Those Three Little Words

“Good game,” I say to Pacey as we make our way into the locker room. “You had some pretty brilliant saves.”

He looks my way for a moment before turning toward his locker and muttering, “Don’t suck my ass.”

Ohh-kay.

So, we’re still not on talking terms. That’s fair.

At least we won tonight.

And at least we both played marginally better than the night before. I still felt off, though, like my skates weren’t entirely listening to what my brain was telling them to do, but it was better.

Posey claps me on the shoulder, and we both take a seat at our lockers. He whispers, “He’ll come around. On the other hand, I’ll tell you right now, if you ever fuck up my nap again, I’ll murder you myself.”

“Noted.” We both take our skates off and leave them in front of us as we tug off our jerseys. Some of the guys enjoy the time in the locker room of dressing and undressing—not because they enjoy watching each other, but because it’s a time to bond. I don’t mind getting ready for the game, but undressing, no fucking thank you. I wish the entire jersey and equipment was a zip-up suit that I could easily shed afterward.

What’s crazy to me is that some of the guys, two of our biggest bruisers on the team, change their underwear between every period.

Do you know what it takes to change your underwear between periods? A lot of goddamn work that I’m not interested in.

“Are you going to call her when you get back to your hotel?”

“If she’s awake,” I say while shedding my absolutely drenched shin pads.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?”

“Sort of. I think I’m just going to be honest and tell her how I feel.”

Posey pats me on the back. “Wow, what a novel idea.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Hey, I heard of this bar in Vancouver that we need to check out. When we get home in a few days, you game?” Taters asks as he takes a seat next to me. He’s usually the last to arrive in the locker room after the game—only if we win—because he hangs out with fans, signs some things, and takes pictures. He’s been known to give away more pucks than anyone on the team, which is impressive because Posey will hand out pucks for candy, and the fans know this. There will be signs lined up along the Plexi, asking Posey to trade a puck for a Milky Way. He goes for it every time.

My eyes float to Pacey, who’s staring daggers at me.

“Uh, no,” I answer. “I’m probably going to be staying in for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, because of the—”

“Don’t say it.” I don’t want him to clue in the other guys with what’s going on. The last thing we need is to start more fighting within the team. “But yes, I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Look at you growing up,” Taters says. “I mean, you’ve always been the responsible one, but this is rather mature of you.”

“Can you not make a big deal about it?”

Posey leans forward and whispers, “He’s still having a hard time learning how to communicate with her. He told her he ate an apple today, and that was it. That was his text.”

I shed my pants. “Can we not hash it out, please? I have it under control now.”

“Didn’t seem like it this afternoon,” Posey mutters.

“Why are you going to Posey for girl advice when I’m clearly the one you should be asking?” Taters asks.

“Why are you the one?” I ask. “No offense, but you’re not currently attached to anyone, and the last person you dated . . . well, it’s unclear what happened between you two.”

“Not all of us are a tell-all autobiography for the world, Hornsby. Some people like privacy.”

Smiling, I say, “Well then, take this as a hint. Give me some fucking privacy.”

I take off toward the showers. We have a flight to Denver we have to catch tonight, and I want to get on the bus as quickly as possible so I can call Penny.

I’ve seen the guys on the team with families hustle up after a game because they want to call their wives and their kids before they go to bed. It’s odd to think I’m joining that club now.

Not quite sure how I feel about that other than I don’t really have a choice in the matter.

PENNY: Yes, I’m awake.

Damn. I kind of hoped she’d be sleeping or at least pretend to be sleeping. But maybe she needs to talk just as much as I need to. And when I say talk, I mean just tell her how I wish everything was normal between us.

I grabbed a bowl of chili and a to-go box of cornbread for dinner from the players’ table and then practically sprinted to the bus with the rest of the family men. Needless to say, a few of them were shocked to see me.

I settle myself toward the back and up against the window, set my food and bag down, and then slip my earbuds in before taking a deep breath and hitting her name in my phone.

It rings two times, and then she answers, “Hey.”

I swallow as a wave of butterflies shoots up my stomach. I know it’s not the kind of butterflies people get when they see the one they love or their crush walk by. This is nerves. All fucking nerves.

“Hey, Penny.” My voice comes out all gravelly, so I take a quick sip of my water. “How, uh . . . how are you doing?”

There you go, a solid start to a conversation.

“I’m doing okay,” she answers, and I can already feel the tension. It’s obvious that neither of us wants to be in this current situation—on the phone, forcing ourselves to communicate—but we have to make the most of it, which means we need to learn to talk to each other.

“Okay? Are you having any symptoms?” Symptoms? Symptoms of what, you idiot? Jesus Christ. You’re not her goddamn doctor. But unfortunately for me—and her—it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Thankfully, there’s a light chuckle on the other end of the phone, and that eases some of the embarrassment from my idiotic question. “Just tired at the moment.”

“Oh, should I, uh, should I let you go so you can get some sleep?”

“No, I think we need to talk.”

We need to talk.

Hell, nothing good comes from those four words. Usually, they’re accompanied by a breakup or a confession like . . . I’m sorry, but I cheated on you. Weirdly, though, none of those scenarios apply to us.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Do you want to go first?”

“I guess so.” And then she’s silent, and I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. I’m sure it would be a world of information that would make cracking her shell so much easier. If only she would talk to me like she talked to me that one night, so free and open. But circumstances are different now. Finally, she sighs. “I don’t know why I’m so awkward around you. Well, I mean, I sort of know why, but still, for some reason, I either ramble on for too long or don’t know what to say at all. It felt so easy the night we were together.”

Yeah. Same.

“If you recall, it took you a bit to warm up that night as well,” I say, trying to help her out.

“True, but you were incredibly chatty that entire time. Why have you changed?”

This time, I chuckle. “I think I’m freaked out. I did something I shouldn’t have done, which was pursue you, got in trouble for it, and now I’m trying to figure out how to navigate these murky waters. I don’t want to stress you out by being too . . . in your space, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, especially in your own home, nor do I want you doing this alone. I’m trying to find that balance. My mom raised me by herself before she passed away, and even though I don’t understand completely how hard being a single mom is from a little boy’s point of view, I do remember her telling me fairly often how sorry she was that her money wouldn’t stretch as far as I’d wanted it to. I don’t want that for you. So, my usual fun attitude is slightly askew at the moment.”

“I can understand that. I feel the same way about trying to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“No need to worry about me. But for you, I’ll try harder. Can I ask you something, though?”

“Of course.”

“I need to know why you’re so nervous around me. It might help me relate better.”

She doesn’t answer right away but gives it some serious thought, which I appreciate. “I think the intimidation is still there. It was easy to forget when we were buzzed, but now that we’re just normal human beings under no influence at all, I feel . . . out of place.”

“Not that shit again,” I say in a joking tone. “Come on, Penny. I think you can set that aside by now. I mean, I’ve pretty much touched every part of your body. There has to be a level of intimacy between us that pushes away that feeling of being out of place.”

“You have to remember, Eli, when we hooked up, it was a big thing for me to do, and I had some liquid encouragement to help me. First of all, I wasn’t going into that night with the most confidence in the world. The last guy I was with really tore me down romantically, told me I was bad in bed—”

“I can one hundred percent tell you right now that guy was fucking wrong. Trust me, Penny, he was really, really fucking wrong.”

“Well, uh . . . thank you.”

“I’m serious.” I lower my voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” And that’s straight-up facts. I still fucking think about that night.

She pauses. “Uh, well, we don’t need to get into the details, but I appreciate your reassurance.”

“Anytime you need it, let me know, but continue.”

“Okay, so yes, I wasn’t very confident that night, and it was a big deal for me to allow myself to do that with you, out of all people. And I know I act differently at work, but when I’m doing my job, I can be outgoing and extroverted with the guys, but that’s because it’s a job. I have a checklist of questions and conversation pieces I know I can cling to when I’m talking to all of you. The pressure to impress isn’t there. But one-on-one, it’s harder. I’m more of an introvert who likes to curl up on the couch and watch Ozark—”

“You watch Ozark?” I ask. Finally, something we can actually talk about.

“I do . . . do you?”

“Oh, yeah. Fucking love Jason Bateman. I met him last year at a charity event. Dude is fucking cool as shit. More of a baseball fan, though, but he respects the game.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you met him. What season of the show are you on?”

I settle into my seat and pop open my chili. Guys filter soundlessly onto the bus. We all respect each other and know this is when the guys with families and loved ones like to make their phone calls, so we all stay quiet and eat our dinners.

And even though I don’t acknowledge what she said about her job and being an introvert, I file it away. Finding something in common to talk about rather than fixating on why we’re weird together seems like a better way to have a conversation. That’s why I jumped on the discussion about Ozark.

“I’m on the current season, episode two. What about you?” I ask.

“Season three. Darn, that could have been something we did together, you know . . . to make things less torturous when we’re together.”

“I wouldn’t call it torturous, well . . . maybe slightly.” She laughs, and I realize I really like the sound of her laugh. I remember liking it the night we hooked up, but hearing it again just reminds me why my will slipped that night, and I allowed myself to taste her. I had to. “But I don’t mind rewatching with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it could be good for us. We’ve already started talking more just because of one thing we have in common.”

“True.” She lets out a deep sigh. “God, what you must think of me.”

“I think you’re pretty legit, Penny. I’ve thought that for a while,” I say, finally starting to find my voice. “Ever since Pacey introduced you, I’ve only had good thoughts. Even now, when I come home from a game and find you rambling and steaming my suits, I still think you’re pretty damn great.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“This is where you tell me how great I am.”

She chuckles. “And you’re pretty great too, Hornsby.”

“Eli, call me Eli. Do I have to keep telling you that?”

“Probably. I’m so used to calling you by your last name because of Pacey and all the guys, well . . . and fans. It’s out of habit.”

“I get it, but I don’t think I want my kid calling me Hornsby, you know?”

“He wouldn’t call you Eli, though, either. He’d call you Daddy. So, if anything, I should call you Daddy.”

She walked right into that one.

“That works for me. Call me Daddy all you want.”

She pauses. “I’m blaming that one on pregnancy brain.”

As I laugh out loud, I catch Pacey walking onto the bus wearing a scowl across his face. Pretty sure that scowl has a name, and its name is Eli Hornsby. He moves right past me and doesn’t even bother to acknowledge me. He sits in the very back where I know he spreads out and calls Winnie. If anyone can put him in a better mood, it’s her.

Turning my attention back to Penny, I ask, “Have you had many pregnancy brain moments?”

“No, I think they’ve been more like blonde moments, which I have from time to time. But I’m glad I can blame them on the baby now.”

“You’re a human incubator, so you might as well get as much from it as you can.”

“I guess so.” She yawns, and I look at the clock, realizing how late it must be for her.

“I should let you get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah, pretty tired. I’ve been waking up at four with nausea, so the fatigue is really kicking in.”

“Have you thrown up?” I ask, feeling guilty as shit that I’m not there.

“No, just nausea. It’s nothing compared to what some women go through. Blakely brought me some ginger ale to have in the morning, and that’s helped a lot.”

“I’m sorry I’m not there to help.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You have a job that requires you to be away. I get that, trust me. I’m just glad I have Blakely. And Winnie stopped by the office yesterday as well to see how I was. So I’m really okay.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re not? I feel like we broke through that awkward bubble tonight, so maybe we can move forward from here?”

“That would be nice, you know, as long as you don’t say weird things like I just ate an apple.”

“A low point in my life I wish we could move on from.”

She laughs. “As long as we’re friends, I’ll never let you live that down.”

“Calling us friends now, Penny?”

“Well, we’re on our way to being friends, but I think we can get there and kick this co-parenting thing in the ass.”

For some reason, that irks me. Co-parenting. The term makes me feel like we did something wrong. Like we weren’t able to work something out, so we’re settling for co-parenting. Not that it’s a bad thing. A few guys on the team are co-parenting with an ex, and they’re killing it. But with Penny, it just feels weird because we never even gave anything a shot. Then again, we both agreed to be friends, so I don’t know why that bugs me.

It just does.

“We will,” I say, not bothering to bring up my thoughts. I’m honestly not sure I’d be able to articulate them in a way for her to understand. Instead, I say, “Thanks for this phone call. I know you were probably dreading it, but it’s almost like we shook off the stink.”

“Ew, what a horrible term.”

“You know what I mean. Like in running, the first five minutes are absolutely dreadful, but then you get into the flow of it, and it all seems pretty easy after that, right?”

“I prefer Pilates or barre.”

“Help me out, Penny.”

She laughs. “I know what you mean, and I agree. I feel much better, and if you call or text tomorrow, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as it was today.” As if she just realized what she said, she quickly backtracks. “But don’t feel obligated to call or text tomorrow. I know you have a life and all—”

“Penny, and I mean this in the most non-romantic way possible, you are my life now. So yes, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

The relief in her voice flows easily through the phone. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Get some good sleep and text me in the morning to let me know how you’re feeling.”

“I will. Good night, Eli.”

“Night, Penny.”

I hang up and set my phone on my lap as I stare forward at the chair in front of me. The feeling I have floating through my chest is odd to explain, almost like I’m as light as a feather. The pressure building in my ribs and constricting my lungs has been released.

I can breathe.

I just hope that Penny is feeling the same relief. The same . . . peace.