Page 27 of Back On Ice

I had beensofucking sure I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.

Abbie’s on to something. Between this letter, the nature of our entire relationship, and his actions following his move to Notre Dame, it doesn’t all add up.

The more I think about it, the more it seems something must have happened.

What will it mean for us, if it turns out Abbie and Tomareright? Part of me is afraid to find out and put my heart on the line again.

Regardless, I have to talk to Carter. I’ll just have to guard my heart until I know the truth.

Chapter Twelve

CARTER

Sleep is for losers.

That’s what I tell myself to feel better about the way my eyelids droop against my will as my feet hit the pavement. After tossing and turning all night with visions of Sophie and our one night together so many years ago plaguing my mind, I did the only thing I could think to do.

Got out of bed at five in the morning to go for a jog.

Seeing Sophie at breakfast yesterday had made it impossible to think about anything but the way she blushed when I alluded to our kiss.

So I threw myself into work, spending hours on the phone with Rob, my sports attorney, and looking over all the offers I received from teams. There are plenty that I’m excited about, but I’m not really feeling the urge to sign yet. Plus, Jake and I agreed to collaborate on what teams we can get on together. Then I spent half the day on the phone with the contractor for the Twin Rinks.

When I still wondered how deep she would blush if I were to remind her of the night we actually had sex, I decided that my testosterone and I needed a good, long workout.

I thought running five miles on the treadmill and pushing my weight limit on the bench press would make me pass out as soon as I got into bed.

No such luck.

Which is why I’m pushing my fatigue to the back of my mind, determined to convince myself thatsleepis for losers.

The glow of the sun slowly rises over the horizon, illuminating the houses I pass by. Brisk air electrifies my nerves, the burn behind my eyes fading the longer I push myself.

My watch shows six thirty when I open the door to my hotel room, desperate for a shower. At least my run did what it was supposed to do. I’m now wide awake.

I take my time in the shower, then make myself a pot of the crappy hotel coffee. I haven’t seen or talked to Mom since Sunday morning, and now it’s Wednesday. Fuck, I’m the shittiest son ever. Maybe she’ll be up for having breakfast with me.

Me: Hey Mom, do you have any breakfast plans?

Mom: No, but I have stuff to make French toast if you want to come over?

Me: I’ll be there in twenty.

When I get to Mom’s house for breakfast, we sit down to eat the French toast and bacon she made for us. I’m telling her about the different offers I’m looking through for next season and all about the Twin Rinks project, when I let it slip how frustrated Sophie seems to be with me.

“You’ve seen Sophie?” Mom glows like I just told her I’m giving her grandchildren.

“Yeah, um.” I rub the back of my neck. “She’s the manager of the Rinks, so Mr. Benson wants her approval on everything. Then I saw her Monday morning when I met up with Tom and Jordan for breakfast.”

“So…” she looks at me knowingly, “what’s going on with you two?”

What's…going on? Besides laying awake at night, remembering the feel of her in my arms, her body against mine… or the way she melted under my touch when I kissed her, only to step away when reality seeped in.

And how we can’t go more than two minutes without erupting into a fight of some sort?

“Nothing,” I say, then take a sip of water before clearing my throat. “Nothing’s going on between us.” Even if I tell her everything, there might never be anything again. “Just another thing Dad ruined…”

My relationship with Sophie, my choice of what team to sign with when I was first drafted to the NHL, my faith in humanity in general… whathasn’the ruined? One of the many good things about him dropping off the face of the earth is he can’t ruin anything else.

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