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Are you sure about that?
Without a doubt. It was so totally different that she was being a baby for even feeling the least bit anxious about what was going to happen next with her life, with Cal, and with her dad when she opened that bathroom door. And maybe if she told herself that enough, she’d believe it.
As Yogi Berra said, it was like deja vu all over again.
No matter what it had seemed like when she’d woken up in Cal’s arms this morning or the way her whole body seemed to come alive when she was around him or how he’d become the last person she talked to every night, they were just fucking. It didn’t mean anything. Dr. Kowecki was wrong. Astrid wasn’t running. She wasn’t hiding from true intimacy. She was immune from falling in love.
After the wedding that wasn’t, she’d ripped her heart out and burned it until there was only ash. Then, just to make sure she’d never be so foolish as to grow another one, she’d poured rock salt into the gaping hole in her chest where it had been.
So even though she was in the middle of a media storm because of her love life, this time was different.
Exhaling one last deep breath, she started to open the door but stopped when she heard what her dad was saying to Cal.
“Did you hear the news about Mike Winstead?”
It wasn’t her dad’s question that froze her to the spot, but the tone of his voice. He didn’t use it often. Mostly she’d only heard it in recorded snippets from his old playing days when he was sizing up an opposing player, seeing just how far he could push them before they shoved back.
Angling herself so she could see out the sliver of an opening, she saw Cal from behind as he shook his head.
Just out of view, her dad continued, “He’s taking the head coaching job at Michigan.”
Cal’s shoulders stiffened, and there was a beat of silence before he said, “That’s huge. Good for him.”
“And for someone else. The Yeti are looking for a new goalie coach to fill the opening right away.” Dad paused for a beat. “Velasquez left a message for me about you.”
Astrid’s stomach twisted and knotted itself into a double bow as she processed the information. Cal would take the job. How could he not? He’d said it himself minutes ago: hockey was who he was. Just like her dad. Just like Tig. Just like Parvo and Bear and most of the other players who put in the time and the work and the dedication to make it at the professional level.
Hockey came first.
Always.
And if she’d thought for a second that wasn’t the case, she’d fallen back into being the kind of fool she’d sworn to herself she’d never be again.
“I’m still trying to decide what I want to say when I call him back,” Dad said, his voice gruff.
Cal snorted as if he knew Dad was talking out of his ass. “You’re not happy with the job I’ve done?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Is there something you do want to say?” Cal asked, his voice as low and dangerous as her father’s.
“Don’t think I need to,” Dad said. “Do you?”
“No. I guess you don’t.” Cal’s shoulders relaxed down, but the undercurrent of primed tension needing an outlet remained. “Tell Astrid that if she changes her mind about me issuing a statement to let me know.”
Then he nodded at her dad and started toward her apartment door.
“That’s it?” her dad asked, sounding surprised and, if she didn’t know any better, disappointed.
Oh, Dad. You of all people should know better.
“That’s it,” Cal said, starting for the door.
Watching him walk away without even saying goodbye was like being sucker-punched in the gut, and for one long, aching moment she was back in another bathroom, lost and hurting all over again. This time, however, was worse somehow. It was as if all of the broken pieces she’d spent so much time gluing back together shattered so there was nothing left but shards and dust.
She’d done it again. She’d fallen for someone who would always value hockey more than anything else in his life. Definitely more than she did.
You are the biggest fucking fool.
