gone. I placed my suitcase in my car and drove to the arena.
Since I was running late, it didn’t surprise me to find I was the last one to arrive. Coach and our general manager both looked at their watches. Rolling my eyes, I stowed my suitcase, climbed on the bus, and took my seat.
“What the fuck, Kosinski?” McGregor was looking at me like I had a dick on my forehead.
Beck sat there giving me an expectant look. Kalashnik and Baranov looked over their seat, giving me smirks and raised brows. The bus pulled out and they turned around.
“What?” I asked nonchalantly.
“What do you mean what? You’re never, and may I repeat, never late.” McGregor frowned as he continued to look at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Technically, I wasn’t late. I still had about,” I glanced at my watch, “five minutes left.”
“And I ask again, what the fuck?”
“I had shit to take care of,” I replied with a shrug. Then I pulled out my phone to look busy. I saw that I’d had several missed calls and text messages from him and Beck.
“He had shit to take care of,” McGregor mutters. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
Though I was trying to ignore him, his dramatics made me laugh. “Jesus, dude. I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this.”
“Maybe because this is so out of character for you that I’m wondering if you’re okay. You were late, you didn’t answer your phone, your text messages. Are you ill?” Again, I chuckled at his dramatics.
“Dude. Chill. I made it. So I was later than usual. It’s all good. And I was driving—I couldn’t answer your text messages.” How I missed his calls, I had no idea.
He snorted in disbelief but thankfully let it drop. We got to the airport, boarded the plane, and waited for takeoff.
For a moment, I stared unseeing out the window. Then I pulled my phone out of my pocket again. On a whim, I sent a text.
Me: Miss you already
“Who’s Sexy S—” McGregor didn’t get the whole thing out before I smashed a hand over his mouth. He mumbled behind my hand as I shushed him.
“Keep it down,” I urged before looking around to see if any was paying attention. Relief hit me when no one seemed to be listening to anything we had to say. When he shook me off, I apologized. “Sorry, Mac.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” he asked. I raised a brow.
“Is that all you can say?” I knew I was making light of his concerns, but I wasn’t ready to share anything about Sydney with him or anyone else. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to jeopardize her job, but part of me wanted to keep her all to myself for a while. My secret that belonged only to me.
He frowned. “No, but you don’t normally get your panties in a wad about your hookups. All you had to say was that you were setting up a night with one of your bunnies. So now you’re acting out of character again.”
I could’ve lied and said that’s what I was doing, but the thought of saying that when it wasn’t true seemed wrong. Thinking about hooking up with a bunny while we were on the road also held no appeal to me.
That had me a little concerned. With my own frown, I put my phone on airplane mode and leaned back in the seat. Sydney hadn’t answered me, but I didn’t want to draw more attention to it.
“Everything is fine,” I told him.
But I had to wonder if I was lying to him and myself.
Monday’s game was an afternoon game. After the morning skate, I checked my phone. Sydney had replied last night, but by the time we landed, I knew she’d be in bed. She hadn’t replied to my messages telling her good morning.
Realistically, I knew she was likely busy. Still, I sent her another text. She replied during the game and I saw it afterward. She messaged that they were indeed busy but told me she caught part of the game on the monitors they had set up around the arena. She told me good luck, but obviously, I didn’t get the message until it was too late.
We’d lost the game, and I was irritable like the rest of the team as I sat in the locker room after, sweaty and tired.
Coach had chewed our asses for being distracted, sluggish, and all around