Page 107 of Thoroughly Pucked

Later, after they clean me up in the shower, taking their time washing me, we lie in bed, and I feel tingly, loose, and a little sore. But also, renewed.

“That was a Daily Dose of Good,” I say with a satisfied sigh.

Ledger chuckles softly. Dev smiles. And I feel joy too.

But moments can contain more than one feeling, and this one is chased by wistfulness.

We have one more full day, and then this will end. We’ll go shopping and I’ll get a dress, then we’ll go to dinner, then we’ll leave. I’ll just have to embrace the last day and live it as fully as I lived tonight.

That’s my plan as I drift to sleep. But I wake to Dev pacing around the bed with his phone to his ear, asking the person on the other end of the call, “This morning?”

46

FAIL AGAIN

Aubrey

I push up in bed, tugging the covers tighter around my chest.

Dev prowls in silence, listening, then finally stops in the doorway, his back to me as he says to the caller, “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

Another pause.

Who’s apologizing? For what?

“That soon?” He drags his free hand through his messy morning hair.

Leaving the bedroom, he pads into the living room. Maybe I should wait here. Maybe I should be patient. But my pulse surges painfully at the prospect.

Screw that. I need to know what’s going on.

I toss the covers aside and swing my legs out of bed. I’m naked and I feel exceedingly vulnerable, so I take aquick detour to the palatial bathroom, grab a robe, and tie it as I head to the living room.

Dev stands by the window, his palm pressed against the glass, and stares at the sparkling Canadian city as the sun rises.

He’s so serious as he listens to the call. Is someone hurt? His parents? My worries spiral into full-blown fears.

“Yeah, just send me the info,” he says, his voice even but resigned. “Of course I’ll go.”

Okay. No one’s hurt. That’s a huge relief.

“No problem. And hey, it’s all good.” His tone brightens like he’s trying to convince the person on the other end of the line that he’s truly cool with this change.

He ends the call, then lets out a long sigh, kind of mournful and kind of frustrated. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck, shaking his head before he chucks the phone at the nearby couch like he’s annoyed with the device for bringing bad news.

Dev startles when he turns and sees me, then, seeming chagrined, says, “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’s going on?” I tug the belt tighter as I join him in the living room, swallowing down my worries.

He comes around to the couch, pats the cushion. I join him, my stomach churning.

“That was Garrett,” he says.

My heart twists and then jackhammers. I’m not worried my brother’s figured us out. That’s easy enough to handle. But if my brother’s calling Dev, and Dev hasto handle something right away, and it’s nearly training camp…

“Were you traded?” I ask, my heart pounding with fear. “Is that why you have to go back early? Are they trading you before the season?Whereare they trading you?”

I picture Dev leaving town. Playing somewhere else. I cycle through teams that might need a world-class goalie. “New York? Miami? St. Louis?”

---