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“Obviously.”
Connor smiles. “And if you could be in a relationship with him, would you want to be?”
“Like boyfriends?”
“No. Like girlfriends,” Gavin says.
Connor swats his chest. “Am I the only one who remembers how much Ander helped us in our time of need? Stop fucking with him so we can solve his relationship woes.”
Gavin holds his hands up in defense. “Sorry, Bouch.”
“No worries.” I grin at him. Because seriously, no worries. I’d go to bat for Gavin and Connor a thousand times over again if I needed to.
“Well, I worry,” Connor says. “About you mostly.”
Sighing again, I shake my head. “There’s no need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
I’m not. I’m heartbroken and disappointed, but I have no reason to be. It was just three days. It’s not like we fell in love or anything.
Connor’s face softens, but the look in his eyes is serious. “You’re not fine,” he says, holding eye contact with me. “Something about you has been off all season, and I don’t know what that is. But what I do know is that the only person who seems to lift you back up is Nikolai.”
I shrug, and I can feel my eyes begin to burn. He’s not wrong. Nikolai has been the one bright spot I’ve had this season. Well, him and Shutzie. I stroke my hand back and forth down his back, gliding my fingers through his soft fur.
“We play them in a few weeks, don’t we?” Connor asks.
I nod. “On the twenty-fifth.”
Connor cringes. “Right after we play Chicago.”
A low growl rumbles through Gavin. Shutzie growls back.
“Take some time to think about it,” Connor says. “And if by the time the road trip comes around, and you still feel how you feel today, I think you should talk to him. There’s no reason for the two of you to deny what you want. Between all of us, we should be able to find a solution.”
“He’s right,” Gavin says. “We’ll figure this out.”
But I have already figured it out. Nikolai is right. There is no us. Not while we’re both after the same cup.
TWENTY-THREE
Nikolai
In the two weeks that have passed since Christmas, the only thing I have figured out is that I’m miserable. I should be thrilled right now. I’ve finally signed my contract extension. Sofia even got them to include a no-trade clause. Five more guaranteed years in St. Louis.
No more moving around. No more getting traded in the middle of the night. No more uncertainty lingering over my head as to what would happen when my contract expired. And no more worrying about what would happen to me after hockey. The thirty-two and a half million dollars that contract is worth, is more than enough to secure a comfortable future for myself after retirement, which for hockey players comes very early.
But no. Instead of being on cloud nine, I’m home alone once again in my apartment watching Ander defend his net. It’s not going well. The current score is four to two in Montreal’s favor.
The Blizzards can still win this, of course. They have the entire third period left to go. But like it’s been all season for them, it looks like any win they manage to pull out is going to come down to their forward group outscoring their opponent. No more shutouts for Ander.
I wish I could call him right now. Calm him like I’ve been doing all season and help him get his head back to where it needs to be. But unfortunately, ever since I left him after Christmas, my call log from him has remained silent.
It’s my fault. I’m the one who said there wasn’t an us. I’m also the one who freezes every time I go to call him, unable to hit the button.
If I hadn’t uttered those four stupid words, life for the two of us would be so different right now.
At the very least, we’d be talking to each other and I’d still have access to his perfect lips.
A sudden knock on my door pulls me from my wallowing. Since I wasn’t alerted by security that someone is here to see me, I rise off my couch to go and answer the door, expecting to see Ryan, Brandon, or both.
