Page 11 of Back On Ice

I ignore the hope that fills my chest at the mention of her not seeing anyone. I have no business thinking of any kind of future with her… no matter how much I might want it. I’m clearly the last person she wants to see and for good reason. For years I promised her it was the two of us, together always.

I broke that promise.

Even if shedidwant to see me, I don’t think it would work. As much as I want another chance with her, reality bites. As soon asthis rec center project is finalized and I have my new contract, I’ll be off to training camp and out of her life again.

“Not to mention,” he continues, “she’s been doing all this since she was still in college, getting her business degree in accounting. Now, instead of charging for any financial services, she does it for free on top of everything else. I don’t know how she does it all.”

She’s stretching herself thin. One of these jobs would be enough to fill anyone's time completely, but she’s doing so much. I want to know what drives her, why she’s spending so much time doing everything for everyone else, and nothing for herself.

“So Carter…” His voice is hesitant as he looks over at me. “What’s going on with your dad?”

Sighing, I run a hand over my face. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Usually, he’s on my ass about money, threatening Mom, spouting all kinds of bullshit. And then a little over a year ago, it all completely stopped. He had been disappearing for longer stretches at a time. His gambling was out of control, and I’m thinking maybe he pissed off the wrong person. If the bastard was still kicking, you know he would’ve resurfaced to get his fingers into my next contract. There’s nothing he likes better than exercising control over decisions that should be mine.”

Tom knows all about how Dad essentially blackmailed me into signing with the team he wanted me to, holding Mom’s safety over my head. He was one of the few people I talked to about everything when it was happening.

Tom nods somberly. “Speaking of next season… do you know what team you want to sign with?”

I shrug. “I have a couple of offers on the table, but I’m not in a rush to make a decision.”

“Did you get any offers from New Jersey or New York? Between injuries and Sullivan’s retirement, Boston’s got roomfor a winger on their first line.” Tom mentions it casually, but I know he would love for me to be local again. Hell, I can’t deny the thought of living close to Tom is pretty appealing, but is it really what I want?

“Yeah, but I don’t know, man. For so long, I stayed away from home just to keep Mom safe. To keep Sophie safe. But now that theyaresafe, it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself. My piece of shit dad had me looking over my shoulder for years. Now that I’m free of all of that, I just want to take my time and figure things out.”

Tom claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m here, Cart. Whatever you need. A sounding board, a non-biased opinion, or just someone to keep an eye out for your mom, I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Just a single bed is fine,” I tell the concierge, hiking my bag further on my shoulder. I had thought staying with Mom during my visit was the best idea, but after getting home from the bar, the earlier visions in my room assaulted me, and all I could see was Sophie. Again.

Then the memories of Dad and all of his abusive shit hit me like a ton of bricks. That, on top of the memories of Sophie, made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. Getting out of there was a no brainer.

Mom seemed put out, but understood when I told her there are just too many memories in that house. I don’t know how she stands staying there. Hoping that staying in a room that doesn’t constantly remind me of my high school girlfriend would keep me from thinking of her, I drove my car to the only place to stayin town. Ivy Glen Inn. It’s rustic, but in that homey-way that most everything in Ivy Glen is. The building is only two stories, the brick exterior giving away its age. It’s not what I’m used to staying in, considering the Vultures always housed us in upscale hotels for away games, but I’m not so far up my ass that I can’t stay in a three-star establishment.

After running my credit card at the terminal, the concierge in the lobby smiles and hands me my key. As I unlock and open the door to my room, I’m hit with the standard “hotel room” smell that I grew accustomed to after seven years of traveling. A queen sized bed with a maroon comforter fills most of the space, with two nightstands on either side.

I throw my bags on the bed, then pull out some boxers and sleep shorts. Steam fills the small bathroom once I start the shower and step under the hot spray of water, closing my eyes.

Despite all my attempts to remove her from my mind, thoughts of Sophie return. Even with how pissed she was at me, she looked beautiful. The angles of her face are a little sharper, but her eyes are the same. Honey brown and expressive as hell. The way her long, auburn hair was curled slightly, falling down her back.

I had spent our entire childhood knowing how she was feeling based on her eyes. They were joyful, or full of love. Sometimes mischievous. Occasionally sad. But I had always known how to fix that last one. When we were kids, I’d tell stupid jokes until she laughed, and when we got older, I’d be able to just hold her and be a comfort.

Tonight, reading the emotions in Sophie’s eyes was like picking up my favorite book only to see that someone had changed all the words. And then recognizing my own handwriting on the pages.

Fucking fire and pain was all she had as she unleashed her fury on me, and I deserved it.

Ihatethat I have something to do with that pain.

Ihatewhat Dad did. What I had to do because ofhim.

And Ifucking hatehow I ghosted her. How it made me feel like I was exactly likehim.

Because Dad? He’s a selfish bastard who couldn’t even treat his own wife right.

But me? I loved Sophie, more than the air I breathe, and Istillhurt her.

Maybe she’s changed, but so have I.

Back then, a part of me loved how it felt like she needed me. How she would stick close to me during parties and get togethers, letting me take care of her. She clearly doesn'tneedme anymore. Or, more likely, she doesn’t want to need anyone.

But it’s becoming equally clear that Iwanther. That I never stopped wanting her. I want to know her again, everything that she’s been through and who she’s become. I want to run my hands over the slight, soft curves of her body that weren’t there nine years go, peel her clothes off and?—

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