"I'm getting out of here for a bit. Need some space."
"Please don't do this," she says quietly. She's shaking her head, looking at me with keen disappointment.
"Don't push me away, Van," she murmurs. "I know that might seem the easiest thing to do, but you should lean on me. I've got your back on this."
I stare at her for a moment, the anger that had been oddly missing when I learned about the article starting to rise within me.
"You've got my back?" I ask with derision as I stand. Advancing across the room toward her, I ask again. "You've got my back?"
Simone stands from the bed, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders with the sheet draped around her. "I do."
Coming to a stop just inches from her body, I sneer at her. "And just how do you have my back, Simone? Just how are you going to support me through this?"
"By standing beside you. By defending you. By telling and showing the world that you're kind and generous and loving and--"
"I fuck you, Simone," I tell her in a low rumble of a voice. My tone shocks her and her mouth drops open. "I give you orgasms. I laugh at your silliness. But I am not kind nor generous nor loving. So you'd essentially be lying on my behalf. Is that how you'll support me?"
"You're more than that," she whispers, but she doesn't sound so sure now.
"You know I'm not," I say softly, but with such confidence she's powerless to argue. "And besides that, do you think people are going to accept what you're saying? I give a little interview with the media and proclaim I'm a good guy, but instead the media shows highlights of all my fights to speculate that I'm a violent person. I know how this shit plays out. It's why it's easier to keep people out."
"Van," she says slowly...cautiously. "I get you're angry, and maybe the natural thing is to drive away those that care about you--"
"You're wrong," I tell her. "I don't intend to drive Etta away at all."
I let the implication hang heavy between us. I expect her to get the hint that this little adventure I took into being a normal person in a normal world just got derailed. It's fight or flight, and I'm flying.
"Spell it out for me, Van," Simone finally says, and I note her voice sounds as empty as her eyes look. For the first time since I met her, it appears Simone isn't going to pursue me with the relentless determination I've come to know her for.
This relieves me.
Right?
I soften my voice but forge ahead with what needs to be said. "I made a mistake. I should have never gotten in this deep with you. Should have never opened myself up like I did."
"Sounds like you're blaming me for some reporter who wrote an article about you," she says softly, but the anger is unmistakable.
"No, not blaming you. Just angry for taking myself off the radar to begin with."
Technically, it's true that the only reason I went to that prison to see Arco was because that first time I fucked Simone drove me to it. All of the feelings she'd dredged up inside of me, and the excitement I felt for finally having her, and the way she seemed determined to insinuate herself in my life.
Well, it was imperative I have my confrontation with Arco. I realize now that just that tiny bit of Simone I had was enough to give me some type of hope. It prompted me to deal with my past.
It put me right in the sights of a reporter who recognized me at the prison. Talk about dumb fucking luck.
Talk about the fact that may have never happened had I not met Simone.
I don't say that with blame. Only with the acknowledgment that Simone changed my life in so many fucking ways, and not all of them were good.
"Would you like me to leave?" Simone asks stiffly.
I shake my head. "No. Keep the room. You have a ticket for tomorrow's game. Return flight. Enjoy yourself. Root your brothers on."
"But you're going to...what?" she asks as a method to pump me for my plans.
"I have no clue what I'm going to do, but I know right now, I'm getting out of here for a bit."
"So, what...you're going to go back to hiding in plain sight? Doesn't work that way. You're a professional athlete. You are now in the media spotlight."
"Not for much longer," I tell her resolutely. "Not after this season is over. I'm done."
"What?" she gasps.
"Done. I've got more than enough to retire on after almost ten years in the league. We're going to win the Cup. It's the only other goal I've ever wanted and I can hang on for another week to get that goal. Then I'm gone."
"I'll go where you go," Simone blurts out. "Doesn't matter where."
I refuse to let images of Simone and me having a happy home together infiltrate my brain. I shake my head at her, trying for a gentle letdown. "No. Not now. I need time. Maybe later."
Simone's eyes go dark and her voice icy. "No, Van. That's not how this works. There is no later. It's either now--when you need me the most in your life--or not fucking ever."
I stare at her a long moment, knowing this is the point of no return with Simone. Every instinct screams against what I'm about to say, but I say it anyway. "Then it's not fucking ever."
I expect her to fight, call me names, or at the very least try to seduce me into submission. But Simone merely gives a tiny nod and turns her back on me. A bolt of pure panic seizes me for a moment, something that feels entirely wretched and unbearable. It's the realization that for the first time, Simone is letting me walk away without a fight.
The buzzing of my phone catches my attention, giving me respite from the helplessness I'm feeling, and I look down to see it's Etta calling me. I ignore the call, but I know I'll talk to her later.
But for now...I need to escape.
Striding across the room, I refuse to give Simone a backward glance. Maybe I'm just being overly dramatic and she'll be here when I come back for my bags, all shored up and ready to take me on again. In fact, I bet that's exactly what she'll do.
Maybe that gives me some confidence to walk out the door, or maybe it's my stupid side choosing to believe that shit.
Whatever internal lies I let myself believe, I have sufficient strength to take me from the room.
From Simone.
Right down to the hotel lobby.
And then I'm confronted with my worst nightmare.
A sea of reporters all waiting for me when I get off the elevator.
All wanting to know the answer to the question I've asked myself over and over again.
Am I anything like Arco?
Chapter 26
Simone
Tears are streaming down my eyes as I point the remote at the TV to turn it off. There's a little over two minutes lef
t of the game but there's no sense watching anymore.
The Cold Fury are getting ready to win their second Stanley Cup. They're up by four goals and Vancouver pulled their goalie. It's pretty much sealed up. I linger a moment longer, just so I can get another look at Van. He's currently on the bench, but his line will be taking the ice soon. When he steps out there with his team, I smile at the TV through my tears and then turn it off. I can't be happier for the team--my brothers, Van--that they won. But I don't think I can bear to watch that smiling celebration on the ice as they carry the Cup around.
The final series went seven games as predicted. They lost the two last week in Vancouver when the article about Van came out, not that that was what caused the losses. Vancouver is just a damn good team, and with home advantage, they beat us.
But they only beat us by one goal each game. When they played us in Raleigh, we beat them each time by several goals. Thus, when just a week after the article came out and the Cold Fury was back in Raleigh for game seven--the championship game--I was confident we'd win.
My parents begged me to fly to Raleigh with them to attend the game, but I just couldn't. I'd been back home in Quebec City for days now and I felt safe and secure there. It was the best place for me where I could distance myself from everything that was Van.
When he walked out of the hotel room last week, offering to let me keep the room and enjoy the game, I'd wanted to toss my shoe and hit him in the back of his head as he left. The door was barely closed and I sprang into action.
Shower. Clothing. Packed bags. Quick text to Lucas and Max that I was leaving.
Then I was gone.
Changed my flight and took the next available one back to Raleigh.
There, I worked efficiently. Did some laundry, repacked my bags, and went to sleep. The next morning, I drove to Lulu's and gave my immediate resignation. Collecting my last paycheck, I then drove straight to the airport and booked a flight home. By that afternoon, Mom and Dad were opening up the front door and welcoming me home and into their arms.
That first night, I just wanted to be left alone. The Cold Fury was playing the second Vancouver game, but I went to my room and slept. I was exhausted from the cross-country travels and mentally frayed from Van pushing me away. Part of me wonders if I did a disservice by not fighting harder, but something inside of me told me that he had to figure this out himself. Until he did that, I wasn't sticking around.