a friend or the relief of not having to deal with his shit?
He didn’t know and at this point didn’t care.
The temptation to fill his nights with the easy entertainment offered on the road had been nonexistent. After two nights of little to no sleep, tossing around alone in the foreign hotel beds, he’d broken down and asked for a few sleeping pills to get the rest he needed. Thoughts and dreams of Jacqui were driving him insane.
A quick check of his reflection in the bathroom mirror showed his tie was straight and his grooming efforts passable. He’d bet money his mother wouldn’t agree. He rubbed a palm over his stubbled jaw, half motivated to give in and shave.
No. He yanked his hand away, jaw clenching. He didn’t shave before a game—even for his mother.
Stupid hope had him checking his phone another time—nothing. No calls, texts or emails from Jacqui. Not a complete surprise, but it still fucking hurt. His heart had never been this sore. He shoved his phone in his pocket before he broke down and sent her a text. It wouldn’t fix what was wrong between them, and he refused to add to his misery by waiting for a reply that probably wouldn’t come.
A high wolf-whistle pierced the hallway when he stepped out of his hotel room.
“Who are you trying to impress?” Feeney asked, strolling up in slacks and a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up. He slung an arm around Henrik’s shoulder. “Chicks won’t be at the Thanksgiving meal.”
Henrik shrugged Feeney’s arm off and straightened his wool dress coat before he pressed the elevator button. “I’m not going to the team meal.”
“What?” Feeney scanned him again. “You got a hot date in town then? Coach gave you leave?”
Henrik snorted. “I wish.” He’d love nothing better than to be celebrating the holiday with Jacqui’s family instead of his own. Second best would’ve been to have her with him at his family’s gathering, the one he was dreading but had to attend.
The elevator opened, three teammates already inside. Great. He should’ve left earlier.
“A little overdressed there, hey, Roller?” Bowser asked as they entered the elevator.
“He says it’s not a date,” Feeney said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Bullshit,” Cutter coughed.
Henrik kept his back to them, the pain in his tight jaw matching the one that ran down the back of his neck to his shoulder blade. Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them...
“Did you fly that girl in for the game?” Bowser said, poking further. “The one from Sunday? Fucking lucky dog.”
His annoyance festered and seethed in his chest, prodding the hurt that’d grown worse since Jacqui’d left him. But Bowser wasn’t asking an abnormal question. Henrik had flown girlfriends in for games before.
The doors opened, and he strode for the elevator without looking back. The lobby was busy, other players waiting for the private room to open for their lunchtime meal. The Glaciers did their best to make up for the fact that the guys couldn’t be home to celebrate the holiday with their families. It was just Henrik’s bad luck that they were playing Boston tonight and his family happened to live in town. He’d rather be eating with the team.
The town car was waiting on the curb when he stepped outside, a driver at its side. The man had been an employee for the last few years and he nodded to Henrik as he opened the back door. Henrik couldn’t remember the last time his mother had actually driven a car. Did she even know how to drive?
The driver pulled away from the hotel without saying a word, which was good. Conversation was not what Henrik wanted. It was bad enough he was expected to appear at his parents’ “dinner,” if that was what the stiff, formal gathering could be called. Just thirty of their closest friends and family packed around a table with mind-numbing conversation and fake interest. That was the first part of the long day that transitioned to an evening charity event, also hosted by his mother.
The only saving grace was he had to be at the rink by four for the game, getting him out of the evening gala. Thank God.
He handed his coat to the maid when he arrived at his parents’ Beacon Hill home. The stately structure had been in his father’s family for generations, purchased in the eighteen hundreds and passed down from first son to first son. Many remodels and upgrades later, it still held the grandeur that spoke of old