Nah, fuck him. He was overreacting about this. And he was being stupid, a stupid macho man who couldn’t admit something was wrong.
I unlocked the door and flung it open. I strode out. He wasn’t in the bedroom so I kept going, down the hall to the door where I’d left my jacket and boots and purse. I didn’t know where he was, but I wasn’t going to hunt for him. I was out of here.
I sat on the bench in the foyer and pulled on my boots. My eyes started to water, and my vision blurred a little, and I blinked angrily. I didn’t bother to put my jacket on, just grabbed it and my purse and left.
As I waited for the elevator I half expected Chase to come after me. But he didn’t.
* * *
—
“So tell me what’s going on with the hot hockey hunk.”
Anjali and I sat in my living room, each of us at one end of the couch, legs curled under us, big glasses of wine in our hands. The wine I’d drunk on my Caribbean trip with Chase hadn’t hurt my throat, so I’d invited Anjali over for some girl time and wine Saturday night. I ignored the fact that the Aces were playing tonight and left the TV off.
“He’s a jerk.”
Anjali’s perfect dark eyebrows rose. “That doesn’t sound good. Did something happen on the trip?”
“No. The trip was amazing.” I sighed. “So amazing.” I paused. “If I tell you something about Chase, you have to keep it a complete secret.”
“I’m intrigued. Is he a cross-dresser? That would really be hot gossip—a cross-dressing hockey player.”
“Jesus! No! Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She grinned, her teeth white against her brown skin. “It just popped into my head.”
“It’s nothing scandalous like that. It’s a physical ailment.”
“Oh no.” She leaned forward. “Does he have a tiny penis? Or…” She shuddered. “He can’t get it up?”
I had to laugh. “No, Anj. His penis is perfect, and he definitely knows what to do with it.”
“Now that sounds promising. You can tell me all about that later. First, tell me what’s wrong.”
I told her about Chase’s nagging wrist problems and his reluctance to find out what was wrong. And I told her about our argument that morning. “He was so pissed at me for trying to convince him to go to the Mayo Clinic before the season is over, and he practically accused me of using him. For what though?” I snorted then sipped my wine. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“He thinks he’s Chase Hartman, star hockey player. Probably women have used him.”
“Probably. Whatever. That’s just insulting to me.” I tossed my hair back. Then I remembered him telling me about the women who said they loved hockey, who really didn’t but just wanted to date a hockey player. The girlfriend who’d dumped him…because she didn’t want to be with him unless he was a pro hockey player. My insides constricted. I wasn’t like that. “I’m worried about him.”
“Does he know that?”
“Of course he knows that! We actually argued about this before, when we were away on our trip.” I bit my lip. “That’s why I said this has to be a secret. They always keep their injuries secret. I’m not sure why. Possibly because their opponents would take advantage of it if they knew. Like, some guy would slash Chase’s wrist knowing he was vulnerable there.” My stomach did a sick roll, thinking about that and the risks he was taking every game.
“Don’t worry, I don’t hang around with many hockey players,” Anjali said dryly. “And I have no desire to.” She grimaced.
“What? What was that look for?” I pointed a finger at her.
“I’m not into big dumb jocks.”
“Hey. They’re not big dumb jocks. Chase is very smart.”
“I’m sure he is.” Anjali held up a hand. “Sorry. Apparently you’ve got it bad for this dude.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, honey.” She regarded me sympathetically. “You had a fight with him. You’re angry at him. But you’re defending him.” She tilted her head to make her gaze sharper, and the light from the floor lamp glinted off the diamond stud in her nostril.
“Oh.” I sank back into the cushions. “You have a point.” I inserted my index fingernail between my teeth. “Shit, this is bad, isn’t it?”
Anjali shrugged. “Maybe?”
“It is bad.” I sighed. “I’ve been upset all day because of our argument. And even more upset thinking I’ll never see him again.”
“Ah, hon. This seems to be getting serious.”
“And it shouldn’t be. I’m going back to L.A. in a few months. He’s here, with a crazy schedule. We both knew that going into this.” I sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. It’s just a fun, casual thing, and I got too serious. I was only worried about him though.”
“You do tend to be a bit meddlesome.” One eyebrow arched.
I scowled. “Like when?”
“Like when I was dating Jay Koslowski and you told me I should break up with him.”
“He was an asshole! He was screwing around on you! You just didn’t want to hear that.” We’d had a big argument over that, but eventually Anjali had realized I was right and dumped his ass.
“True.” She shrugged. “And what about your friend Malik? Didn’t you two have a spat about his manager?”
“Yes. His manager was a dick. He was stealing money from him.”
“But Malik didn’t like you interfering in his business.”
My heart sank. “True.” I met my friend’s eyes. “So you think I shouldn’t have tried to make Chase go to the Mayo Clinic?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I know your heart is in the right place and you have good intentions. But sometimes people don’t like to be told what to do when they haven’t asked for advice.”
“Should…should I apologize to him?”
“An apology never hurts.”
I looked away, tipping my glass to my lips again. “Maybe it’s better to just let things go. If we were getting too serious, it’s better to end things now.”
“You could be right.”
I gave her a frustrated glare. “I forgot how you don’t like to give advice.”
Anjali chuckled and swirled her wine. “You always had enough advice to give for both of us.”
Her gentle tone was teasing not harsh, and I smiled. “You won’t tell me what to do, will you?”
“Nope. But feel free to talk it out. That usually helps.”
“True.”
I told her all about the trip and how wonderful it had been and how amazing Chase was. We talked about him being afraid to go to the doctor, but that he finally had. We talked about Anjali’s job and her students, one in particular she was mentoring because she was such a talented pianist, and her parents’ attempts to match her up with the son of family friends.
“I’ve been putting up with this my whole life,” she complained.
I well knew this. Anjali’s parents had come to America from India shortly before Anjali had been born. Their marriage had been an arranged marriage. Even at the age of ten when Anjali and I had met, I’d been fascinated by their belief that marriage was a matter of karmic destiny, spellbound by their talk of happy unions among Hindu gods—Shiva and Parvati, Krishna and Radha. Anjali’s father felt he had to fulfill his parental duty by finding her a husband.
But from the time Anjali had kissed Jay Koslowski under the bleachers at age fourteen, she’d resisted the idea that her marriage would be arranged. She wanted to find true love.
“Even though they say it’s not an arranged marriage in the traditional sense, they just want me to meet him because they really think we would make a good couple.” She rolled her eyes. “That is not happening.”
I grinned. “So you haven’t even met him yet?”
“I met him when I was twelve. He was fourteen. He was a complete dork.”
“Oh well, then no point in finding out how he turned out now he’s twenty-six. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s an engineer. See? Dork. I’m sure we have nothing at all in common. I like music and theater and museums. He probably likes…well, I have no idea.”