"Love you back," I tell her, and then I hang up.
My gaze focuses on Simone's worried expression. "You get the gist of that?"
She nods hesitantly. "An article is coming out about your identity?"
Letting out a gust of frustrated air, I sit down on the edge of my bed and rub my face with my hands. When I look back to Simone, I shrug. "I don't know. It was a reporter asking about me and said there's an article going to run soon. That's all she knew."
An alert chime sounds from my phone, and I look down to see Etta sent me the reporter's name: Jack Vernicki.
I don't recognize him as a sports writer, but that doesn't mean anything. As of this moment, I don't have a fucking clue about how to handle this.
"What do you think I should do?" I ask Simone.
She comes to the bed and sits down beside me. Hooking one arm across her stomach, she stretches her legs out and crosses one ankle over the other. Her other hand goes to her mouth, where she nibbles on her fingernail while she thinks.
Twisting her neck, she looks at me and asks, "We don't know for sure the reporter knows your true identity, right?"
I shake my head. "But he told Etta it was my chance to get the facts straight."
"Maybe that was just language they use to get people to talk to them," she suggests. "Like sort of a threat. I might write bad or untrue things if you don't talk to me."
"Maybe," I hedge, but I don't think so. It's been bothering me since my trip to the prison. "Arco knows who I am. He's dying. Maybe he leaked it for some notoriety."
Simone shifts on the bed to face me. "Would he do that?"
I shrug. I don't know a damn thing about my father other than he's certifiable. "I remember during and after the trial, he loved the headlines. Would taunt the police and press with revealing other murders, but then after he went to prison, he was quiet as a mouse. Nothing from him in the media."
Pushing up off the bed, I start to pace while I think. I could call the warden to see if he would tell me whether or not Arco had any visitors, but I'm thinking that information may be protected.
A sense of panic hits me as I realize I know nothing. I don't have an ounce of control in this situation.
"I should call the reporter," I say out loud as I turn to Simone. "Don't you think?"
She stands up to face me. "Van...I don't know what to tell you. And I know this is scary as hell and you don't need this right now, but it could be nothing at all. It could be a reporter just taking a stab in the dark. But if you reach out, he's going to know you're worried about something. You've never given an interview before, and the minute you call him, he's going to figure you're hiding something."
Goddammit. That makes total sense and totally hamstrings me.
"And there may not even be an article at all," she continues. "It could be some hack who wants to try to pitch this to a newspaper or something, but he needs you to make it fresh or different from other media articles about your dad. It could be he has nothing unless you respond."
"It would sure help if I knew whether or not Arco talked with anyone," I mutter as I take two steps to come toe to toe with Simone. She steps into me, knowing that all I want is to hug her right now.
"Call the warden then," she suggests "But past that, try not to let it worry you. You need to focus on the game tomorrow."
"You're right," I say with a sigh before pressing my lips to the top of her head.
I think she's definitely right. I just need to let it go and hope for the best.
Chapter 24
Simone
"I just can't get over it," Etta says as she stares at me over her cup of coffee. We decided to just meet for breakfast in the team hotel, as she was staying there too. "I've been despairing for ages that Van would keep himself closed off."
Van had just enough time to introduce us in the lobby before he was running out the door to catch the team bus to the arena for a practice skate. If I thought it would be awkward to have him leave me in the presence of a virtual stranger, I would have been wrong, because I knew a lot about Etta from Van. For the last week since he revealed everything to me, Van has held nothing back about his life. While that initially consisted of the terrible truth about his parents and what he had to deal with, the last several days it had been about the good stuff.
And the good stuff in Van's life consists of one Miss Etta Turner.
Van had a ton of things to say about her. Funny things. Sad things. Happy things. Poignant things.
He told me one night as we lay in bed together that even when Etta was her maddest at him for something stupid he'd done, he never felt an inch of distance from her. Never felt abandoned or like he was a burden to her. For twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, every minute of her life since Van came to live with her, she gave him her entire life and then some.
He'd brought me to tears the night he told me that, but I blinked them away before he could feel them hit his chest where my head was resting.
And while we've done mostly "getting to know you" chitchat during breakfast, as Etta and I linger over more coffee, she apparently feels comfortable enough with me to talk about Van in a very personal way. I haven't been privy to every conversation Van has had with Etta since we've "become a couple," but I have to assume by her statement that she had despaired of him ever having a relationship and that Van has told her that I know everything.
"You're very special, I can tell," Etta says with a smile at me. She punctuates this by putting her cup down and reaching across the table to wrap her fingers around mine. After a slight squeeze, she whispers, "He deserves someone special."
I feel my cheeks pink up over the blatant compliment meant to convey not only Etta's approval of me, but happiness for her adopted son, who clearly did indeed deserve it.
It makes me want to open up to her, so I confess, "I...um...love him."
She doesn't blink in surprise. She doesn't jolt from my words. The corners of her mouth curve higher and her eyes go softer. "It's the one thing I've wanted for Van that I wasn't sure how to help him get. I've tried to do things right, and for the most part, I did. But sometimes I think I sheltered him too much from the harsh realities out there, and that led him to stay in a safe zone. The horrid effect was that he was afraid to love."
"I think you did exactly what you had to do at the time," I tell Etta sincerely.
"So he really told you everything?" she asks as she pulls her hand free of mine so she can push away her breakfast plate to lean on the table with her forearms.
I nod. "I found a shoe box under his bed that had articles. And rather than pushing me away, he decided to just tell it all to me."
"It's a secret he's guarded zealously over the years," Etta murmurs. "I've always respected his right to do so. I was really surprised when he decided to visit Arco."
"Van told me he was worried that he could be like Arco one day. But I didn't think that was really the crux of his angst, and I told him so."
Etta's eyes convey an understanding of where I'm going, so she finishes my thought process. "He admitted to you that he was treated so abominably as a child by being the son of a serial killer he closed himself off to everything. Locked his walls up tight so no one could ever find out the truth and judge him. Make him feel horrible about the people that created him through no choice of his own."
"Yeah," I admit softly. "He was protecting himself."
We share a moment of reflection, both of us lamenting all the things that Van lost as a child, but more important, all the things he's never had as an adult because he was trying to keep his heart safe.
"I think he loves you," Etta says, but I refuse to get my hopes up. I've always known Van is the long game with me. He's not going to be the type who goes falling head over heels the way I have. Rather, he will need me to open the gate and be patient enough for him to walk through when he believes the time is right.
It could be months.
It could be years.
It coul
d be never.
And I am okay with that, because if all I ever have from him is what I have now, it's more than I ever had before. I'll make it work.
I choose my words carefully, though, with Etta. "What I know is that Van makes me very happy right now. But I'm not naive enough to think that it will be smooth sailing. He's got decades of being closed off. And with this reporter calling, it's causing some stress for him. The one thing I can tell you is that I'm in this for the long haul. I have patience. I'm waiting for the shoe to drop, and if and when it does, I'll be ready for it."
"Van says you're stubborn," Etta tells me with a twinkle in her eye. "That you don't back down from a challenge, and I can tell you...our boy is a challenge."
This causes me to laugh, because Van did put up quite a fight to hold me off. Nodding, I tell her, "Like I said...I'm patient. I know how to wear him down."
Etta picks up her cup and takes another sip. Her eyes shine at me over the rim, and when she lowers it, she tells me, "I think Van was just waiting for you. He needed someone who could push at him, hear all the ugly and still be strong enough to shoulder it. There aren't many women like that, and he knows it. Trust me when I say he knows how lucky he is."
"I think I do know it," I say with a fond smile over the many ways this past week Van has shown me a sweeter, gentler side. A side where he actually has conversations with me, and he jokes and laughs. He may not be able to express all of his emotions, but I think the most important message has been in his actions.
Van is ready for something new, and even though I know he probably still has fears and uncertainties, I'm going to be by his side while he figures it all out.
--
There's not much upside when a professional athlete has a bad game. Particularly if it occurs during the play-offs. I've borne the brunt of my brothers' tempers and frustration before, and I was not looking forward to seeing how Van would process the horrible game he'd had tonight. It's the first time he truly played bad since we started seeing each other, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he has other things on his mind.
I'd like to say it's just the stress from a reporter calling Etta yesterday, but I'm smart enough to know it's a myriad of things, with the reporter being the proverbial straw. Van's been involved in a secretive sexual relationship with his teammates' little sister, he has a serial killer father with terminal cancer whom he recently saw for the first time in almost two decades, and now he has an actual girlfriend...the first one in his life. Add that he's playing in the Stanley Cup finals before the two women in his life who are most important to him, and I'm sure that's sufficient reason for the way he played.
He passed wide, missed checks, and fanned on a few shots. He got in a fight and got his ass kicked, much to the shock of the Vancouver home crowed who went apeshit when he caught a hook to the side of the head and lost his balance. That resulted in some stitches to his left eyebrow, and I try not to focus on it as I sit on Van's cock while I ride him.
"Faster," he growls at me, his hands going to my hips. Big, strong hands pulling me up, slamming me back down...not giving me a chance to give him what he wants.
His mood seems to get pissier the more I undulate on top of him, but I'm not surprised. The mood was clear when he walked into the room we're sharing tonight and put me on my knees before him.
I didn't mind, and in fact was turned on as he leaned back against the door with his pants undone and his hands holding my head in place so he could fuck my face.
But that didn't seem to appease him. So he stripped me, then himself, and planted me on his lap in the bed. He ordered me to ride him hard and I've been doing so for several minutes. I've been on the verge of an orgasm, but I've been holding off, wanting us to come together.
He's not giving it to me, though.
I can't figure out if maybe my shine is indeed wearing off, he's pissed at his game play, or maybe he just can't concentrate right now.
Regardless, my sexual esteem is at an all-time low right now and I have the first moment of doubt in my ability to maintain a relationship with Van.
This is deepened when with a snarl of frustration he pushes me off his cock and flips me over. He jerks me up to my hands and knees and drives himself deep into me from behind, our flesh cracking hard against each other.
And yes, fuck yes, it feels good. Van pulling out slowly just to punch back in with almost a brutal focus. No dirty words or soft praises. He grunts every time he bottoms out, sucking in air when he pulls back. His fingers dig into my hips, and I know he's taking out his anger and frustration on my body.
He doesn't know it, but he's taking it out on my heart too, but I will bear that silently. He doesn't need to know that he's slightly hurting my feelings right now. What he needs is a release, and then he needs to let me hold him.
I'm convinced of it.
So Van fucks me from behind, sharing nothing with me but a powerful hip action so he hits me deep. His grip on my hips is to hold me still, not to caress, and he doesn't say a word to me.
I bear this as well, and figure this might actually be the first time that Van comes that he doesn't get me there first. But then to my surprise, he curls his body over my back, bringing one hand to my clit. His grunts turn into soft groans as he fucks me a little slower, playing with that one spot that will absolutely get me where he wants me to go.
When I get close and start to tighten up, and he can always tell when I suck in that last big breath before I explode, he starts hammering at me again. My hope and faith is restored when Van growls out my name with his climax and only as I start to come apart first.
Van figured out how to get us there together, and that was clearly important to him.
Yes...this gives me great hope.
After our heart rates calm, and Van situates us in the bed so that he's spooned around me, I ask him hesitantly, "You okay?"
I don't think he's going to give me much, as he's quiet for what seems like ages, but then his arms tighten around me. "Just got a lot on my mind. Sorry that wasn't the greatest sex we've had."
I can't help it, but I burst out laughing. I can almost feel the offense in his body as I turn in his arms so I can look at him, and yes...he's offended that I'm laughing.
"Jesus, Van," I chide softly. "If you don't think that was great sex, and that's bad sex with you, then I'm okay with us having bad sex the rest of our days."
"I was rough," he points out.
"I love it rough," I remind him, and then I press the front of my body close to his, pushing my face into his neck. "Now...want to talk about what's on your mind?"
"Do I really need to?" he asks. "You're like the most intuitive woman I know. I'm sure you have me figured out."
He's giving me an opening. He's allowing me to explain all the ways in which his head is fucked up right now.
But I don't need to. He knows what's wrong, and I know what's wrong, so all I do is validate him. "You have plenty of things on your mind, and I'm pretty sure I know what they are and how they rank in order of importance. Want to talk about any of them?"
I wait for him to say no, because that's what I expect out of this stoic man, and I'm okay with that. I'm even ready to lighten the mood with a joke, or perhaps I can tease his body back to life for round two.
Instead he surprises me with, "I want to know how it went with Etta today. It's important to me that you two get along."
There have been a few times over the past week that Van has made my heart clench with pure emotion, but nothing he's done has made me feel this way. I can feel my entire being just melt with absolute joy that that is what weighs the heaviest on him right now.
"We're like peanut butter and jelly," I tell him. "She's the type of woman I could talk to for hours, and well...she's got all these embarrassing stories about you growing up."
Van gives a soft, relieved laugh.
"Seriously, though," I tell him. "She's amazing, and it's no wonder you love her so much."
&
nbsp; "I'm glad," he says, and then I can feel his body settling. I take this as an indication that he's at peace enough with everything else that we should get some shut-eye. It's been a grueling two days between the reporter's call, traveling across the United States, and the first away play-off game for the finals, which they lost.
But just as I wiggle a little to get more comfortable in his arms, he makes me go still when he mutters, "I played like fucking crap tonight."
I hold my breath, afraid to even move. I have no clue what to say. Van and I don't talk about his hockey prowess. We've never needed to because he always plays so damn great. But more than that, I don't know the game on a level deep enough I could help him analyze the mechanics where he was failing. I just know he missed some passes, but how or why, I have no clue.
So I wait and see if he just wants to vent.
"Too much shit on my mind," he continues, and I let my breath out slowly. I do nothing more than squeeze him with my arms. "Losing my focus out there."
"You'll get it back." I feel safe enough to say that because Van is one of the most determined men I know. "Everyone has off days."
"Not during the play-offs," he argues and there's no mistaking the bitterness. "Fucking Arco's still messing up my life."
God, I want to take him, palms to the side of his head, and squeeze so I have his undivided attention. I want to laser my eyes onto him with such intensity he will be powerless to look away.
And then I want to tell him that's not fucking true. Arco is done. He's dying. Van has the rest of a glorious life in front of him. Concentrate on that. Celebrate that. But don't boil a shitty game down to the fucker who fertilized your mom's egg.
But I don't.
I can't say that because Van doesn't want to hear that. More important, he doesn't want to hear that from me. Van has come to expect that I will give him the time and space necessary for him to figure out his limits. It's a given that Arco will continue to hang over some of the decisions he makes in life.
It's a given that Arco will continue to influence just how far Van will be able to open himself up fully to a relationship, and possibly love.
I don't even dare to think past that, because that's so far down the road the distance could be unsurmountable.
So I do what I think is best to deal with Van in this situation: give him another squeeze of validation for his feelings.