Page 132 of Any Second Now
I think about her ex-husband. About the flowers he sent her, the way he just showed up at the Pink Palace, all the money she’s been sending him since their divorce.
That shit is complicated. Messy. So much baggage.
But is Raleigh in love with Jacob?
She told me she isn’t. And I believe her.
I think about the way she looked at me the last time we slept together. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, lying out in front of me, all mine. All fucking mine. For that night, anyway.
She’s smart and interesting and knows me. Likes the real me, not because I’m a pro hockey player. Probably despite being a pro hockey player.
Could she love me?
I don’t know. I don’t think so.
But maybe. She texted me earlier because she was worried. She knew how to calm me down.
And I think maybe Harley is right. I’m an asshole if I don’t try one more time. Because what if? What if I could convince her to stay with me in Fort Collins? What if I was enough for her?
“Oh, shit.”
I’ve messed this all up.
“Go get on that plane.” Harley turns me to the door and physically escorts me outside, taking my half empty pint right out of my hand. “Order a car immediately.”
I do as he says, putting in the destination as the small airport the team plane’s flying out of, with a stop at the hotel to grab my bag.
“Done.”
“Now text Kellen and tell him to hold the fucking plane.”
I huff a laugh and do as he says.
“What about you? You coming?” I look up and meet Harley’s dark, sad eyes.
“No. I might as well stay and babysit these assholes.”
I want to ask him how he’s handing the fact that Barrett might be pushing him to the second line, and how can he even want to babysit his possible replacement? But I don’t, because I don’t think it’s the right time to push him on that.
“You sure?”
“Yup.” Harley nods as my car pulls up. “Good luck.”
I open the car door and confirm that it’s the right one, then turn to Harley.
“Thanks, dude.”
He raises his hand as we pull away.
Thirty minutes and a very expensive ride later, I’m jogging onto the runway and up the steps to the plane with my duffel.
“Finally.” Kellen grins at me from his seat, already half-reclined.
“We were about ten minutes from leaving your ass in New York,” Coach grumbles loudly from three rows back. He pulls an eye mask over his face and sighs. “And Kellen here was starting to doubt you’d show up.”
“Any day now, Atter, whenever you’re ready,” Grayson, one of our defensemen, calls from a seat toward the middle of the plane. He’s got a serious girlfriend back in Fort Collins, one he met while she was secretly driving a Zamboni to cover her father’s shift. Nowthat’sa good story.
About half the team is spread out on the plane, some with headphones, some already snoozing, a few chatting with eachother and snacking on the food distributed by the flight attendants. These guys are all the ones with girlfriends or families or other plans for the month of August that don’t include getting trashed in New York City.
