Twenty minutes later, I make a left down my street and notice the blue Kia parked halfway down the block. My brother’s car isn’t in the driveway, but Lavender’s is, and that’s where it will stay until she comes back at the end of summer.
River has a job at a sporting goods store, and he’s planning to stay in the city since Josiah has a job here too. It seems like our house is destined to be empty a good part of the summer, seeing as I plan to spend my nights in Clover’s bed, at least until her lease is up at the end of July.
I drive past my house and slow as I approach the blue Kia on the other side of the road. I grab my phone, roll down my window, and hit the brakes, snapping a picture and making sure I have the license plate and the house number in the background before I keep going.
For the very first time since this thing with Clover started, I don’t circle the block and leave my truck at my place. Instead, I pull into her driveway. And I don’t walk around back to the sliding glass door. I walk up the front steps and knock.
It swings open a moment later. She’s no longer wearing thedress and cardigan ensemble she had on earlier. Instead, she’s in a pair of black skinny jeans and one of my old school T-shirts, from freshman year, before I packed on another forty pounds of muscle. I was going to donate it to the Salvation Army when I cleaned out my closet a month ago, but Clover saw the bag in the back seat of the truck and snagged it for herself.
“Hello, graduate.” She’s holding two champagne flutes in her hands and a bottle of bubbly.
“Hello, girlfriend.” I step inside, take her face between my hands, and dip to brush my lips over hers. “I’m not planning to need a glass, but it’s cute that you thought we might be civilized enough to use them tonight.”
Once school has officially concludedfor both of us, there’s a tangible shift in my relationship with Clover. While we still don’t frequent restaurants inside Hawking catchment area, we’ve stopped driving way outside the city. Sometimes I’ll leave my truck at my place, but if I have an early shift at the gym, I park in her driveway.
And every time I see that blue Kia, I take a picture. Even as June grows hotter, the windows remain rolled up so I can’t see inside, but at this point, I’m positive it’s Gabriel. He stays away from Clover, as per the order of protection that was filed shortly after her contract with the university ended, but I worry that he’s on the edge of too close.
She and I have fallen into a routine of domestic comfort. Her lease is up at the end of July and Clover plans to move to her cabin in Pearl Bay. She’s secured a position at the local library on the outskirts of Lake Geneva.
Our relationship feels more solid and stable than ever, but with the new draft class and contract talks hanging over my head, the nightmares have been ramping up, right along with my anxiety levels.
My dad has taken to calling every other day to check in. I should want to practice. I should want to know what my agent is saying, whether they think I’m NHL ready, or if I’ll be sent to an AHL affiliate. But the more I talk about it, the more stressed I get.
“Are you okay, son? Why don’t you come visit for a couple of days and we can follow the draft together, get ready for the contract deadlines, hear what your agent has to say? I’ll book us some ice time. We can shoot the puck around.”
“I can’t. I’m working all week.” I am working, but I have Friday and Saturday off because everyone knows this weekend is all about hockey.
“But you have the weekend off, right? I thought we planned this out.”
Clover sets a cup of tea beside me and mouths, “You should go.”
I grab her hand, pulling her close enough that I can kiss her knuckles before I release her again. I found out she ran into my mother in the bathroom at convocation. It took her forty-eight hours to tell me, and only because my mom called asking if I was okay, and did I need to talk, and a bunch of other stuff about loving me unconditionally.
Also, Clover has a terrible poker face, at least with me. I only know what she’s told me about their conversation, and she gets a little flustered when I ask about it, so I’m on the fence as to how truthful she’s being. I don’t think she’s lying; I just don’t know if she’s omitting in a bid to protect me, or my mother, or both. It seems a lot like something she would do.
“I can come up Friday morning.”
Clover gives me a look.
“I’ll leave right after work on Thursday,” I amend. “I finish at five, so I should be able to get there by seven or so.”
“We’ll have a late dinner.” I can almost hear his relief, like he’s walking on eggshells with me. Which sucks. “We can shoot the puck in the yard if you want, or go to the arena. Whatever works for you.”
“That sounds good, Dad.”
“I’ll call you later this week, just to check in, okay?”
“Sure.”
We end the call. I toss my phone on the coffee table, and I hold my hand out to Clover, who’s still standing beside the arm of my chair. As soon as she lets me take her hand, I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her. “I should be excited about this.” I mutter into her neck, breathing in that clove and cinnamon scent mixed with citrus.
“But you’re not,” she finishes.
“No. Not even a little.”
“Do you want to talk about why?”
“I don’t know if I can deal with the disappointment if I don’t get offered a spot at training camp.”
