I don’t know if that was my dad, but for good measure, I’m going to block the number anyway. I thump my foot against the cool tile of my bathroom as I block the number. Maybe I should change my number again? If I do that, though, it will be the ninth time in three years. If anything, my dad is persistent, but I refuse to allow that man back into my life. Blood or not, he is dead to me. Has been dead to me. Sometimes I hate that my mom died and he didn’t. I would trade them in a second. No thought to it whatsoever.
God would be like, “Hey, Wes. You want your mom or dad?”
Mom, God.
Always Mom.
I place my phone back down and return to shaving. As I move the blade along my chin, I don’t allow myself to think of my dad or the life I endured with him. Loads of therapy have taught me that everything that happened was not my fault as it was made out to be. I was called a liar, I was accused of trying to ruin lives, and I was constantly ignored. At the time, I thought I was wrong. I thought I deserved what was happening to me, but I learned very quickly that wasn’t the case. I still have nightmares about it occasionally. The cops being called. Being taken into protective custody in the back seat of a cop car. The not-guilty verdict. It all haunts me, but it won’t take over my life.
I won’t let it.
As my heart rate slows, I let out a long exhale before cleaning up my neck. Once I am satisfied with the job, I throw on some aftershave and then deodorant. I head into my closet that is connected to my bathroom and pick out some clothes for today. It was a hard skate this morning and a long session of tapes, but now that I’m actually able to shower in my bathroom and get dressed, I feel more relaxed. We play the Kings tomorrow. I hate that I dread each game, but with everything so fucked up, it’s expected to feel this way.
When I’m happy with the outfit I pick out for dinner at Brooks, I head back into the bathroom to get dressed. As soon as I enter, though, my phone starts to ring, and my stomach drops. I slowly walk over to it, not wanting to see the number but knowing I need to. To my surprise, it’s Stella. I almost fall over myself trying to answer the phone.
“Hey, hey, you.”
“Hey, hey, Wes,” she teases, a beautiful lightness in her voice. God, I miss her. After being so close to her all night and then riding home without touching her, I’m dying. I wanted to kiss the shit out of her. Lay her in my bed, worship her, and then beg her to never leave my bed again. But all I know is that if things do progress the way I want them to, I want Aiden to know I was a gentleman. That I treated his sister with respect. I’m not saying I’m a douchebag, but I do tend to fall into bed with ladies without much thought. Stella, though, she has all my thoughts. “What are you up to?”
I sense a bit of nervousness in her voice as I lean into my counter. “Nothing much. Getting ready for the rest of the day.”
“Oh yeah. You had practice this morning.”
“I did,” I confirm. “You good?”
“Yeah, um, well…” She pauses, and I raise a brow. “Are you busy? I mean, I know you’re getting dressed. But after, I mean. Do you have plans?”
“I don’t.”
“Can you meet me at Dunn Brothers? The coffee shop on Fourth and Church Street?”
My heart kicks up. Hell yeah, I want to meet her, but then it dawns on me. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to talk to you.”
“You breaking this off before it starts?” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Because if so, I’m not showing up. You can dump me after our date.”
She really laughs that time, and I smile, my body tingling at the sound of her laughter. “No. I promise I’m not.”
“Okay, I’ll come. But if you start to put the brakes on, I’ll leave.”
“Duly noted.”
“See you in a bit?”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Same. Be careful.”
“You too.”
We hang up, and even though I’m smiling from ear to ear because I get to see Stella outside of Brooks and before our date, I also realize I have no clue what she wants to talk to me about. If I’ll even like what she says and if it’ll put a halt to something I’ve wanted for a very long time.
Oh, well. It may be the unknown, but I’m jumping in headfirst.
* * *