Page 79 of The Import Slot
We finish washing before Jen reaches for the shower control and turns it off before stepping out and grabbing us some towels.
“Maybe have a chat with Johnny tomorrow on the coach. I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
“Leave me alone? What do you mean?”
“Vicky has roped me into coming on the coach to help her out apparently, since Becca isn’t driving up.” She tells me about her chat with Becca and Becca’s whole ‘Danny can go fuck himself’ attitude.
“Between them and my brother and Vicky, I can’t be dealing with the drama. Let’s keep us drama-free, babe.” I pull her into me. We’re still in our towels, and our skin is slightly damp. “Talk to me. If there’s anything on your mind, talk to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good, now let’s eat. I’m fucking starved.”
Jenna
Imakeussomeomelettes, and we sit on the sofa to eat, a blanket over us because it’s cold, and I hate being cold.
Ryan has his dress trousers on, and his shirt is unbuttoned, open, exposing his chest; I can’t stop eyeing him. My mind is still replaying the mind-blowing sex we just had.
“I find you so distracting,” I say, turning on the TV. It’s ‘Hockey Saturday’, so there are a few games on. One of them is my trusty Sens.
He gives me a sideways look with a grin. “I can distract you with something else if you want?”
I toss a cushion at him.
“Hello?” The front door creaks open. “Is anyone naked?” Vicky calls through.
“Ryan is a bit naked.”
“No, I’m not.”
Ryan buttons up his shirt just as Vicky steps through. She’s covering her eyes with one hand and waving her other hand about, feeling the air. She looks hilarious.
“Ah. Good. I just wanted to save myself from unwanted images being burnt into my brain forever. Can we talk, please, Ryan?” Vicky asks.
He nods, takes my empty plate from me, and heads to the kitchen. I see Vicky follow him, but I stay put.
My guess is that Vicky is going to tell Ryan the whole story. About the pregnancy and how things are now, but I can’t hear them because they’re talking in indoor voices, and the sound of the TV drowns them out.
I flick through the games while I wait for the Senators game to start and stop on the Leafs game. They aren’t doing overly well, but when they zoom in on the bench, I spot a very familiar yet unfamiliar face. Chewing his mouthguard just like Ryan does, his stick blade pointing up, and he’s staring intensely at the ice.
“Guys!” I scream. “Guys! Get in here!” I pause the playback and leap to my feet, bouncing like Tigger.
“What’s going on?” Ryan follows my eyes, and then he stops. He’s staring at the TV with eyes wide. “Is this live?”
Vicky shoves him to the side to see what we’re looking at.
“It’s as live as it can be, bar the pause I’ve put on,” I say.
“Rewind it, Jenna!” she shouts, but she grabs the remote to do it herself, bashing at the buttons before the TV playback rolls backwards about half a minute.
Ryan pulls his phone out and taps away, glancing back at the TV screen every few seconds.
Vicky presses play, and there’s that zoom again. The bench comes into view, and then Liam, chewing his mouthguard, eyes toward the ice, his blue jersey gleaming.
“He got called up?” he says, looking at me. His tone implies a question, but I don’t answer. I think it’s pretty obvious. Then he repeats it like he needs to hear it again just to believe it; he looks at Vicky for reassurance, but Vicky’s eyes are full of tears. She breathes in deeply, wipes her eyes on her sleeve and leaves the room, her bedroom door slamming a few seconds later.
Ryan looks at Vicky’s closed door before looking back at me, his face mixed with emotion.
