Page 193 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“I…I need to go. My client should be here,” I blurt before darting out of the staff room.

Thankfully, my client hasn’t arrived yet, and it gives me a few seconds to check my cell. But while I might have a few notifications, mostly from Garrett, who’s also heard the news, there isn’t anything from Calvin.

Concern twists its way through me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m typing out a message.

Sienna: I just heard the news. You okay?

I stand there staring at my screen for as long as possible, but eventually the bell above the salon door chimes, and I’m forced to put my cell away and welcome my client.

My cell remains void of replies from him all day, and by the time I head home later that night, the knots in my stomach are tighter than ever.

Unless he’s had sessions or meetings at the arena, he always replies straight away.

It was hours ago that Bea told me the guys had left her place.

So where has he been? What’s he doing?

As I step into the elevator and reach for the button to my floor, I hesitate, my eyes jumping to the one above.

I haven’t seen him since I got out of that car after the painful drive back from our disaster of a date.

Am I ready to?

Should I put my own hurt away so I can be there for him when he needs it?

My internal debate continues for longer than it should, and ultimately, when I lift my trembling hand, my finger presses the button for the top floor of the building.

I question my decision all the way to the top, to the point that I almost change my mind when the car comes to a stop and the doors open.

But with my head held high, I walk out.

I’ve only been up here once before—the night I came to ask him to shut the fuck up and discovered just who my neighbor was.

I was so tired that night, I barely remember standing at his door, waiting for it to be opened. The second I saw his face, however, I became instantly alert.

The hallways is silent as I walk toward his door.

I try not to fixate on the little camera that has no doubt already alerted him to my presence as I reach to press his buzzer.

My heart is in my throat as my mind still spins, wondering if I’m doing the right thing.

But as the seconds pass, it becomes clear that he’s either not home, or if he is, he’s not answering.

A wave of disappointment hits me. It’s so strong, it threatens to buckle my knees.

All the determination it took to get me up here drains away, and with my shoulders slumped in defeat, I head back downstairs and lock myself in my apartment.

I strip out of my tunic, pull on my pajamas and warm up my dinner without even bothering to put my TV on.

Still without a reply from Calvin, I take a glass of water with me to my bedroom, curl up under the covers, and begin scrolling on my cell.

I soak up every bit of information I can get on Nash’s trade before switching over to Instagram, and the first post I see? Calvin in a bar with women hanging off him.

It takes every ounce of my self-restraint not to launch my cell across the room and watch it shatter against the wall, like my heart.

“You fucking asshole,” I hiss as the tears burning in the backs of my eyes begin to spill free.

There hasn’t been a single scrap of evidence that he’s partied since his injury, but it seems that’s all over now.