She spins to face me, and I swear I see a small flicker of fear dance inside her eyes. “Ryan, don’t.” She grabs my sweaty wrist. “Please don’t tell her,” she says, tears springing to her eyes. “Not now. Not like this. Please. You’ll make it that much harder for her.”
“Harder for her to do what?” I press, my heart racing like I just pulled a double shift. And that’s when it hits me. “Oh my god…this is about her ex, right? That asshole fucking did something. He threatened her again, didn’t he?”
Rachel just shakes her head, holding back the truth I see burning inside her.
“Rachel, please—”
“He threatened you.”
Rachel gasps, eyes narrowing as I spin to face the new voice. Jake is standing just behind me, his sweaty face solemn.
“Jake, don’t,” she orders. “Tess doesn’t want him hurt, and that’s her business—”
“It’s his business too,” Jake counters. “She made you promise not to say anything, but I’m under no such gag orders.” He looks to me, placing a hand on my shoulder pads. “You love her, man?”
I nod. “I do. So fucking much.”
“Then go tell her that—”
“Jake,” Rachel cries. “Tess says she has a plan, and we all have to trust her. She knows Troy better than any of us. If she says we step back, I think we all need to listen.”
“Will one of you just tell me what the fuck happened?” I beg. “You said he threatened me. I’ve never met the guy. I don’t even know what he looks like. What did he do?”
“Check her closet,” Jake replies. “Everything you need to know is in there.”
Rachel just shakes her head, glaring at her husband. I see through her though. I know she’s more scared than angry. What the hell happened today?
I turn away from them both, my shoulder brushing Jake’s as I practically run in my skates over to Coach’s office. His door connects to the locker room on the other side from PT. The door is open, and I push my way inside. Coach Johnson sits at his desk, eyes glued to a monitor playing game tape from first period. Assistant Coaches Andrews and Denison are here, too, and the goalie coach.
“I need to go,” I say to the room.
Three pairs of eyes turn to look at me.
“Langley? What’s the problem, son?” says Coach Johnson.
“Family emergency, sir,” I reply. “I need to leave. I’m sorry, but I can’t finish this game.”
“Jesus, what happened?” says Andrews, stepping forward to grip my shoulder pad. “You look white as a sheet—”
“I’ve never asked for this before, sir,” I go on, looking right at Coach. “I’ve never even missed a practice before my knee. I’m asking now. Let me go take care of my family. I’m no good to you out there tonight anyway,” I add, gesturing to the monitor.
They all turn, and we watch as Karlsson shoots me a pass and I miss, out of position and too slow to catch up. That missed pass led to the changeover that led to the Blue Jackets’s first goal.
Coach Johnson stands. “You can’t tell us what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know yet, sir. I need to go find out. Until I do, my head’s not in this game. I can’t play anymore hockey tonight, sir. Fine me, suspend me, do whatever you need to do.”
Slowly, he nods, his grey eyes narrowed at me. “Family comes first, Langley,” he says at last. “Go. Take care of your business.”
I barely get out a ‘thank you’ before I’m rushing out of the office and over to my stall, ready to rip off this Rays jersey and get home to Tess.
58
I pull up to the bungalow to see Tess’s rental car parked in the driveway. I slip out of the car and hurry up to the front door, unlocking it. The lights are all off in the living room, but music plays over the speakers. I hear the bridge of “Tolerate It” and my heart sinks. No woman listens to Evermore without having thoughts of a loved lost.
Tossing my keys down on the side table, I move down the hall. She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. I cross the space and move down the dark hallway, glancing between the pair of doors. One is closed, leading to my room. I haven’t slept in there for days. The door to her room is open, the golden light warm and welcoming. I knock twice on the open door and wait.
“Tess?” I call.
She doesn’t answer.
I step into the room, and my heart, which had already sunk. goes cold as ice. Her big silver suitcase is out on the bed, clothes and dresses and shoes packed neatly inside. The present I left for her is still wrapped, untouched. She just moved it over to the bedside table. The envelope holding her WAG pass rests on top, unopened. More stuff is piled on the chair in the corner. All her toiletries line the top of the dresser.
This is why she wasn’t at the game. She was using the time I was away to slip out like a goddamn thief in the night. And she is a thief, because when she goes, she’ll take my heart away with her. No ransom. No demands.
What I want to know is why.
My gaze darts over to the closet. Bracing myself, I step inside, looking around the empty space. Most of her stuff is packed away. A couple sweaters remain on hangers. A few shoes litter the floor. And two small boxes.
I go still. The rotten energy floating off them is palpable. I can practically taste it on my tongue. These are what Jake wants me to find. With a grimace, I bring them out to her bedroom, dropping them on the bed. I open the flaps of the first box and find a bunch of shredded papers inside. There’s a note on top as well, but it’s written in a tight, slanted cursive handwriting.
I open the other box. Looking inside, I instantly want to feel sick. It’s a box of photos. Horrible, grainy, exposing photos of Tess and me. Every moment we’ve shared has been captured and documented. I get to the stack of kitchen photos and curse, dropping them back into the box as if they burned me.
Someone’s been watching us for weeks. Someone violated us, violated Tess. And I didn’t protect her. In my defense, I didn’t fucking know.
Did she know?
This is the big wall I’ve felt standing between us. That last barrier she just couldn’t get over. We’re the extrovert and the introvert. The doer and the thinker. The Gemini and the Virgo. We shouldn’t work on paper, but we do. We’re so damn happy together. And we’re good for each other. All I want is to get closer, and yet she’s constantly pushing me away. I thought it was her. I thought it was some hang-up she has about commitment and trust. And I think all of that is still true. But now I’m holding the proof of something more. She’s been holding back to protect me. She knew someone was watching us. She knew she wasn’t safe.
And she didn’t tell me.
I swallow my frustration. How hard must it have been for her to keep this from me? Or was it difficult at all? Maybe this level of subterfuge comes easy to her—
Stop.
I fight the urge to crumple the photos in my hands. I’m hurt and confused, but that’s no excuse to be unfair to the woman I love. I deserve an explanation just as much as she deserves the chance to give me one. I have to be ready to listen. This can all make sense if I let it. I already have some of the pieces to this puzzle. Tess holds the rest. I need her to share. We don’t stand a fucking chance if she can’t trust me with something as big as this.
I glance back down at the photos. The feeling of violation sweeps over me again. My finger brushes over the grainy image of Tess in the kitchen. I’m between her legs, my body out of shot, hidden in shadow. She’s all alone, exposed to the lens—her breasts, the arch of her neck, the curve of her hip, the look of wild abandon on her face.
It feels like he stole something from her with the snap of this photo. He took something without asking. I want to beat him with his fucking camera. And then I want to find Troy Owens and beat him too. He’s the one that asked for this. He paid someone to do this to us. Why? Does he get off on these? Does he still think of Tess as his?
The thought makes my blood boil. I feel sick. I need to find Tess. If I’m feeling this way about it all, how must she feel? I need to comfort her.
I drop the photos down to the bed, turning my back on them, and head for the door. But I pause in my steps as Tess walks in, juggling a pair of empty moving boxes in her hands. Our eyes meet, and then she’s screaming.
“Ohmygod—Ryan!”