We made our way down to the beach, past swaying palm trees and across the powdery white sand. The turquoise water had faded to a silvery blue as the sun set, lapping gently at the shore in the calm evening air. Tiki torches planted in the sand lit the way to our cabana, where the white curtains were tied back so we could see the sun set over the Caribbean.
Even I had to admit it was pretty dope.
We sat at the small table for two, chairs arranged to face the water. A candle flickered on the table, and more sat in lanterns in the four corners of the cabana creating a glowing ambience. I glanced at Jordyn to see how she felt about the candles, but she seemed okay with it.
Our waiter served us champagne to start, which was awesome because Jordyn had confessed to me that bubbly made her frisky. But then again, she’d been frisky pretty much since we got here, so I didn’t know if we needed the champagne for that. Wouldn’t hurt though.
“Are the bubbles okay on your throat?”
“It’s fine.” She sighed. “This is amazing. Thank you so much for this, Chase. This was just what I needed.”
“Yeah. Me too,” I admitted.
“It’s been wonderful to just relax and not worry about anything.”
“It has.” Getting away from everything and not thinking about the problems we faced for a few days had made me feel a whole lot better about things. “I have the best date ideas.”
She laughed and leaned forward, her champagne flute in hand. “You really do. We haven’t seen much of Aruba though.”
“True.” I grinned. “I told you we weren’t going to leave the room for four days.”
Actually, we had left the room, because the pool and the beach were awesome, but I was also grateful for room service because there had definitely been times I didn’t want to let her out of bed. Although we did have sex on the balcony one afternoon, arranging the wicker furniture into a bed.
“We’ll just have to come back to explore the rest of the island.”
“That would be fantastic.”
Were we making future plans? That made my gut shift a little. We’d been enjoying each other so much, but we hadn’t talked about anything long term. I didn’t really want to think about that. So I lifted my champagne glass and clinked it against hers. “Thanks for an epic date.”
Her smile heated my insides as she lifted her glass to her mouth.
We ate sashimi and mini crab cakes to start, sharing with each other, then chateaubriand for two. The waiter was discreet but attentive, refilling our glasses and removing dishes. The sun set over the Caribbean in a blaze of orange, gold, and purple, and we talked about the things we’d done, the people we’d met and chatted with at the bar and the pool. The older couple from England who’d saved up for a year to come here to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary, to whom Jordyn had anonymously sent a bottle of champagne after we’d chatted with them. The couple from Italy who barely spoke English who she’d helped when the wife was having chest pains. Jordyn had pulled me in to help interpret with my rusty Italian, and then she’d looked at me like I was the hero when she’d been the one who had stepped up to help.
Nobody had recognized us, and we’d just been Jordyn and Chase from Chicago.
“I don’t want to leave.” Jordyn smiled wistfully. “This is paradise.”
“It really is.” I didn’t want to leave either. I was dreading playing again Sunday night. And that said a lot, because normally I looked forward to every game. It had been fantastic to just forget all our problems and worries for a few days, worries about Jordyn’s voice, worries about my wrist. Now we had to go back to reality.
And what did that mean for us?
Jordyn still had months of recovery ahead of her, so she wasn’t leaving Chicago, like, tomorrow. But she was leaving. I…well, I still didn’t know what was wrong with me. Shit.
Yeah, our time in paradise was coming to an end.
* * *
—
My wrist felt great. The five-day break had been good for it. I was relieved and actually looking forward to playing.
I felt fine on the ice too, invigorated from the time off (and possibly from Jordyn), my legs strong, my wind good. I felt even better when I scored a goal on a sick breakaway. I pumped a fist into the air as I slammed into the boards behind the net, immediately swarmed by my teammates.
Relief flooded through me that I still had it. I could do this. It was going to be okay.
Until it wasn’t. About the middle of the third period, I took a hit into the boards, not even that hard, but my wrist was caught between my body and the dasher and shit…pain streaked up my arm. I tried to shake it off, finishing my shift, but as I sat on the bench breathing hard, I knew I was fucked.
* * *
—
“What did the MRI show?”
“Nothing.” I held my phone to my ear as I moved around my condo, putting away the food I’d just bought. I left out a dish of salmon with lemon and dill I was going to heat up for my dinner.
“Oh.” Jordyn’s voice sounded surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How can that be?”
“I don’t know. They thought it might be a ligament tear that didn’t show up on the X-ray, but I guess it’s just something really minor. Anyway, I had another shot.”
“Is that…steroids?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“But it’s safe?”
“Oh yeah.” I didn’t tell her about some of the risks the doctor had told me. I could tell she was worried enough as it was.
“You’ll still be playing.”
“Hell yeah. It’s not that bad.” I interpreted her silence as disagreement. “They didn’t tell me I couldn’t play.”
“Well, maybe you should tell them you can’t play.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Maybe it should.”
I pressed my lips together. I knew what she was saying, but hockey players couldn’t be trusted to make decisions about our ability to play hurt, because we’d play through anything.
“I’m just worried about you, Chase.” Her voice was softer now.
“I know, but don’t worry. Hockey players are tough. There’ve been guys that kept playing with broken legs.”
“Jesus.”
I laughed. “It’s not that bad. Just tweaks a bit when I move it certain ways.” I was trying to make her feel better, but I wasn’t being completely honest. The game last night had been frustrating, even though I’d scored another goal. Thank fuck.
“When do you leave on your road trip?”
“In the morning.”
“I miss you.”
After spending nearly five full days together, it did feel weird being away from her. After dropping her off at her place and coming home, my condo felt so empty. Things were too quiet. Too neat and tidy. I liked having her around, dancing to her ever present music, messing things up.
Ugh. This was getting too intense. If I felt like this after a few days, how was I going to feel when she went back to L.A.?
“Miss you too,” I said. “But I’ll see you when I get back. How was your day?”
“Eh. I’ve been trying to write since we got back, but it’s so hard when I can’t sing.” She sighed gustily.
“Aw. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I probably wrote some crap, but I did something at least.”
“I’ll come see you on Friday when we’re back from Detroit. We’ll do something fun.”
“I hope you mean in bed.”
“Ha. That too. Like when you read a fortune cookie. ‘A dream you have will come true…in bed.’?”
She laughed too and that made me happy. “?‘The greatest risk is not taking one…in bed.’?”
“That sounds promising. ‘Good things take time…in bed.’?”
“Mmm.”
“?‘Your world will be rocked…in bed.’?”
“I can’t wait.” Her voice came out low and husky and my balls tingled.
“Yeah, me either.”
We ended the call, and I set my phone on the counter.
An empty ache throbbed inside me. I hated thinking about her unhappy—trying to write songs and struggling because she couldn’t sing. It was how I felt on the ice when I couldn’t do the things I wanted to. The things I knew I could do. We got what the other was going through. I just wished there was something I could do to make things better for her. Her recovery was out of my control.
What was in my control though was to make her happy in other ways, whether it was a spontaneous trip to the Caribbean, bad jokes about fortune cookies, or…I had to think of something to cheer her up for when I came back.
Of course, making her dreams come true in bed was a good start.