“Come on, man. We all played like shit. Might as well drown our sorrows together.”
“I'm going home.” I don't wait for a response, just push through the door and ignore the reporters calling my name.
All I can think about is getting to my apartment, calling Avery, having her tell me it's okay, that one loss doesn't define anything.
I need to see her. But the only place we can comfortably meet without being spotted is my apartment. So home it is.
Olivia's car is still in the visitor parking when I pull in. Right. She's watching the puppies. I'd completely forgotten.
I take the elevator up, my mind on Avery. Maybe she can come over. Maybe we can order food, watch a movie, forget about this disaster of a game.
Olivia is on the floor when I walk in, surrounded by puppies. She looks up, smiling. “Hey! How was—oh. Bad game?”
“Don't want to talk about it.”
“Got it.” She stands, brushing puppy hair off her jeans. Bless her, she doesn't follow hockey. “Well, the puppies were angels tonight. Fed, walked, only two accidents on the pads.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Oh, and I've been posting about them on my Instagram.” She pulls out her phone, showing me her profile. “I've already had four people reach out about adopting. Really great families, too. I can vet them if you want, make sure they're legitimate.”
The less I think about losing my puppies the better. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
Olivia's eyebrows raise. “You okay?”
“Fine. I’m just tired. Long day.”
“Okay.” She gathers her things and finally heads for the door. “Text me if you need anything. I can come by tomorrow afternoon?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Olivia.”
The second she's gone, I pull out my phone and call Avery.
It goes straight to voicemail.
I stare at the phone, confused. Avery never turns off her phone. She's always available, always monitoring something, always working.
I try again. Straight to voicemail.
“What the fuck?” I pace my living room. Maybe her battery died. Maybe she's in a meeting.
I try a third time. Fourth. Fifth.
Each time, straight to voicemail.
An hour passes. Then two. I've tried calling at least fifteen times. I've sent texts:
Me: Game's over. Can you come by?
Me: Are you okay?
Me: Avery, I really need to talk to you.
Me: Please just let me know you're alright.
None of them deliver. Her phone is definitely off.
By hour three, I'm losing my mind.
