CHAPTER EIGHT
Gavin
It was snowing.
The sight of the sky was anxiety inducing. It was noon, so though the sun was hidden by clouds, it was still out. I knew with absolute clarity that I would never look at the night sky and see it the same way again. Not after watching the stars in the inky sky as the whop, whop of the propellers screamed in the background.
“You okay?” Jas asked, putting her hand on my thigh.
I gazed at it fleetingly and then looked at her in the backseat of the car Lance, my New York driver, had picked us up in. It was surreal being in the real world. The moment I was wheeled out of the hospital, I felt… disconnected. Like I wasn’t a part of the world anymore. I was only a part of mine, and who the hell wanted to be a part of that mess?
“Gavin,” Jas said, drawing my attention from the sound of the propellers.
I cleared my throat, itching to take a painkiller. They dulled way more than just the pain. That’s how addictions start, a little voice in my head said, but I told it to shut the fuck up. Their body and mind didn’t kill right now. Mine did. “I’m fine,” I murmured, choosing to look down at my lap instead of at the sky.
Lance had picked us up underground, and I didn’t realize how smart that was until we drove out of the parking garage and turned right onto the main street the hospital was on. It was flooded with paparazzi, news reporters, and fans. Signs with my face on it were waving from posters, and flashes went off.
Jasmeen gasped beside me, gazing at them with wide, intimidated eyes.
I went pro a year before we divorced, right after college. She never got a taste for the dark side of fame. It didn’t get unbearable until we won the Stanley Cup. It went from crazy to pure unadulterated insanity. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt normal. Where I could be myself in public. Maybe that was part of the problem. I didn’t know who I was. Gavin the hockey player made so much sense, and it was much easier being him, especially since the man I had been left the moment Jas did.
She was the only one who wanted him anyway. Even as a child I knew who I was didn’t matter, but she insisted even then that it did. I proved to her that it was wrong to argue with me because when I chose my dream over fighting for her, I destroyed any possibility of ever truly mattering again.
Signing autographs were perks, getting into nightclubs was fun, and having my pick of women was enticing, but those things didn’t give me purpose.
I hadn’t cared.
Not until I lived.
Things felt like they should matter now.
Not feel so hopeless.
“Gavin,” Jas repeated, patting my thigh again.
We were in the backseat, and I wore a pair of Washington Warriors workout shorts. Gray and orange. Her pale hand looked so delicate in contrast to the intense colors. I wanted to hold her hand in mine, feel the familiar curl of her fingers, taste a morsel of what we had again. Instead, I bunched my good hand into a fist and crushed the little I did have into air.
I pressed the intercom button and waited for Lance to answer. “Is it a zoo at my place?”
“Unfortunately,” he murmured. “Has been for weeks.”
“Let me see. But don’t stop.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
Jas stared, open-mouthed, at the spectacle my street had become. Lower Manhattan was a Gavin Cobalt parade. Cops were even stationed outside the entry to my building.
“I’ll never make it in there, and even if I do, I won’t be able to leave.” I probably wouldn’t be able to leave anyway, but being trapped and wanting to leave weren’t the same thing. I hated being trapped, and now even more so.
“What do we do?”
“We’ll get a room tonight, and then we’ll rent a new place in your name. Some place far away from everyone. Call my manager and get it started. Please,” I tacked on, when she gawked at me.
She brought her phone to her ear and I saw that she had his number in her recent call log. She hit call, and a moment later Leo’s annoying as shit voice crackled over the speaker.
“How’s my man?” he asked.
Jas shrugged, looking at me. “He’s right here, actually.”
“Gavin!” Leo cheered. “How are you feeling? You’re rock star royalty right now. Your jersey’s selling for five-hundred a pop. Endorsements are banging on the door. Interviews. Merchandise.”
I cringed. Selling merchandise was good short term, but in six months, a year, who would remember my name if I couldn’t play? Before that thought could take root, I interrupted him. “I need you to rent a place in Jasmeen’s name. Some place in upstate New York, far away from Manhattan. Secluded. And keep it fucking quiet. If anyone finds us I’ll put it on you, even if it’s not your fault, and fire your ass.”
He snorted. “Glad to see you’re still an asshole. On it, Gav. You need to get a new cell, and fast. Your calls are flooding my number.”
“Get me a new one. New number. Disconnect my old one immediately. Send it to the house you find.”
“Got it. Also, you need to talk to your coach at some point. Contact the NHL. Your PR. Talk to your team. Everyone’s holding their breath, Gavin. They want to know about the crash. About what it was like walking away alive when someone like Orson didn’t make it.”
I reached over and hung up on the call, cutting him off and trying not to heave in the backseat. My world turned upside down. My entire body shook like I was cold, but I didn’t feel the chill. I hated feeling weak, but damn it, in that moment, I was.
“Not Orson,” I heard myself whisper, my voice faraway.
Jas was on my left. She slid closer and wrapped her arms around my cast-covered arm and rested her head on my shoulder. “I am so sorry, Gav. He was your teammate, right?”
I put my head in my hands and tried to breathe. “He had a kid.”
I felt something soft on my shoulder. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt. I looked and felt like shit. Smelled ten times worse. But Jas kissed my smelly ass shoulder anyway. She didn’t say anything; what was there to say?
“Did he have a funeral already?” I gasped, hating the burn in my eyes. “Shit, Orson? Orson?” I sat back, glaring at the seat across from me.
This was all real suddenly. The crash. The loss. The terror. And I knew in my soul that I’d never be the same. I’d never be Gavin Cobalt again.
I’d be a broken ex-hockey player who lost the only woman he ever loved, and faded away alone for the rest of my pathetic life.
I tried to wiggle my arm free of Jas’s hold, and waved off her attempt to touch me. I didn’t want to be touched right now. Orson’s familiar smile came to mind, and I doubled over, trying to breathe without sobbing.
Jas fought me, forcing me into a headlock until I gave up. I reached for her with my right arm and held on as hard as I could, losing myself in the memories. The sounds of Orson’s screams of terror as we fell. She hugged me to her chest, her tears mixing with mine.
I hated myself for giving in, but there was too much inside of me. Jas was safe, though. She’d never mention my tears, never point out my weaknesses. She was like that. Even as kids she was the only person I could feel around.
I never deserved her.
Once I managed to get my emotions in check, I released her. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
“Waldorf Astoria?” Lance asked.
I shook my head, not bothering to answer him out loud. I wanted him to stop the car and kick me out. Let me rot in the fucking snow.
“Gav?” she asked softly. “Why don’t we just drive a little closer to where we’re going before we decide? It’ll be too easy for people to find you in the city.”
I wasn’t a big drinker—too many empty calories, and I always had to remain sharp for games and practice—but I wanted to drink right now. An entire bottle to myself.
“I think we’re going to head North, Lance,” I heard her tell the driver. “Could we stop at a drive-through to get some food and coffee, first?”
“Of course,” Lance murmured. “There’s a wheelchair in the back,” he added for my benefit.
Lance thought of everything.
As we sat there, her phone chimed. She opened it, and then showed me that my manager had sent her a list of houses. Audacious monstrosities. I was so disgusted by the grandeur, I knocked the phone away.
“We have to pick,” she said. “Fast.”
“You pick.” I didn’t want that. “I can’t even walk. What do I need with a mansion?”
“This one has an indoor track,” she noted, so quick to get me better so she could get rid of me.
I should have wagered fifty miles non-stop. I’d never run that, never lose her. I could do ten, I’d lose her.
“This one’s nice. Not as big. Flat level. By the Hudson River. It’s really pretty actually. Kind of like a beige stone castle. Not really your style though. There’s nowhere to put your beer can wind chimes.” She snickered to herself.
I rolled my eyes. “One time. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t normal to have beer cans all over the house?”
She giggled louder, undoubtedly thinking of the time I made a beer can wind chime for art class in the sixth grade. My foster parents loved beer, and I was a procrastinator. I improvised.
“It smelled,” she inserted, covering her mouth as she laughed.
I glared at her. “And your farm panorama was so ingenious.”
She guffawed, falling against me. I had to admit that sound was beautiful in my dark thoughts. It had been years since I heard her laugh.
“I got an A. All you got was a call home from the teacher.”
I fought the rise in my lips, but her shining gray eyes smiling was too hard to ignore. “She had it in for me.”
“Oh,” she huffed, wiping off a tear. “I hadn’t thought about that in forever. Epic.”
“Hardly. I was eleven, Jas. Let it fucking go already.”
She grinned at the phone in her hands. “Never. Should I tell Leo yes?”
“Sure, whatever.”
She called him as I tried not to stare at her lips. Her face was makeup free, had been since she got here, but she never needed it. She wasn’t an in your face woman. She only opened up when we were alone. She was shy and sweet. I was always the loud dirty one. I took great pride making her moan when I was a teenager. Her pink lips made me remember so many good times. So many kisses and whispers. So many promises.
It struck me how youthful I felt around her again. But that shouldn’t shock me. We were young when we met, even younger when we fell in love, and we were still young when we divorced. We were still young now. Twenty-six felt old at the same time it felt like we’d barely gotten started before I shit all over us.
Guilt hurt worse than the sound of the propellers.