Kyle played like shit and he didn't know why. This never happened to him. Not when he was a kid playing in a league. Not when he was a draft pick playing in the AHL. He always was on point, even if the team wasn't. He had fifty-two goals last season; he produced the most offense on the team the past three years. Now, his stats barely reflected he was actually part of the team. He was a minus the last four games due to the fact that goals had been scored against the Gulls while he was on the ice. He had gotten lazy; instead of skating after a player, he reached with his stick, which caused him to get stupid penalties. For whatever reason, their penalty kill was atrocious - they only managed to kill off thirty-seven percent of them during the regular season - and the trend seemed to be following them in the post-season, considering the last two home games were bad.

As in 4-1 and 6-3 bad.

The Sacramento Suns were not this good.

The Gulls were not this bad.

Hell, Kyle was not this bad.

He clenched his teeth and shook his head. The minute Cherney and Thorpe released them after the game, Kyle bolted. He didn't want to talk to the media. He didn't want to talk to the guys. All he wanted was to be by himself and think. And yeah, that would probably make things worse considering he was his harshest critic but he couldn't sit around and pretend everything was fine when it wasn't. He wasn't like Zachary Ryan. He didn't have the energy to be charming - not that anyone ever considered him charming in the first place.

He also wanted to avoid Emma.

Granted, after their disagreement - a nice word for what happened between them - he wasn't even sure she would even show up at the locker room after the game like she normally did, but on the off-chance she did, he didn't want to be there.

He couldn't face her. Not yet.

His heart ached and he tried to force the feeling down, so deep he couldn't feel it anymore. He slid into the driveway of his relatively humble four-bedroom home in a quiet part of Newport Beach. He didn't want to live beach-front like some of the guys. He preferred the solitude, the stillness, of some of the neighborhoods. He locked his car before heading to the path that would take him to his front door. He had a black gate that he undid the latch to before clicking it back into place and then unlocked the front door before heading in and sliding off his jacket.

The first thing he intended to do was shower and get the sweat and stench of the game off of his body.

Then, after that...? Well, he didn't know. Normally, he would have cracked open a beer and slowly enjoyed it while allowing him to focus on everything but the game, everything but Emma.

Now?

He cut drinking out before the post-season, deciding that even though it wasn't a direct factor in his poor play didn't mean it was helpful to him. He hired a personal trainer who would help with his endurance as well as with his nutrition and was already making changes to his diet. Physically, he felt better in the last week than he did the last year. To be honest, he was surprised that it all went back to food and diet even though it seemed like common sense.

He shook his head, heading to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and heading into the hot shower connected to his master bedroom. He lingered there longer than his usual ten minutes, feeling the beads of water run down his back, sweep over his skin. He was being cleansed. He was being rid of the negativity that lingered on his body. 

He wanted to be rid of it all.

The shower soothed him. By the time he got out, he was relaxed, his mind clear and less distracted with hockey and Emma. He would flip on Netflix, maybe watch a mindless comedy show that would keep his thoughts at bay, prevent him from thinking too much and then getting tense all over again.

He was just about to crash on his leather couch and flip on his television when he heard the door knock. He furrowed his brow, dropping his towel and rifling through the hamper so he could quickly throw on something to wear.

Who the hell could possibly be bothering him right now? There was no way in hell the media even knew where he lived except Harper Crawford and there was no way she would go to his place just for a story. She wasn't like that. It could be one of his teammates but they knew him well enough to know when he stomped off, he wanted to be alone. Didn't want anyone to bother him about reassurance or worse - talking. Which left Emma. But that didn't make sense because Emma was angry with him. Wouldn't tell him important things he wanted to know like that she was applying to go to school in New York. That she one day dreamed of dancing on Broadway.

He clenched his teeth together at the thought. How could she not trust him with something as important as that - as a dream she had had since she was little. Those were things you shared with your significant other. At least, that was what Kyle thought.

'And have you shared everything with her?' a voice pointed out as he made his way to the front door. 'Every little detail about you. About what you want to be now, what you wanted to be when you were a kid?'

He pressed his lips together and looked through the peephole of the door, refusing to answer his own question.

He furrowed his brow when he saw Emma standing there on his doorstep, looking ridiculously beautiful in all of her uncertainty. Her hazel eyes were looking to the left, her blonde bangs nearly grazing her eyelashes. She seemed... uncomfortable wasn't the right word. Hesitant, perhaps. Almost as though she wasn't sure if she should be here. But she showed up anyway.

Kyle felt his heart squeeze together. He hadn't realized how much he missed Emma until he saw her standing there, bathed in the shadows of the darkness, glowing in his porch light. He didn't like that she shifted, that she doubted he would answer. Then again, he couldn't exactly blame her. They hadn't spoken since their tiff a few nights ago and it sucked. He hated being apart from her. He hated not being near her. Even when he was on the ice, focusing on the game, he felt a sense of safety knowing she was under the same roof as he was, knowing that she was with him, supporting him, no matter what happened, and would continue to show up regardless. During the commercial stoppages of the game, he would catch her from the corner of his eye, watching him or talking to her father. It made him feel special, knowing she was here for him. He never told her this, didn't like to reveal something that made him vulnerable, but it was true. She didn't realize it, but she gave him strength. Gave him a strength he hadn't realized existed within himself.

He didn't know how to live without it.

But at the same time, if she couldn't give him herself fully and wholly, he couldn't commit to being with her. It would absolutely break his heart but he knew it was the right thing.

Now, though, she was standing outside his porch and perhaps that meant something.

Kyle didn't hesitate letting her in. When she walked by him, she smelt like some floral scent mixed with vanilla. He thought it was lavender; at least, that was what he remembered her wearing him before their first Christmas. In case he had wanted to get her some lotion or perfume.

He ended up buying her a beautiful necklace and reserving a day at the Grand Californian spa - a Disneyland hotel that had one of the best spas Kyle could remember. He also got her twelve different lotion-body spray combinations, thanks to the help of a sales associate from Bath and Body Works.

He was pretty proud of himself that Christmas.

"Hey."

He inwardly cursed himself for the lame greeting he gave her, rolling his eyes internally. He felt his body stiffen in her presence, always on his guard because he wasn't sure what to expect from her. Not necessarily that that was a bad thing but he felt as though she kept him at an arm's length away from him because...

He didn't know. He didn't know why she was guarded with him at times.

"Hey," she told him, picking up her eyes and locking them with his.

Damn her penetrating gold-green eyes. He could never look away, no matter how hard he tried.

He was an idiot.

He assumed she was here to talk about his play.

He had no idea why he would assume that. Maybe it was his own way of keeping her at a distance, to keep his guard up around her. The hurt that flashed in her eyes based on that assumption was enough to curse his name.

Of course, he didn't show her that. He wouldn't reveal that part of himself just yet, not when he still wasn't sure where they stood. This whole thing was stupid, completely and utterly stupid. All he wanted to do was pull her in his arms and kiss her mouth with passion and fierceness. His body ached to be inside of her once again, to feel her writhe and move underneath him. To feel her slickness mold to his cock, to see her face turn up with ecstasy - ecstasy he was giving her and no other man could.

Was it wrong to think about sex now?

Maybe it was because he hadn't had it in the past few days and just smelling that flowery vanilla was making him remember her body's natural musk as it wafted over him when he was on top of her, surrounded his senses and put him under a spell as they were wrapped up in each other.

He suppressed a shudder and managed to focus on what she was saying. And what she said was astounding, something he didn't quite believe he would ever hear from her: an apology. An explanation.

And then, something happened. Something that caused his heart to stop. Her eyes fluttered before rolling in the back of her head and her entire body dropped to the floor. It was a hard thump; he knew she was unconscious. 

But why?

No time for that. He immediately called nine-one-one. He probably could have taken her to the hospital himself but he wasn't sure if she should be moved or what he should do except let the medical professionals handle it.

After that, he called Emma's father to let him know what was going on and to ask what hospital he should route the ambulance to. He couldn't believe he didn't know her health care provider. He should know this. He was her goddamn boyfriend, for crying out loud.

The fire fighters arrived in the next five minutes. Kyle explained that she had been talking and then just dropped. They checked her vitals before moving her into the ambulance. Kyle climbed in after them.

"Looks like a simple case of dehydration," one of them murmured to Kyle while keeping his eyes on Emma's unconscious frame.

He didn't care. All he knew was Emma was on the floor and he couldn't help her. All he wanted to do was help her.

"She's going to be okay," one of the fireman told him.

That did little to reassure him.