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The puck!
It’s still in my purse.
Like a mad woman, I open the suitcase wider and toss my clothes onto the floor until my hands slide across the shiny fabric of my coin purse. My vision blurs as the memories from that night flood back. The way he told me he loved me. The way heshowedme.
I open the purse and snatch the puck in my hand but pause. The hockey puck isn’t the only thing inside. Near the bottom, nestled by a couple of mints, is Dr. Steinberg’s business card and his personal number. He had said to call whenever I needed anything. Well, I need a lot of things, Dr. Steinberg. I’m not too sure you can help, though.
But maybe.
What if I call and ask if he’ll have a slot on his team next year? It wouldn’t hurt to ask. That way, I wouldn’t miss the application window. If, by some miracle, I get chosen, then I could move back to the West Coast. It may not fix Blake and my situation, but there would be more time to work on it. I feel that we were cheated this round.
As I head back to bed, I clutch the puck against my chest with one hand and grip the card with the other. I know what needs to be done. Here’s hoping for a Christmas miracle.
CHAPTERFORTY
BLAKE
“You look like shit.”Emily’s brows furrow as she stands over me with her hands on her hips.
“Thanks, sis.” I’m sitting in the den, not giving one iota about my appearance.
“Seriously, I haven’t seen you mope like this before.”
I’ve never had my heart ripped out and dreams shattered before.
I salute her. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” I manage a weak smile, trying to brush off the weight on my shoulders.
Emily’s eyes soften, and she sits down next to me. “Blake, you can’t let this defeat you. You’ve worked so hard for this?—”
“Yeah, and look where it got me.” The bitterness in my tone surprises even me.
“I know you see this as a setback, but we’ll figure this out.”
“You don’t get it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” Not without Amanda. She’s leaving, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Dad came home Saturday. That’s part of the reason behind not meeting her at the soup kitchen, but that doesn’t excuse my lack of texting her. Part of me wanted her to be mad at me. If she were angry, it would make the breakup easier. But that was a copout. Once I realized it, I felt shittier. But ending things with her… God, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
With a watering can in hand, Mom enters the room and tends to the plants lining the wall. We have hired help to care for them, but she insists on doing it herself. She claims it brings her joy, but today, it seems like she’s being nosy.
“Is Amanda coming for Christmas, dear?” Mom asks, utterly oblivious to my heartache. Her question piques Emily’s interest.
“No. She’s spending it with her grandmother in Boston.”
“Will she be back for New Year’s Eve?”
I close my eyes and let the pain pass before speaking. “She’s transferring schools.”
Mom lowers the watering can. “Transferring? Why?”
“The internship she received requires her to attend Boston University.”
“She didn’t get Memorial’s Internship?”
I look at my mother, wondering how she even knew about that. “No.”
“That jerk. I should call Dr. Johnson and give him a piece of my mind. He let a good one slip away.” She shakes her head. “I’m not surprised. He has terrible taste, especially in women.”
“Mom!” Emily says. “Is that appropriate?”
