Sometimes, when I can't resist, I remind her that I've been thinking about her—she looked beautiful in my dreams last night. I'm thinking about her in her wet dress.
She never responds. Truthfully, I think she probably blocked my ass the same day she blocked me on social media. But I keep texting anyway, hoping I'm wrong.
If she doesn't answer soon, even just to tell me to fuck off, I may do something drastic.
It's not helping that my mother was on my porch three days ago, demanding that I help her convince Hattie to forgive her. She actually said that I owe it to her for all the years she raised us.
I told her to get the hell off my property, but I doubt it's the last time I'll have to say it. Without me footing her bills, she's frantic. And that's the fucked-up part. She isn't apologetic. She isn't sorry. She doesn't actually give a damn about any of us. She just desperately needs access to the money I stopped sending her when I cut her off.
But she's the least of my problems right now.
Tia is the issue. Actually, it's the fact that Tia is out of reach that's the issue. I need an excuse to get her back to Chicago…and I've got nothing. Not a damn thing.
I glance at Ryan, contemplating. He's the last person I should be asking for advice, but fuck it.
"I met someone," I mutter.
He slow blinks at me, like I just announced that I'm quitting hockey to become an astronaut. "You met someone," he finally repeats. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means I think I met my future wife," I say. I'm fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds when we haven't even spoken since Harlan's wedding. That should be a sign to leave her the hell alone, right? Wrong. The thought of us together won't dislodge from my brain.
She's the one. I feel it in my fucking bones.
"Not you, too," Ryan groans. "I swear to Christ, your family should be studied for science, man. You guys are dropping like flies."
"What's the problem?" Karsen asks, shooting Ryan a death glare before carefully removing his pads.
"She lives in Minneapolis," I mutter. "It's pissing me off that she isn't here."
"You could just invite her to visit like a normal person," Ryan says, stifling laughter.
"Gee, why didn't I think of that?" I ask sarcastically. "Oh, right. Because she'd rather get hit by a train than willingly deal with me."
"Glad I'm not the only one."
"If he beats you to death with his skate, that's a you problem," Cale Vaught mutters from across the room, shaking his head at Ryan.
I glance down at my skate and then at Ryan. "The skate is too important to waste bashing in brains that don't even exist."
Ryan blanches, earning a ripple of laughter from our teammates. "Man, fuck all of you. I'm a genius."
"Said no one ever," Madden Reyes mutters under his breath, earning a snort from Karsen. Ryan is a lot of things, like a goddamn terrorist in skates and an excellent friend, but genius absolutely isn't on the list. The man never takes anything seriously. He needs a handler.
"Who is she?" Trent Kirk asks, curiosity in his voice as he unlaces his skates.
I hesitate, not sure I want to tell them, not because she's a secret but because she's Kingston's sister. The hockey world isn't that fucking big. "Tia Monroe."
"Kingston Monroe's sister?" he asks, right on cue.
I jerk my chin in a nod, leaning back against my locker.
Trent whistles. "She does not like hockey players."
Fuck my life. How is this common knowledge to everyone except me? Did she put out a damn ad in the paper or something? How do they all know?
And why doesn't she like hockey players?
I've Googled her enough for the damn protection order to write itself at this point, but I've yet to find anything to explain why she doesn't like hockey players. She attends Kingston's games. There's nothing to explain her dislike—no sordid gossip, no info on an asshole ex who broke her heart, nothing.