than usual. I don’t know if that has anything to do with knowing my feelings toward the prick or if something happened between them.

The first time I suspected that, Ericmighthave ended up crumpled in a pile at the edge of the boards during a scrimmage.

During our anatomy classes, I sit behind Callum instead of next to him because we can’t avoid each other completely thereeither. I’m giving him time, but I won’t let him forget me. I’ll stay as close as I can get away with.

Every time my eyes lock with his, I see a sadness in them. A longing.

He’s hurting himself as much as he is me by putting this separation between us.

Or maybe punishing himself.

Either way, I fucking hate it.

If I respected him any less than I do, I’d be putting an end to it.

At least we won our first game of the weekend tonight, but only by a point. Normally, since it was a home game, I would’ve offered Callum a ride home afterward. Or insisted once again that he come home with me. However, Jesse was there, and I watched them get into his car together after the game.

He’s really fucking lucky he’s Callum’s roommate.

Had it been Eric, the stench of burning rubber would’ve been filling the chilly night air as I peeled out after them.

Instead, I head home while abiding traffic laws.

A few of the guys were going out for beers after the game, but when Callum declined the invitation, I felt like it was okay for me to do so too. The last thing I feel like doing tonight is pretending as if I’m in a good mood when I’m definitely not.

Fortunately, it’s not the kind of mood that requires a certain type of release. Besides, even if it was, I don’t think I could go through with it. Not without Callum. Not when I’ve promised him I’d give him that again soon.

I’ll have him back eventually. I should save it.

I just wish I knew what was going on with him so I could fucking fix it.

Once I’m home, I get a quick shower and throw on some basketball shorts. I grab a protein bar and a bag of Funyuns and crash onto the couch. I’m too wiped to try to figure somethingelse out for dinner, and I’m not feeling all that hungry anyway. I eat half the protein bar and a few chips before pulling out my phone and opening my texts with Callum.

I’m assuming giving him time includes giving him space too. But he’s also well aware that I won’t be letting him go without a fight.

With anyone else, I’d be throwing my pride out the window. With Callum, I don’t have any to begin with.

So I text him.

Me: Figure your shit out yet?

He doesn’t read the message right away.

Again, I have no pride to hurt when it comes to him by staring at the screen until the message says read. However, even after that, several minutes go by before he’s typing out a reply. A short ass one at that.

Callum: No.

I blow out a breath and lean back against the cushions. I swear he’s one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever known.

No wonder he plays hockey.

Me: Is it anything I can help with?

Callum: No.

Next time he wants it rough, I’m going to have no problem obliging.

I’m about to give up for the night—with plans on starting right back up first thing in the morning—when another text comes through.

---