Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Then it’s not fucking ever.
Van’s the one who told me to move on, so I moved on.
Chapter 27
Van
When I pull the rental vehicle to the curb outside Dr. and Mrs. Fournier’s house, I’m relieved to see another rental car already there. I pull right up behind it, and a man I’ve never met before but whom I’ve spoken to on a few occasions over the last week gets out of his car.
Xander Cline walks up to my car door to wait as I exit the vehicle. I slide a glance toward the front porch, having no clue if Simone is even in there or not. Ideally, I’d have hopped a plane last night after the game, but when one wins a Stanley Cup, there are multitudes of photo ops and interviews that have to be done following. I wasn’t able to get out of the arena until long after the last flight had left the airport.
Sticking a hand out, Xander says, “Nice to finally meet you. Congrats on the Cup. Helluva series.”
“Thanks, man,” I say as I shake his hand and then close the door on the rental car. I lean back against it and cross my arms over my chest. I’m dying to see Simone, but I’ve got to get a few things straight with him first.
“She has no clue I’m here and she sure as shit might blow a gasket when I introduce you to her,” I tell Xander.
“No worries,” he says with a smile. “I get what you’re doing and why you’re doing it this way. Honestly, it was this angle on the story that induced me to fly out here from LA on such short notice.”
“I’d prefer you not ask Simone personal questions about our relationship, but I’m fair game on anything,” I tell him. He nods, because we’d been through this on the phone. “But Simone can handle herself, so I shouldn’t really be worried about it.”
“Then let’s do this,” Xander says, and I push off the car. My nerves are firing hard, but I’m ready to get back on track.
Xander and I walk up the sloped driveway from the road and then cut across to the front porch via a sidewalk. My hands are itching to grab her to me when she opens the door, but I know I have to maintain some measure of decorum since I’m doing this with Xander watching.
But fuck am I ready.
I knew when I came back to the hotel room later that day when the article came out I had made a terrible mistake. I knew this because Simone was gone. She had given me an ultimatum, I refused, and she left.
For as stubborn and determined as Simone is when she wants something, I knew without a doubt that when she drew a line in the sand, she wouldn’t cross it either.
This left me reeling. I’d been outed as the kid of a serial killer, I drove my girlfriend away in a selfish moment of stupidity, and I was playing in the Stanley Cup finals. What I really wanted was to hop a plane and go after Simone, but Etta was there to talk sense into me.
“Take things in order, Van,” she said calmly. “Stanley Cup game tomorrow. Worry about reporters after that. Simone will be in Raleigh when you get there day after tomorrow.”
So I took Etta’s advice, and it was good advice, except for the fact Simone was not in Raleigh when the team returned. No, I came home to the house completely empty of all of her belongings. A quick, somewhat frantic, call to Lucas had confirmed my worst fears.
Simone had moved back to Quebec quickly. Her message was clear. When I said “not fucking ever,” she took me at face value and moved on.
Etta was the recipient of many phone calls over the next few days. She’d had some minor contact with Simone but wasn’t divulging. Her advice to me was still the same. Get through the play-offs and then go after Simone. Etta assured me, “You’d be surprised at how far a simple apology can go.”
Yeah…it was going to take more than that. I’d fucked up big time by devaluing Simone. I pushed her away when she could have been my biggest supporter, and that was a slap in the face she was not likely to let go of.
I just missed her.
So fucking much, and going through the remainder of the play-offs without her in the crowd cheering for me sucked hairy balls. I tried to imagine she was watching on TV, and even though I’d been a douche, I imagined that she was still supporting me. It made me feel slightly better, but not much.
Throughout the following week while the series continued, I thought about Simone constantly. I also thought about hockey, knowing that my goal of a Cup win was within close reach.