Only One Forever (Only One 8)

I put the phone down on the side table and try not to think about it. Even when I step into the shower, I push the thought that maybe he has a girlfriend to the back of my head. If he did, wouldn’t he share the news with me? The lump in my throat grows. Maybe he’s just passing the time with her. I close my eyes, rushing through the shower and getting into bed.

I shut the lights off and turn on the television. The sudden feeling of a void runs through me, the same feeling I felt all day when I was hanging pictures on the wall. This day was supposed to be a big deal. I was supposed to finally feel at home, at peace, but something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I kept telling myself it was because it was brand new, and I still needed to get things to make it feel like home. My eyes drift closed, waiting for his call back.

When the alarm sounds softly the next day, I roll over and shut it off. Grabbing my phone, I check to see if he at least texted, and nothing shows. Turning back into the bed, I check my social media. I like a couple of posts, and when the alarm sounds again, I finally get out of bed and walk to the bathroom.

Slipping on my white jeans and a white tank top that molds to my body, I grab a brown belt. My caramel sandal wedges on my feet make my legs look longer than they are. I mean, I’m not short by any means, and five eight for a girl is considered tall. My hand picks up my light-blue jean jacket at the same time my phone beeps, telling me it’s time to go.

With my phone in one hand and my purse in the other, I get into my car, stopping to get my coffee on the way to the office. There are no words to explain how excited I am about the summer camp that we are putting on. I made sure that I scheduled all the men in the family to come in and do a day here and there. It didn’t really take much for them to say yes. It is summer, and we usually always stay around each other. I have fifty kids signed up for the whole summer, which is going to be five groups of ten and then twenty more kids coming from the sponsorship.

When I pull up to the arena, a sense of pride fills me. It’s been over a year we have been working on buying the arena. And when I say we, I mean Wilson and me. When we started the hockey school last year, he thought we could do a couple of clinics for the kids. Well, that blew up, surprising only him since he thought no one would come to it since he was the bad boy on the ice, with a reputation to follow. He had to start renting ice in different arenas, and finally, he just approached the guy and offered him a nice chunk of change for his arena.

The white writing on the door, Brad Wilson Arena, makes me smile as the glass door slides open. As soon as you step in, you are hit with a staircase that brings you upstairs to the sitting area where you can watch all four arenas. Walking past the first staircase, you see my office on the left side, right in front of the players’ entrance with a dressing room on both sides.

“Good morning,” Wilson says when he walks in right behind me dressed in a tracksuit. It’s the tracksuit I had made for the hockey school. The same tracksuits that Julia helped me unbox a couple of weeks ago. “I brought you coffee.” He holds up his hand, and then he looks at the white cup in mine. “Okay, so the question is, why didn’t you get me coffee?”

“Well,” I say, walking toward my office, “that would be a good question.” I smile over my shoulder. “One I don’t care to answer right now.”

He laughs, following me into my office. “I’m getting them to switch your office,” he announces, looking around my small office. “There is no way I need that corner office since I’m never in it.”

“But you’re the CEO.” I joke with him as I grab my files. “The big chief.”

“Well, this big chief doesn’t need anything big,” he says, and I nod my head.

“I feel sorry for Franny.” Tilting my head to the side and smirking, he just laughs.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant,” he starts to say, and it’s my turn to laugh. I hold up my thumb and forefinger, showing him how small he could be. “Forget it,” he says as we walk to the stairs and head up to one of the conference rooms. This was something that Wilson wanted to add to help the trainers sit down and compare notes.