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“Did you?” God, please say no.
“No.”
My body immediately relaxes. “Good. Don’t.”
“You aren’t curious as to why he wants to talk to you?”
“No,” I snap. “I am not. There’s nothing he could want that would be worth speaking to him.”
Mom is quiet for only a minute or so. “Have you at least told Noah why you and Vance broke up?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath and decide to fill her in as much as I did Noah. “Vance didn’t want me anymore, Mom. You saw how I was when I came home. I was needy and had too much going on in my head. Vance didn’t want that in a wife.”
Mom frowns. “You weren’t needy, Meredith. You were in a bad place, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that considering what you’re going through. If that’s why he left, then good riddance.”
Yes, good riddance indeed.
The weekend seems to fly by. I finished packing what clothes I wanted Saturday and spent the rest of my time hanging out with my parents and preparing my house to be left unattended. Mom is going to stop by every so often to check on things.
Noah has been texting me a lot all weekend, especially today to confirm when I’ll be home. I’m not sure why it matters since he’s not getting in until late tonight. He’s on the verge of driving me crazy. I don’t think I can really blame him, but we’re eventually going to have to tackle this issue.
I get to his apartment around one in the afternoon. It’s so quiet and lonely without Noah. As requested, I text him.
Me: Home sweet home.
Noah: Good! Want me to wake you up when I get there?
Me: Yep.
Despite getting on my nerves, I miss him. Our lack of problems so far as well as what my dad said to me over the weekend has been bugging me. Before I can change my mind, I send another text.
Me: Do you think we’ll make it this time around, Noah?
Noah: Do you plan to leave me again?
That’s his first, quick response? It hurts and angers me. I throw my phone to the other side of the couch. It chimes with another text, but I don’t bother reading it. In fact, I grab the car keys and walk out of the door. He can deal with the silent treatment for a while. It’s not like we’ll really be able to hash it out with him on the road and in a game in a few hours anyway.
I’VE NEVER BEEN so nervous for a fucking preseason game as I am tonight, and it’s all because I can’t seem to focus. I knew I fucked up the moment I hit send. Her question threw me off; I wasn’t expecting the change in topic and sent the first thing that came to mind. I tried texting her and calling her, but she’s been ignoring me.
“Rams, what the hell? Go.” Marc shoves my shoulder to propel me forward.
Being lost in my head has created a gap between me and the person ahead of me from the line we formed to head out of the tunnel. I shake my head as if that could erase her from my mind. Hearing the national anthem starts coating my mind in efforts to numb it from anything not hockey-related. There’s still a little voice in the back of my mind talking incessantly about any possible repercussions from my fuck-up. My body easily shifts gears like an automatic memory muscle response the moment my skates touch the ice.
However, just because my body is doing what it should doesn’t mean it’s communicating correctly with my head. Thank goodness this is a preseason game and some of the younger guys need more ice time. If this game depended on me, we’d be losing terribly. We’re not, and I only know this because I’ve stood to bump fists a few times.
I wonder what Meredith is doing, though. How mad is she? Probably fucking pissed. I need to figure out how to make it up to her.
I’m on the ice and Marc passes me the puck. I should easily have it on my stick, but somehow I allow a guy to swoop in and steal it from me. It takes three seconds to realize I don’t have it. Fuck. I pump my legs and trail after everyone else who is already paces ahead of me. My mistake causes a near goal, if not for Liam Irving being so solid.
“Rams! What the fuck are you doing out there?” Marc bitches at me the moment we’re on the bench at the end of our shift. “How did you mess up a simple pass?”
“Back the fuck off, Marco,” I snap, calling him by his nickname. “Shit happens.”
“It’s just not like you is all.”
He’s right. But I’ve never had Meredith in my head during a game either.
It’s not often I enter my apartment feeling completely anxious. Meredith never texted me back after I was an ass to her. All I want to do is make up and move on. When I quietly enter my room, Meredith isn’t in my bed. My heart starts pounding. Was she so pissed that she left?
