Ghosted by the Goalie - Chapter One

CADE

The endless, droning hum of my bedroom beer fridge is driving me batshit crazy. I’d rip the cord out of the wall to save my sanity, but tomorrow’s piss-warm beer isn’t worth the break from tonight’s misery.

It’s just after midnight, and I’m restless. Like, I either need to go for a run, drink until I’m shitfaced, or fuck someone until we break the bed. That kind of restless. 

Kicking off the sheets, I drag my hands down over my face with a groan. My mind won’t stop racing, which for me is never a good thing. Normally, I’ll just grab a drink, smoke some weed, or pick the closest-at-hand bad choice to shut my brain up. Thing is, I know that whatever I reach for is just a temporary fix, and I’m done with temporary.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and scroll through my contacts to find the number I need, then type out a text.

Can’t sleep. Gotta talk to you. 

I stall on pressing send for now. I’ll need a little liquid courage for that, and I’m pretty sure I’m up for the night anyway. 

Once I’m downstairs, I dig around in the fridge for one of my more potent beers, then flick on the TV.

I’ve been stuck in this miserable cycle for way too long, trying to figure out how to fix what I broke. Two months ago, Juliet, my best friend since I was seven years old, caught my girlfriend, Natasha, cheating on me. 

Natasha had denied everything, of course. We’d been together for six months, and she’d never given me any reason to believe she’d step out on me. 

I’d wanted things to work out with Natasha. I needed them to work out…so I ignored my instincts and chose to believe her over Jules. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Your partner comes first over everything. Over everyone.  

Not the first huge mistake I’d made in my life, but definitely my biggest. And since it’s me, it won’t be the last.

A few days after Juliet dropped that bomb on me, I got a text from an unknown number with a picture of Natasha kissing some guy. No message. Just a photo.

But I know Jules is the one who sent it, since it had been taken at the restaurant where she’d recently started working.

Though why she’d sent it from an unknown number, I still don’t understand.

My best friend was going to force me to see the truth whether I wanted to or not. Thing is, I definitely didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a logical reaction, especially since she was only trying to protect me, but I got majorly pissed at Jules for trying to ruin my relationship. Especially since I’d done everything I could to chase down some happiness. Even if in the end, that happiness had been nothing but smoke and mirrors.

I glance down at my phone and read the message again. All I have to do is press the “send” button and take the first step toward ending all this bullshit. Maybe it would help stop this cycle of drinking, weed, and banging nearly every woman that crosses my path. 

But I’m nervous. Sweaty palms kinda nervous.

I scroll through the last few texts I’d gotten from Jules two months ago, my stomach churning.

Cade, please talk to me.

You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t ever get involved in your relationship unless I had a good reason. This was a very good reason.

Have I ever lied to you? We’ve known each other forever. And I can’t stand the idea of anyone hurting you.

But did I answer her back? 

No. 

I’d been so pissed, so irrationally angry at her, that I blocked her instead. 

The girl who had always had my back, who had always had my best interests at heart—I’d straight up ghosted her. Cut off all contact. Because I just couldn’t figure out how to deal with any of it anymore.

There she was, so worried about someone hurting me, yet she had no idea that I’d been spiraling for the past two years, chasing dopamine where I could find it, smoking up, getting wasted, and fucking women whose names I didn’t even know, all because I couldn’t have what I really wanted.

Her.

  We’d made a pact when we were teenagers to never cross a line that would hurt our friendship. But two years ago, I’d been royally buzzed and all up in my feelings, and tried to kiss her. 

I’d been trying to figure out how to talk about this with her for what felt like forever, but to say I suck at emotional conversations is the understatement of the year. So I took what I thought would be the easier route and tried to kiss her instead. That had blown up in my face.

‘Don’t. Remember the pact,’ she’d murmured, placing a hand on my chest to stop me. ‘You’re just drunk. You don’t really want this.’

‘Yeah I do. I’ve wanted this for the past two years, Jules. You’re all I want.’

A look of utter panic on her pretty face, she’d shook her head wildly, her dark-brown waves flying. ‘No. Cade. We’re best friends. We made a pact. You promised.’

And that was it. We never talked about that night again…though I’d thought about it plenty. 

Christ. That frigging pact is destroying my life.

I sit down on the couch, take a deep breath, study the message once more, then edit it a little. 

I can’t sleep, Jules. I need to talk to you. 

Ten minutes go by with no answer, so I say the only thing I can. The one thing I’ve never said to anyone before in my entire life.

Please.

Dots pop up, then disappear, over and over again for at least two minutes, and then it just stops. 

Finally, I get a text.

Jules: K.

Despite the fact I’m sweating through my t-shirt with anxiety, I can’t help but laugh. I can picture her sitting on her bed, her long, wavy, brown hair tied up in a high ponytail, brow furrowed, typing out an entire essay to me, and then changing her mind. It’s so very Jules. 

A sense of longing hits me so strongly it nearly drops me to my knees. 

God, I miss her. What the hell have I done?

Can I come over?

Jules: Of course. Who the hell am I to tell Toronto’s favorite goaltender that he’s not welcome in my apartment? Even if *I* wasn’t welcome in his for the past two months.

She’s more than mad—she’s downright pissed, and with good reason.

We’ve never fought. Not like this. I’m not even sure she’ll forgive me after how bad I messed up.

We’ve gotta talk.

Jules: You know where I live, Cade.

Ten minutes later, I’m in my SUV, taking the fastest route to her apartment building. It makes me miss the days when we could just walk across the street to see each other.

Those days ended when I was a teenager and left home to play Junior hockey, but during the summers, I always came home. We fell into our usual routine—sharing stolen cans of beer on my parents’ front porch, hanging out playing video games in the den, or walking to Taco Bell at 2 in the morning. I’d had a few girlfriends off and on during those summers, but Jules had always been the one I’d wanted to spend my time with. I could be myself with her and just kick back.

  I park in front of her little apartment building, then glance up toward her balcony. Her air conditioner hums loudly from the bedroom window. In the living room, a solitary pink light is burning.

I catch sight of her silhouette as she passes by the gauzy curtain. Curvy. Stacked. Long, wavy hair hanging loose instead of in her usual high ponytail. 

As I get out of the car, Matt Evans, my teammate on the Ice Dragons, strolls out of the front door, and I freeze. 

What the fuck?

“What’s up, Hale?” He walks over toward my Audi. “Nice car. Sleek.”

“Evans?” I stare at him, stunned. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I just dropped off Juliet.”

“Dropped her off from where?” I ask, clenching my fists. 

Evans is a guy I’ve hated since Juniors. He’s a cocky, second-line winger with a big mouth. We might be teammates, but we’ve never been friends, and we never will. And he’s definitely not someone I’d trust with Jules. Especially not after some of the wild stories I’ve heard about him. To be fair, I wouldn’t trust any of my teammates with Jules, but he tops my list.

“We went out,” he says curtly. “What’s it to you, anyway? You guys are just friends, right? And from what I remember, you’ve always gone for those hot, model types. Not cute and curvy girls like Juliet.”

“That’s weird, because I don’t ever remember you liking cute and curvy,” I say, crossing my arms. 

“Nah. I love cute and curvy. I love tall and thin. No preference.” 

“So you’re back on the hunt? Guess that porn star finally dumped you, then.”

Matt snorts. “Same old Hale. Always salty as fuck.” 

“How long has this been going on with Jules?” I ask bluntly.

“A little over a month.” Evans brushes past me, and I glance over my shoulder as he stops next to his car. 

“Anyway, tell my girl that I’ll text her when I get home, will you, Hale? Don’t want her to worry about me.”

He emphasizes “my girl”, then flashes me the cocky grin that always makes me want to punch him right in the face.

If there’s one thing Evans has always been good at, it’s how to get underneath someone’s skin. On and off the ice.

Gritting my teeth, I turn back around and stalk toward the front door. The idea of her getting together with one of my teammates—and him, of all people—makes me physically sick. She has no idea what she’s dealing with when it comes to that guy.  

Stomping into the lobby, I jab at the buzzer button, my fuse lit. Something just isn’t sitting right. There’s no way she can be dating that guy. She’s never given any of my teammates a second look, and I can’t understand why she’d start with him. Sure, he’s good looking, but that’s about all he’s got going for him.

“Hello?” Her voice comes across soft and low over the intercom, and another punch of longing shoots through me at the sweet sound. I haven’t heard that sweet voice in two freaking months.

“Yeah, it’s me.” My voice is sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it. I’m still pissed off over running into that jackass.

When the lobby door buzzes, I yank it open and take the stairs to the second floor two at a time. 

I’ve got to see her. I need to know what the hell is going on.

Usually, when I come over to visit, she’ll leave her front door cracked, but tonight, it’s firmly closed. 

Just another barrier to break down because I’ve been an absolute idiot.

I rap on the door with my knuckles.

It opens a few seconds later, and a gust of cold air from her apartment escapes into the hall. Jules stands there looking up at me, one hand on the doorknob and as beautiful as ever with that wavy, chestnut-colored hair wild and loose around her face. 

The hurt in her pretty brown eyes nearly does me in, and guilt slams into me hard when I see evidence of the damage I’ve caused written all over her face. 

“Jules,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Jules, I’m so s—

I freeze and suck in a breath when I realize what she’s wearing.

A sexy little white miniskirt that shows off her tanned legs to perfection. That, I can absolutely get on board with.

But she’s paired it with a green and white Ice Dragons hockey jersey. 

And it’s not mine.

Glancing down at the sleeves, I see the number “twenty-seven” stitched across them.

Matt Evans number.

And after that, all I can see is red.