Page 77 of From Coast to Coast
“I’m going to tell everyone,” I say firmly.
He looks happy at that, and we stroll back to the house with arms slung loosely across each other’s waists. Tomorrow is our last day here, and I know I shouldn’t let the thought of leaving ruin being here, but I can’t help the bite of sadness when I think about it. These last couple of days have been perfect. Easy.
Even when we were doing something as simple as sitting on the couch and watching the All-Star Skills competition, it felt precious and infinitely more enjoyable with Grayson there beside me. We move together so seamlessly, the jump from friends to partners doesn’t seem like a jump at all. It feels like this is the way it was always supposed to be, and we’re only now catching up.
Even with him beside me, I can’t help but catalog all theways I’m going to miss him when we’re separated. Like the way he uses my shower products and smells like me all day, or how the sun shines on his dark hair and highlights the lighter brunette strands. I’m going to miss the way he gets annoyed that I leave the toothpaste uncapped and the way he looks standing in my kitchen cooking me dinner. Mostly, I’m just going to miss Grayson.
“What’s that face for?” he asks, squeezing me closer to his side and peering down at me.
“I’m sad we have to leave,” I admit.
“Me too. But time always goes by faster this side of All-Star. And once I win the Stanley Cup, we’ll be back here and it’ll be like we never left.”
I roll my eyes so far back into my head that I see brain. “Don’t make me laugh. You won’t even make the playoffs, let alone touch the Cup.”
He laughs and we argue about teams, stats, and playoff predictions all the way back to the house. It’s a good-natured argument, and succeeds in pulling me out of my sudden glum mood.I see what you did there, Gray.
But, as time is often wont to do, the following day seems to pass twice as fast as all the previous days, and by evening I’m sitting on the bed and watching dejectedly as Grayson carefully packs his suitcase. When he finishes and zips it up, wheeling it over to wait in the corner, I damn near burst into tears. I don’t want to leave; I don’t want Grayson to leave; Ireallydon’t want to have to go back to goddamn Calgary and my goddamn piece-of-shit teammates.
“This really fucking blows,” I tell Grayson. He grimaces.
“I was half hoping my flight would get delayed,” he admits, sighing and taking a seat next to me on the bed. Immediately, I lean against him. “But I’ve got to get back if Idon’t want to be scratched for the game on Wednesday. And so do you.”
I huff because he’s right and I hate that he’s right. “At least we still have tonight.”
“I hope you didn’t have any hopes for sleeping,” he says, snaking an arm up the back of my T-shirt. “Because I’ve got a few ideas on how we could make the most of our time…”
It’s fucking snowingwhen the Uber drops me off at my apartment in Calgary—big, fat snowflakes, falling lazily and turning everything monochromatic. It would be pretty if I wasn’t in such a foul mood.
Leaving my now soaking wet shoes to dry by the front door, I toss my bag on the bedroom floor and strip down. Taking the hottest shower I can manage, I try to thaw out under the water. It was only a few days away, but somehow my body has already forgotten how damnably cold it is here. When I’m as warm as I can be, I get out of the shower and dress in a pair of sweatpants and another of Grayson’s sweaters that I stole from him. A quick stop to crank the heat in the apartment, and then I’m crawling into bed and calling Grayson.
“Hey.” He picks up on the first ring as though he was staring at his phone and waiting for the call.
“Miss you,” I say, unable to help myself. It’s been less than twelve hours and already I feel like somebody carved a massive, Grayson-sized hole out of my chest. The next few months are going to be very, very long.
He sighs. “I miss you, too. On a scale of one to ten, how cold are you right now?”
“Gray, we aren’t on a basic scale of ten. It’s way beyond that.” I flip the camera around and zoom in on my bedroom window so he can see the slow meander of snowflakes falling outside. Disgusting. “See? It tookforeverto get home because the roads were shit. The weather is shit, everything is just shit. I hate it here.”
“I wish you were comfortable enough to tell me how you really feel,” he says, trying and failing to keep the laugh out of his voice.
“Tell me how it is in Colorado.”
“Terrible. Practice was good and it was nice to get back out on the ice, but it’s hard to come backhereafter spending a few days in your little slice of heaven.”
“Hard to beat the beach life.” I nod. “Hey, did I hear that Jake Lancaster is out for the rest of the season? An alert popped up as soon as I landed. What the fuck happened?”
“He’s entering the player assistance program,” Grayson says, voice low. “They told us at skate this morning and are going to make a more generalized announcement later to the public. It’s not official that he’ll be out for the rest of the season, but…it’s a possibility, so they’re playing it safe.”
“Fuck, poor guy.”
“Yeah. Did Z pick you up from the airport?”
“Hell no. I barely made it to the airport to get to Cali when he drove. The weather is way worse today, I figured I’d be safer in the hands of a random Uber driver.”
He snorts. “True.”
We chat a little longer, but eventually have to pack it in and try to get some rest. Grayson has a game tomorrow and I have practice; the first days back from break are always hard, no matter where you went or what you did. Physically, I know I’ll be okay. Mentally, not so much. The absence ofGrayson behind me in bed has me tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or stay warm without his bulk weighing the mattress down and radiating heat.