Page 19 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 6
Aiden
Pink flinches. Even as I click the phone off and slip it in my pocket, I know I’ve inflicted pain, that she thinks the worst and I need to make it right.
“That was Jillian,” I say. “She called out of the blue. She’s no one—”
“No one? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear you say that. Is that what you’re going to say about me next week when you’re with someone else?” Pink shoves past me, not waiting for any further explanation.
No fucking way I’m letting her think the wrong thing, so I follow her as she carries her bag into the guest room. She spins around.
“You told me there was no mattress in here.” She points accusingly at the bed with a mostly intact mattress. “And to think, I came back here because I changed my mind about leaving you. Clearly I shouldn’t have bothered. You’re nothing but a lying man-whore.”
“I didn’t lie. I exaggerated. There is a chunk missing.” I point out the corner where the puppies chewed, compromising the exterior covering down to the foam and then some. No springs are exposed, but Chelsea didn’t bother making it up for sleeping. But I know the mattress isn’t the real issue.
Pink snorts, unimpressed. Her eyes glitter. She’s hurt. And I hurt her. My gut roils and I rake my hands through my hair, not knowing what to say, how to explain that she’s nothing like Jillian, nothing like any woman I’ve ever been with, or not quite been with, to be exact.
“Look, Pink—Allie,” I start.
She looks up at me, surprise softens her expression, and I proceed with caution.
“There’s nothing between Jillian and me. I was never into her the way she’s into me. But apparently I haven’t done a good job of communicating that to her because she called out of the blue. Unprovoked, I promise.” I sigh. “And I have no plans to ever call her back.”
“Of course not,” she says, derisiveness back in her tone of voice and twisting her mouth, even as the glittering sadness still haunts her eyes. “Because you’re a liar. You’re the kind of dickhead who promises to call and then doesn’t.”
She’s right. “I guess I am,” I confess on a long, resigned breath, not liking the self-image. “Or Iwas. But I promise I’m not anymore. I think of you differently, Allie.”
She stares at me in silence. Then she opens a drawer, takes out some sheets and proceeds to make up the bed while I watch. Searching my head for what to say next, I’m at a loss. I have no experience with real relationships with women I care about.
Words, even if I could find them, will mean little now. I have a lot to prove. Now I need to figure out how to prove to Pink and myself that I’m capable of committing to a relationship and that I’m worthy of her.
“Go,” she says. “Just because you call meAlliedoesn’t mean I should take you seriously.”
Her voice drips with disdain making it perfectly clear that she’s not taking me seriously. Not now or anytime soon.
But I’m no quitter and I smile as I leave the room. It’s an evil smile, but with good intent behind it. The stubborn determination in me takes over, that streak I have that doesn’t listen to what other people say, that ignores good sense and reason. My instincts tell me I can win this game, because now I know what the game is and, more importantly, what’s at stake.
I need to win Allie Pink’s affection and respect.
Spending the rest of the afternoon cleaning the yard as much as I can with the dogs helping and hampering me alternately, the rush of wind and rain refreshes me until the intensity picks up and the pelts of water sting my face. I would have stayed outside in spite of that, to give Pink space, but the pups start whining and I take mercy on them.
Changing into the last of my dry clothes, I check my phone and send a text to Ryan. I know he won’t see it tonight, but he should know about the storm. Then I call my coach.
“What do you mean you’re stuck on Nantucket?” Predictable response.
“I mean the hurricane has shut down transportation off the island. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get off by tomorrow night, but I wanted to let you know—”
“You’d damn better get back here by Tuesday morning and I don’t care about the fucking storm.”
“Got it, Coach. Will do.” I end the call. His bark is worse than his bite, but I probably should have texted him. He got the message either way. It’s funny that I have no anxiety about getting back for the season. Maybe I should be worried, but right now all my worrying space is taken up with Pink and winning her back. Not that I ever had her. But we had promise and I want that again.
Heading through the kitchen to the great room, it looks like nothing’s been touched, like Pink hasn’t come out of her room all afternoon. It’s almost dark now, so I start a fire while the pups try to eat the last of the dry wood in the box. Once I get the fire going, I contemplate my next move.
“Maybe I ought to bring her a snack. What do you think of that idea, Curly?”
“Still talking to the dogs?” Pink’s voice sneaks up behind me and I turn, my heart lurching to life like it was smacked with electronic paddles.
I try to hold my grin back without smirking, but I’ve totally lost my cool.
