Hockey Is My Boyfriend: Part One (20 page)

Molly looked at her watch. “They should be there by now, and then she’s leaving early in the morning.”

“Can you give me the address?” I asked.

If she wasn’t leaving right away, I could still get there and talk to her. Abbotsford was only an hour and a half away. She couldn’t go without us getting things straightened out.

Molly shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Phil. Kelly doesn’t want you to know where she is.” She let out a puff of air. “In fact, she wouldn’t even tell me the address, she said I’m the weakest link around here.”

I could wait around for her dad, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me anything either. I wanted to kick myself for screwing this up so badly. Maybe I should be happy that she was going to McGill, at least. But I felt unbelievably shitty. Now I’d have to wait until she got to Montréal to get in touch with her, and I didn’t even know exactly how I was going to do that.

“Molly, she was talking about getting a cellphone before she got to school, Did she?”

“No, she’s getting one in Montréal, so I don’t have a number for her yet.” She lowered her voice, “As soon as I hear from her, I’ll tell her you were here and how much you want to talk to her. I’m sure she’ll call you right away.”

Yeah, unless she spent all her time between now and then hardening her heart against me. Crap, how could the world be so technologically connected when I wasn’t able to talk to the one person I loved most for a week or more? But I was pretty sure it would be okay. Kelly and I were really connected, and you couldn’t break a connection like that in a few days.

“
F
or once
, I’m happy to be stuck in traffic,” my dad said.

I raised my eyebrows at him. The sun was beating down on the Toyota, we were bumper to bumper on the approach to the Port Mann Bridge, and some idiot was honking non-stop. It was hard to understand my dad sometimes.

He patted my knee. “It means I get to spend more time with my little girl.”

“Dad, I will be back.”

“I know, I know. But McGill is going to be a big adventure. You’re very brave. We’re proud of you.”

I managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

He continued, “Your mom wanted to have a big going-away party for you, but now….”

He didn’t finish his sentence. I looked out the window at the muddy Fraser River. I realized that everyone was being extra nice to me. My parents had kept the worrying to a minimum after pointing out that I was going to drive across Canada with a complete stranger and only a few hours to get ready. My girlfriends had hugged me, wished me well, and not asked a million questions about my break-up with Phil. Of course, by abruptly fleeing across the country, I was making it crystal clear who the broken-hearted one was.

I really needed to cheer up before I met Donna Crofton. I didn’t want to start my university life as The Girl Who Got Dumped.

I smiled at my dad. “You’ve been great, Dad. Thanks for driving me all the way to Donna’s.”

“No problem, Kelly.”

He was smiling too now. My dad had been mystified as to why I was so upset about breaking up with Phil. “Weren’t you going to break up anyway?” he had asked. And that was true, everyone expected we were going to break up. Only the two of us knew that I had tried to stay—both in Vancouver and together with Phil.

I wondered if Phil would still go to Calgary. He could remain here now since I was leaving. But thinking about Phil was making me feel shitty. Like someone had run me and winded me. If I was going to be cheerful Kelly, I’d have to put Phil into a little box in the back of my mind. I could unpack it when I was alone.

We finally made it to Donna’s house in Abbotsford. She lived in a ranch house with a huge yard, and two big dogs came rushing down the driveway to greet us. That reminded me of my cat.

“Oh Dad, don’t forget to look after Gino,” I said. “He’s used to sleeping on my bed every night.”

I had hugged him and kissed him goodbye, but he didn’t really understand the concept of leaving. What would he think tonight when I wasn’t there?

My dad nodded. He wasn’t a huge animal lover.

“I’m sure Gino will remind us to feed him. And Roger will be happy if Gino chooses his bed to sleep on next.”

Donna came out and hauled the dogs away by their collars. We met her parents and her older sister. It was one of those families where everyone talked over each other. We all sat down for tea and cookies. Donna’s dad immediately took mine aside to talk women’s hockey, but that was a one-sided conversation. However, I think it reassured my dad that he was leaving me with my tribe. He gave me a fierce hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then took off. I could see his car disappearing down the long road, and a tiny part of me wanted to be in that car heading home. Back to everything I knew.

Donna was great. She was going into third year at McGill and played defence. I had yakked to her on the phone multiple times, so I already knew she was straightforward and helpful. Best of all, when I called her this morning to find out if the offer of a drive to Montreal was still open, she agreed with a minimum of curiousity.

“I’m so glad you’re going with Donna,” her mom told me. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to for a young girl to drive alone.”

“Don can take care of herself,” her dad scoffed. Donna was about 5’10” and solidly-built; a sign that the McGill team was going to be awesome.

“It’ll be great to have company. And another driver.” Donna turned to me. “Kelly, I’d like to get an early start in the morning, so maybe we should hit the hay soon.”

In no time, I was lying on the guest room bed at Donna’s house, trying to sleep. I looked up at the ceiling. There was a big watermark that was worrying. Maybe the ceiling was going to collapse on me. Sure, the weather had been beautiful and sunny, and the stain was only as big as a soccer ball, but you never knew. My luck seemed to have run out; so getting crushed by a waterlogged ceiling was probably par for the course.

I was finally alone, so it was time to unpack that Phil box. I was an idiot. I knew exactly what Phil was like. I spent most of our relationship trying not to be all dependent and clingy, and that worked perfectly. Then I let three stupid words make me think everything had changed. I turned into a sap, and everything I was feeling now was all my fault.

No wait, why should I blame myself? Why not blame Phil? What made him so special that he got to go around hurting girls so casually? And he was such a freaking control freak, he wanted our relationship to break up when he wanted and get back when he wanted. Or maybe that was all bullshit too, maybe he said that to all the girls so they’d go on forever—waiting and hoping that he’d take them back.

Not me, asshole.

I prided myself on not crying. I had probably cried about three times in the years since I was little. It came from the Japanese side of my family tree, my grandmother sniffed at over-exuberant emotion and my dad used to praise me for sucking it up if I got hurt as a kid. So if I were still talking to Phil, I could have told him than unlike every other girl he had dumped, I hadn’t shed a single tear. “You didn’t hurt me,” I would have boasted.

Of course, that would have been a big fat lie. He hurt me all right. I had let down all my defences, and he had come in and taken everything I had offered up: my trust, my virginity, my love. Then he punted it all. Not that I thought that staying a virgin was that big a deal, but I hoped that my first guy would be someone I could look back on and be happy about instead of thinking about what a dumbass I was.

I should be as casual as Phil and be grateful that he was good in bed, and now I was probably good in bed too. A skill, right? Just like hockey, I was expanding my skill set.

Breaking up was no big deal, it happened to everyone. Millions of people had already felt the dull ache inside me that threatened to turn me all stupidly emotional. I was late to this whole funfest.

When he dumped me, I wasn’t any different than Phil’s other girlfriends, but I could be different now, by not being all upset. I had to shut off my memory banks and not remember all the good things about Phil: his warmth next to me, the way his hands felt on me, the pressure of his lips on mine—only yesterday.

Yeah, 24 hours ago, we were hugging and saying those three stupid words to each other. It was probably too soon to think about my lessons learned from this particular disaster, but I knew one thing: I was going to be really, really careful about falling in love again. Love was a dangerous thing that made you do and say stupid things, and love could hurt you. Almost enough to make you cry.

The only way to stop thinking was action. And look at me!

I had already left home and started out on my new adventure. Ever since I called Donna this morning, it had been a whirlwind of packing, phone calls, and good-byes. I didn’t know if Phil would even try to see me again, but at least I didn’t have to agonize over that. I didn’t have to look around and see the millions of things that reminded me of him: the CDs he burnt for me, our team photos, the sweatshirt he lent me on the way back from Whistler. Even looking at the ocean reminded me of my birthday celebration.

And what was Phil doing at this very moment? Not thinking of me—that was for sure. I knew what he was like, he’d be on to the next unlucky lady in no time. Maybe he’d already met someone today. Sitting in his lifeguard chair with his sunglasses and ripped body, they were probably lined up to—I shook my head to shatter those images. Don’t dwell on the crap, Kelly.

My stomach hurt, so I curled up into a little ball. I closed my eyes and finally got to sleep. Donna woke me up too early, and her mom made us breakfast. Luckily breakfast was the one meal you could act like a zombie and nobody would notice.

“Okay, I think we’re all packed now,” Donna said, smiling at me.

“Great,” I said. “I’m all ready to go.”

We got into her little Mazda, which was sitting low already. I didn’t have that much gear, but double hockey bags and suitcases in a small car filled the hatch. There was a faint smell of hockey bag inside, so Donna pulled out a new deodorizing pine tree from the glove box and hung it on the mirror. We eased our way towards the Highway One.

Donna was a morning person. “Yeah, I’m all set to start playing again. I figure there’s two seasons: hockey and the off-season. I can hardly wait to get back. Did you do a lot of training this summer?”

I nodded. “Yup. I followed the whole program that Mike sent me. Or should I call him Coach?”

“Both. We all call him Coach Mike, or sometimes Dad, if he’s worrying too much. He acts like a dad, well, if your dad is a super-intense, hockey-obsessed workaholic. Mine is, but your dad seemed more laid-back last night.”

“Yeah, he is. But he’s always been completely supportive, both my parents are.”

She bobbed her head up and down. “I’m excited, I think it’s going to be a great season this year. Coach Mike’s been recruiting hard and the team is looking good. You’re going to love Montréal and McGill.”

“I think I will.” Last night I’d felt awful, but in the morning sunshine I felt more optimistic. I’d been to Montréal before and it was cool. It was completely different from what I was used to, but that was good. I’d be busy and having all new experiences. I’d be playing hockey with a great new team in a whole new competitive league. As long as I kept looking forward, life would be amazing.

“You seem a little down, Kelly,” Donna said. “I guess it’s the first time you’ve left home.”

I nodded, but realized she hadn’t seen that.

She continued, “Yeah, it’s tough the first time you move away, especially if you have a close family. So, are you leaving a boyfriend back in North Van?”

“Nope,” I said firmly. “Hockey is my boyfriend.”

Donna laughed. We accelerated onto the highway and headed east.

T
hank
you for choosing this book. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Reviews on your favourite book site are always appreciated. Recommendations to your friends are even more appreciated.

Hockey Is My Boyfriend is a trilogy. Parts Two & Three are both available now. Also upcoming is a box set of the complete Hockey Is My Boyfriend series and paperback versions for your reading pleasure.

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W
hen not mixing
up killer strawberry margaritas, Melanie Ting is watching hockey in beautiful Vancouver, B.C. She began writing hockey romances during the 2010 Olympics, inspired by both the extraordinary athleticism and the crazy party atmosphere. Her aspirations include winning the Stanley Cup of hockey romance writing, inventing a self-cleaning litter box, and world domination.

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