Page 131 of Scarred

Blinking my eyes open, I look for Cayden, but the bed is empty beside me. Instead, a note sits on the pillow as I brush my hair out of my face and sit up to read it.

Good morning, beautiful.

Leaving you in bed was harder than I expected it to be. I wanted to get back before Scarlett woke up and give Mae a reprieve before I had to head to practice.

I left something on the counter for you. I had planned on giving it to you last night, but I got distracted as soon as I saw you.

Which is very hard to do, considering I’m paid millions to not get distracted.

I laugh softly as my eyes scan the rest of the note.

I hope to see you at the home game tomorrow.

No, scratch that.

You seemed to have become my lucky charm just like the guys said.

I want you there…need you there.

I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, little moon.

—C

Giddiness rises inside me as my lips stretch into a grin. I scamper off the bed quickly, pulling my t-shirt back on before running down the hall.

I stop when I see the black and white jersey folded neatly on the countertop.

My heartbeat quickens as I touch the material and run my hand over the Bayside Bolts emblem on the front.

I hesitate briefly before taking a deep breath and picking it up, taking a look at the back.

Blade #40 is stretched across the jersey, and my chest tightens at the thought of what this means.

My fingers tremble as I trace his name.

I know it’s just a jersey and thousands of people wear his name on their backs every night, but this feels different.

Cayden didn’t just hand me a number.

He handed me a piece of himself that he’s kept locked away for the past three years.

I notice, then, the stack of tickets on the counter and pick them up.

It’s tickets to the rest of his home games all in the same seat…the same seat I sat in last time, right next to his net.

This must have cost him a fortune. These aren’t the complimentary tickets where the wives and girlfriends sit up in the boxes.

He bought these.

Running to find my phone, I bring up his contact and press call, hoping to catch him while he’s still at home.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he answers on the second ring. “I was hoping you would call before I went to practice. Did you get the tickets?”

“I can’t accept these,” I blurt out.

“What? Why?” He asks, his voice immediately changing to concern.

“It doesn’t make sense to spend so much money on me when I can easily use the free one you get. These must have cost you thousands.”