Page 2 of Fall Wherever They May

I rub my chest where the dull ache still resides. You would think after all these years, I would be on a path to healing, but I’m not. Healing means therapy, therapy means talking and talking means reliving those memories. Even though a constant void lingers, and every day is a struggle to roll out of bed, avoiding all discussions concerning my wife seems like a better option than the alternative. Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is going, I change the subject.

The bottle hisses as I pop the top and hand the beer to Jerome. “Where is everyone else?”

Just as I ask, the rest of my teammates come milling around the corner of my house. They greet me with handshakes, back slaps, and man-hugs as I direct them to a cooler filled with beer.

Ivan Lukov, our goalie, and his wife, Evie, make their way to greet me with a casserole dish in tow. Ivan shakes my hand with his free one. My eyes shift to Evie and the dish she holds in her hand. I know whatever is underneath that foil is a treat.

“Evie, you’re glowing!” I wrap her in a side hug.

A genuine smile spreads across my face as she places a hand on her growing belly. Her luminous, ebony skin is radiant and glowing. A mess of chestnut, corkscrew curls fall to her shoulders. Her yellow sundress catches in the wind and ripples around her. Evelyn Lukov is elegance personified.

“Thanks, friend,” she says with a beaming white smile.

Ivan and Evie are older than me by a few years and have a ten-year-old son named Elija. They weren’t trying for this one. I chuckle at the memory of Ivan calling to tell me that life as he knew it was over. He was so dramatic about the situation. Thereason for his despair: Their son, Elija, will graduate before this one is even out of elementary school. I guess I would be a little out of my head about that situation as well. However, planned or not, now it appears the two of them couldn’t be happier with the new addition.

“I’ll take that,” I offer, relieving Evie of the dish.

An unexpected moan escapes my lips, and my eyes close at the sweet aroma escaping from under the foil.

“This woman.” I turn my head to look at Ivan. “It’s no wonder you went and wifed her up. She is the best damn cook. What is this?” I hold up the dish, focusing my attention back on Evie.

“That, my friend, is an apricot galette with almond cream.”

“Well, it smells delicious.”

Taking the dessert to the outdoor kitchen island with Ivan and Evie trailing behind me, I look around and my brows furrow. “Where’s Elija?” I ask.

“He’s at our neighbor’s house playing Fortnite,” Ivan responds.

Evie pulls a water bottle out of the ice chest. “Who’s the designated driver tonight?” She takes a drink, then places the cap back on the plastic bottle.

“I think it’s Drew,” I say, nodding my head in his direction.

Drew is one of our left-wingers and lightning fast. He lost a bet with our defenseman, Trevor Williams, making him the designated driver for the night.

“Perfect! I thought I would pop in and say hi before I headed to the boutique.”

I give Evie one last hug before she leaves. “Thank you for the dessert. It was great to see you.”

Ivan wraps his wife in his arms and gives her a kiss that would be considered almost inappropriate for company. Even though I told Carter I would never date again, I secretly crave to have a relationship that resembles what these two have. My wife and I were only twenty-one when we married. We loved each other, but we didn’t have the kind of connection you read about in novels. We couldn’t read each other’s thoughts like these two can by just a mere look or expression. Paisley and I never experienced that, and maybe the reason is because she and I were too young and naive to understand ourselves, let alone each other.

“We got him, Mama. I’ll have him home by curfew.” Drew chuckles and takes a drink of his water as she leaves with a wave.

Casting a glance across the street, my eyes narrow on the two-story house where the Malibu Barbie resides. Parked cars litter the road, my driveway is jam-packed, and the music thumps throughout the neighborhood. My teammates loiter in the yard; their laughter and loud voices can be heard over the blaring music. This get-together reminds me of the frat parties I attended back in my college days. A whole fucking lot has changed since then. One of them being hospitality; it doesn’t suit me very well. I hope like hell the neighbor doesn’t find my party as an invitation to pop in and introduce herself. The thought makes me groan.

I take a seat beside Ivan and lean back in my chair, for once enjoying the company. The warm sun beats down on my face and causes sweat to ripple down my temple.

As I stretch out my aching joints, Ivan hits me in the chest while he looks down at his phone. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What is this? And since when did you get social media?”

I tip my beer back, taking a sip before replying. “Since Teagan made me sign up for it about a month ago.”

I loathe social media. Let’s go back to the days before technology, when visiting someone's house or dialing a landline phone was how we communicated. I guess I’m kind of old school. Teagan, our PR manager, says it’s good for my image, especially since as of late I’ve been labeled a broody asshole, but I hate being so accessible. And the thirst traps she makes me do! For the love of all that is holy, is it really necessary?

I do what Teagan tells me because she is the best. But sometimes, I think she makes me post stuff to make me uncomfortable on purpose. She gets a kick out of it. And I know this because she cackles as she tells me what to do. She insists being in front of people on social media makes me look like a real person to my fans. I don’t understand how people can think that because I’m a professional athlete, I’m not just like them—that I’m not a real person with genuine problems and feelings.

This month, my social media following was insane, and my phone was constantly dinging with notifications from my DMs until I finally figured out how to mute them. The number of women begging for my attention by sending me nudes is completely insane. The whole reason for me not having social media was so I could focus on hockey. But here I am on all platforms, making sure I show the world I’m a “real person” and not a “broody asshole.”

“Why didn’t you follow me?” Ivan asks with a frown, seeming completely butt hurt.

---