Page 63 of Aftersome
Would she become upset? Would she be overwhelmed by everything? Would the guys take it as an opportunity to talk to her without me there? Hell… would she even be there alone?
While all were plausible, the last one had me scathing.
Irrationally so.
Even my writing had turned more aggressive as my pen ripped through the page of my journal and I tossed it beside me on a grunt. I’d been on an hour rant now, the words flowing out of me and onto the paper until my anger had intervened. Back when I was seeing a therapist, he had told me that the best way of getting everything out was to write. He knew I wasn’t much of a talker and when I did talk, it never seemed to make sense. At first, I thought it was fucking stupid.
I was a hockey player, not a writer. When I was overwhelmed by emotions, I did what any athlete would do. I took out my frustrations on game day. But as time passed, it never seemed to be enough.
So I bought a fucking journal.
And I wrote.
And wrote.
And wrote.
I was on my second journal now.
Then on a sigh, my eyes dipped down toward the watch around my wrist and that’s when I noticed the time.
1:15 p.m.
The party had already started and before I knew it, I was out of my chair on a curse. I said I wouldn’t go, but I didn’t think anything could stop me from going now. I was wired fromwriting, and although I knew I’d regret it massively, I had to see her. I had to make sure she would be okay.
For Hayes’s sake.
For your sake too…
I ignored the little voice in the back of my head the best I could and in a matter of fifteen minutes, I was dressed and out the door. I didn’t have time to overanalyze it.
But on the way I realized I didn’t have a gift, so I made a quick stop at the store and bought a card and gift card.
In other words, I had no fucking clue what to get.
Soon, I was back on the road again. Contemplating my decision. Telling myself I could just turn around at any moment. Everything that would stop me from going to that party. At some point, though, I had blocked out my own thoughts and eventually found myself parked and standing in their driveway with an envelope in one hand and the other stuffed into the pocket of my pants.
Fuck.
Cars on cars were lined up along the side of their house and driveway. The whole team and organization were here and God knows who else, causing an overflow of hesitation to strike me. Crowds after games, I could do. Press interviews, I could handle all those. But being in a house full of my teammates and their families… it sounded more like torture than anything.
Vice versa.
The last thing they would expect was to see me walking through the door with a gift in my hand.
Shit, having me there fucking up the vibe might be torture for them.
On the ice, I was a teammate, but off, I was the outcast. Here, I would be out of my element. I’d be surrounded by smiling faces and everything baby. An obvious contrary to the life I live.
My palms began to sweat just thinking about it.
For the next few minutes I just stood beside my car, eyeing their home and windows where I caught the quick silhouette of people passing by. If anything, I was making things worse by standing here.
On a groan, I checked my watch like an idiot. I didn’t know what I was hoping for when I looked at it, but when I saw the numbers 2:30, my heart went hammering. I was wasting time out here.
What if you’re too late?
What if she’s been crying and just like last time, you let her down?
