“Ahh, sounds like a broken heart.”
She rubs my arm when I grimace.
“I’m here often,” she says. “Come find me if you need someone to help you get to a better place.”
I step back, enough for her hand to drop. “Have a good night.”
She blows me a kiss.
I glance back at the table, where the guys are watching. “Night, assholes.”
Knox lifts his glass. “Get some sleep, Cap. Or therapy. Whichever comes first.”
Silas smirks. “Text us when you’re done brooding. We worry.”
Finn just lifts his hand, and the rest of the guys call out various insults with their goodbyes.
I push through the crowd, out into the cool Minnesota night, and walk to my car. Home is quiet and dark. I miss Kevin or Bill running to greet me. I wish that I had the time to take care of a dog or even a cat. I drop my bag by the door, kick off my shoes, and don’t bother with lights.
The bed feels too big. I’ve never thought that before. But I’d give anything for Lola to be all up in my space right now.
I’ve gotta get through this. Gotta stop thinking of her every second. Gotta move on.
But for one more night, I let myself feel it.
I let it hurt like hell and hope tomorrow will hurt a little less.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE FISTS AND THE FURIOUS
LOLA
“Ahh, you made it!” Briar says, opening her arms wide.
I hug her and then Juniper before sitting at the high-top table. I needed to get out of the apartment so I wouldn’t eat ice cream and sob alone while watching Tully play, but the game is on every TV in the bar. I might still have ice cream after I eat something more substantial, but at least I won’t be eating alone, and I hate crying in front of people, so I think I’m safe there.
“We’ve ordered a pizza, fries, and wings,” Juni says. “Do you want to add anything else?”
“No, sounds like you got the good stuff.” I glance at the menu, trying to decide if I’m going to get a drink or not, and decideyes. It’s definitely a drink kind of night.
My breath catches when I see number 19 on the screen. After I tattooed his number on his shoulder blade, I used to kiss that spot before every game, like I could press luck into his skin. It’s always felt meaningful to me that he kept hisnumber, but I think it’s just his favorite and probably has nothing to do with me.
I haven’t seen him since Nantucket.
I’ve almost texted him a thousand times. Who knows if he even has the same number? I blocked it years ago and have never been more tempted than now to unblock.
I decide on a mescal margarita with a smoked-salt rim. A thin slice of jalapeño floats on top. It burns my throat and leaves my lips tingling. I down it quickly and ask for another when our server comes with the food. I’m hungry, but also stress eating, because Tully’s having a rough night on the ice.
The commentators won’t shut up.
“…and that’s the fourth giveaway in twelve minutes for Tully. The star center came into the season riding high off last year’s playoffs, despite the Fierce’s loss, but so far he looks a step behind. Not the start anyone expected from Whitman.”
On screen, he’s skating hard, but he keeps fumbling the passes and then gets intercepted. The other team scores.
I guess since New York’s not playing tonight, we have a bunch of Fierce fans, because the bar groans as one.
A guy behind me mutters, “Fucking brutal.”
