Breakaway, page 11
part #5 of Northbrook Hockey Elite Series
“When my nails are dry, I’ll share the contact with you.”
Paige and Declan’s mom continued to chat as Camila soaked her feet in the warm water at the pedicure station. Spending time with Mrs. Rivera had been a nice change of pace today, and it had been great to reconnect with some people she hadn’t seen since returning to Denver.
Mrs. Rivera was absently playing with her heart necklace when Paige said, “That’s a pretty necklace.”
Mrs. Rivera stopped fiddling with it. “Oh, thank you. My husband gave it to me when we decided to date exclusively. I haven’t taken it off for thirty years.”
“That’s amazing,” Paige said.
And it was, Camila agreed.
“He was a good man,” Mrs. Rivera said. “Much like my Declan.”
Camila was paying more attention to the conversation now. She’d casually asked about Declan a couple of times, curious to know more about him. She was also curious about Declan’s dating history, but there was no way to ask his mom directly about any former girlfriends. There had never been a natural segue.
But now Paige asked Mrs. Rivera seemingly innocent questions about him. Camila wasn’t fooled. Paige knew about the kiss, so this was her way of helping out Camila.
Still, not even Paige ventured into asking Mrs. Rivera outright about Declan’s past relationships. Camila assumed he was traveling with the team despite his dislocated shoulder injury, and that was confirmed when Mrs. Rivera said, “I sure hope Declan remembered to feed Princess before he left for the airport. If she gets off her schedule, she’ll have a rough night tonight.”
“Who’s Princess?” Paige asked.
Camila had to smile a little to herself at the thought of Declan being bossed around by his mom about her cat.
“Maybe I’ll call him right now to double-check,” Mrs. Rivera was saying. “If he forgot, we’re going to have to skip going to the fabric store.”
“I think calling him would be wise,” Paige said, a twinkle in her eyes.
Camila refrained from rolling her own eyes.
Mrs. Rivera pulled out her phone from her purse and called Declan.
Camila tried not to react when she heard the low tones of his voice through the phone when he answered. She couldn’t understand his words, of course, but just knowing he was on the other end of the line made the tub water for her feet suddenly warmer.
“You did feed her, then?” Mrs. Rivera said. “That’s a relief.”
He said something else, then Mrs. Rivera said, “Oh, it’s been lovely. We’re getting pedicures right now. I’m feeling very pampered.”
An undecipherable response from Declan.
“Oh, yes, she’s sitting right here by me,” Mrs. Rivera said. “Do you want to talk to her?”
Camila forgot to breathe. Paige’s brows shot up.
“Oh, all right,” Mrs. Rivera said. “You don’t want to miss your flight. I’ll talk to you later. Good luck in your game tomorrow.”
Another response.
Then Mrs. Rivera hung up and released a sigh. “That boy. I worry about him.”
Camila was still trying to calm her racing pulse at nearly being handed the phone.
“What are you worried about?” Paige prompted.
“He said he might not play because of his shoulder.” Mrs. Rivera tucked her phone into her purse. “He’s never in a good mood when he doesn’t play. And since I’m living with him, I’m going to have to tiptoe around the condo. Me and Princess both.”
This intrigued Camila, and apparently Paige too, because she jumped in and said, “Oh, tell us the dirt. Does he pout or throw things?”
Mrs. Rivera didn’t seem shocked by the questions. “Nothing of that sort. He just works harder. I mean, he always works hard. But he focuses more, I guess. Drinks those nasty green smoothies. Running both before and after practices and games. It’s like he pushes his body to exhaustion no matter what I tell him. Once, before he was traded to his previous team, he was hospitalized for dehydration.”
“Oh, wow,” Paige said in a sympathetic tone.
“Was his dad driven like that?” Camila couldn’t help but ask.
Mrs. Rivera was quiet for a moment. “Yes, I believe he was, although in a different way. He was a hard worker too, never wanted to leave anything undone. Took all the overtime hours he was given.”
The woman working on Camila’s feet had finished prepping her toes, and now she began a lower calf massage. Camila leaned her head back and closed her eyes, only to be alerted by a text.
How’s it going with my mom?
Declan.
Hadn’t he just told his mom he was boarding?
She stared at the words for a minute. If she replied, she’d be opening the communication between them. His message from the night before had been what prompted her to talk to Bree Stone about Declan. If Camila answered him now, would he ask her if she’d gotten his voicemail? And she’d have to tell him yes.
While Paige and Mrs. Rivera started talking about a cooking show they both watched, Camila wrote back to Declan.
Your mom’s great, and I’m pretty sure she’s loving her pedicure too.
Declan’s reply came seconds later. Thank you for showing her around.
So, he was keeping it cordial. That was completely fine with her. She pocketed her phone and closed her eyes again, only to hear the buzz of a new text.
Again, she pulled out her phone.
Declan had texted again: I talked to Bree this morning.
That was it. No explanation. Well, there didn’t need to be one, because Camila knew exactly what he was referring to. He knew that she’d told Bree about their kiss. He knew that she’d heard his message. He knew that she’d asked about his past relationships.
“All finished,” the woman working on her feet said.
Sure enough, her toenails were painted the dark pink she’d selected.
“What do you think?”
Camila’s heart and mind were both racing, but she offered a casual smile. “Looks great, thank you so much.”
Mrs. Rivera and Paige were also finished, but Camila needed a moment to herself. A moment to think of how to reply to Declan’s text. “I’m going to run to the ladies room,” she said.
Once she’d carefully slipped on her sandals and was behind the closed door, Camila read through the text thread again. The entire thing. She knew her reply would set the course for when they next saw each other. Right now was her chance to blow him off for good.
Then, of all moments, Bree Stone texted her.
Hey, just letting you know I talked to Declan this morning. Might have spilled the beans a little, so sorry for that. But you need to know that he’s into you. For whatever that’s worth. And if you want my endorsement, he’s stubborn but one of the good guys.
Camila crossed to the sink and set her phone on the counter. Then she ran the cold water and used it to cool off her neck. After drying her skin, she gazed at her reflection. She’d vowed never to date a hockey player again. And Declan played for her father’s team. She should write Declan back and tell him that he needed to stop texting her. After the video shoot on Monday, there was no reason for them to communicate. He could read emails, and if he had questions about any social media, he could email her.
She picked up her phone and bit her lip. Then wrote: Yeah, I heard.
That was it. The ball was back in his court.
But the seconds passed, and nothing came back. Maybe he was on the plane? Maybe he was pissed that she’d told Bree about the kiss?
She couldn’t hide out in the bathroom much longer. So she turned from the mirror, and just before she exited, Declan texted.
Want to go to dinner Tuesday night after my game?
“Camila? You coming?” Paige’s voice sounded as she pushed open the restroom door.
“Yeah, just finished.” Camila pocketed her phone. Her smile covered up the pounding of her heart and the repeating phrase in her head: Declan asked me out. Declan asked me out.
Paige frowned the minute their gazes met, but it wasn’t like Camila could tell her what Declan had texted her when his mother was standing only a few feet away. “I love your nails,” Camila said instead.
“Thanks,” Paige said, although she was giving Camila the you-better-tell-me-what’s-going-on look.
“Want to come to the fabric store with us?” Camila asked Paige.
“Can’t,” Paige said. “Brady and I are going to his little sister’s ballet recital tonight. But first, dinner with his family.”
“Oh, I love ballet,” Mrs. Rivera said.
Both Paige and Camila looked at her.
“You should come,” Paige said. “It’s not like it will be sold out, and I hear the ballet teacher does a solo dance at the end. She used to dance professionally.”
“Sounds very nice,” Mrs. Rivera said. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It’s no problem,” Paige said. “If you want to go to the fabric store another day, you could come with me now, and I’ll take you home after the recital.”
Mrs. Rivera looked hesitant, but Camila could tell she was very interested in going with Paige.
“I can take a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon if you want to go to the fabric store then,” Camila offered.
“That would be nice,” Mrs. Rivera hedged. “But Princess will need fresh water around eight tonight. What time is the ballet over?”
“Probably closer to nine,” Paige said. “Can Princess wait?”
Camila didn’t miss the amusement in Paige’s eyes. “I can stop by and get her water,” Camila said, surprised at her own offer. “If you give me the key, I can then leave it under the mat.”
“Would you?” Mrs. Rivera’s brown eyes brightened.
“Sure, no problem.” Camila wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Going into Declan’s condo? That was a bold move on her part, because surely he would hear about this. But it wasn’t like she could backtrack now.
But Mrs. Rivera was pressing a key in her hand and telling her the address and gate code.
Camila typed the information into her contact for Declan.
When she was finally sitting alone in her car, Declan’s condo key in her purse, she looked at her phone again. She still hadn’t answered him. He might already be thinking she was going to brush him off, and she realized now she didn’t want to. Bree had said he was one of the good guys, yet how did that translate to a hockey player who’d been transferred multiple times, with his career in Denver volatile at best? She didn’t know his exact stats, but he’d been benched in enough games that Camila knew his contract wasn’t a sure thing.
And from all indicators, he was the one guy on the team who would benefit most from being in the back pocket of the owner. Was that Declan’s motivation, both in kissing her earlier and now asking her to dinner?
Maybe she should call Bree to ask about their conversation.
No . . . she didn’t want to put Bree in the middle of this more than she already was. Camila hadn’t even met the woman, yet here she was giving Camila relationship advice. No . . . she needed to go with her gut on this.
The gut that also fluttered whenever she thought of how Declan had kissed her. She closed her eyes as she remembered the warmth of his hands, the heat of his mouth, his body pressed against hers . . . Camila snapped open her eyes. She should go out to dinner with him; then she’d know, right? She could ask him point-blank about his past relationships, why he’d been traded so much—hear it from his own mouth and dig a little deeper into what kind of man he was.
Then . . . then she’d know. If she liked him. And what his motivations were.
Still, she hesitated. Finally, she texted Declan back: Let’s see how Monday goes.
His reply was only a couple of minutes behind. Fair enough. See you Monday.
Camila bit on her lip, trying to tamp down the butterflies now zooming.
So . . . Declan’s place ended up being nice. The living room and kitchen were crammed with stuff that was certainly from his mom, and that made her smile. Otherwise, it was the typical bachelor pad. A leather couch, a giant flat-screen, virtually no decoration.
It felt odd to be standing in his place without anyone there. She paused in front of the sole picture on the end table by the couch. It was a black-and-white photo of a much younger Declan, probably mid-teens, flanked by his mom and a man who had to be his dad. Camila picked up the framed photo to examine it more closely.
Declan had his mom’s eyes, but his height and build were from his dad. Although, at whatever age Declan was, he was as tall as his dad. The thing that struck her most about the picture was the sense of family unity and love coming from each of them. It was clear that he’d been close to his dad, and at that thought, Camila’s heart softened a little.
Meow.
She turned to see a cat walk into the room. Her blue eyes were wide, but she seemed accepting that Camila had randomly shown up.
“You must be Princess,” Camila said. She didn’t know the protocol with cats. Her mom had a small dog that would go haywire anytime a new person showed up at their place. Princess sat down where she was standing and continued to watch Camila.
“Thirsty?” Camila said.
The cat blinked.
“Okay, I’ll get you some fresh water.” Mrs. Rivera had told her the cat’s bowls were in the kitchen on the floor. So Camila walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light.
It was clear that Mrs. Rivera had taken over Declan’s kitchen, since Camila doubted that he did a lot of cooking. A waffle iron and several mixing bowls were on the counters. Bags of groceries sat on the kitchen table. Camila wondered if any of the groceries were perishable, but it wasn’t her business.
She located the cat bowls easily enough and saw that there was plenty of water in the water bowl. But she rinsed it out anyway and put in fresh water, then added two ice cubes, per Mrs. Rivera’s instructions.
Sure enough, Princess marched over and began to drink.
Okay then. Cat happy and mission accomplished.
Camila could go now. Should go. Her steps were slow as she walked to the fridge. Trane had mentioned that Declan didn’t drink, but did that mean never? Didn’t every guy have at least a few beers in his fridge?
Curiosity burned through her. She shouldn’t snoop. She shouldn’t look. But she was here, and looking wouldn’t hurt, right? It was only curiosity, nothing more. It wasn’t like she was going to walk down the hall and look into his bedroom to see if he made his bed.
A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled in her chest. Stop being dumb. Just look in the fridge. No big deal.
For some reason, Camila’s heart pounded as she reached for the fridge door. Guilt, maybe? Which was ridiculous. But she was sort of snooping. She tugged open the door and scanned the contents. No beer in sight. Huh.
She closed the door so fast that something rattled in the door.
Time to leave.
She walked past the cat, who was still lapping at the water, oblivious to Camila’s racing pulse. Turning off the lights as she went, she decided to leave on one of the lamps in the living room. Make it nicer for Mrs. Rivera to arrive home.
Camila took a final glance at the living room, and the lone picture of Declan’s family, before opening the door. She wondered if she’d ever step foot in this place again.
Declan groaned as he opened his eyes. His bedroom was way too light for it to be earlier than eight. Had he forgotten to set his alarm? He snatched his phone from the bedside table. 8:05. He was supposed to be at the video location by 8:30. Now he’d be late no matter how much he hurried.
His hand hovered over his contacts. Should he let Camila know? Bree? Trane?
Finally, he texted Bree. Missed alarm. I’ll be about 30 minutes late. Sorry.
Without waiting for a reply, he tossed the phone on his bed and hurried through a shower. By the time he was dressed, he could smell cooking. His mom was up, making breakfast—something he had told her not to worry about for him.
As he walked out of his bedroom, he found his mom in the kitchen, cooking pancakes.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” she asked, turning with a spatula in hand and pointing at a plate of pancakes on the table. “You’d better eat quickly.”
“Yeah,” he said, “and you didn’t need to cook me breakfast.” Besides, eating heavy in the morning was never his thing.
“You went running again last night and only had one of those smoothies,” his mom said. “A man your size needs fuel, Declan.”
Yeah . . . maybe. But he had to prove to the coach that he was the fastest on the team. It might be his only saving grace. He’d sat out the first game on the road, then played only in the second period the next game. If he didn’t start tomorrow, then he’d need to do some serious thinking.
His mom was enjoying Denver, and he was pretty sure that she’d agree this upcoming week to one of the places she was interested in. If he got traded, that would all be for naught.
As his mom chatted about some quilt pattern she wanted to try, Declan shoveled down a couple of pancakes, then cleared his place. “Thanks, Mom.” He crossed to her and kissed her cheek.
“Don’t you have time for more?” she said. “I’ve made plenty.”
“I really don’t.” Surprisingly, Princess came out to greet him with a rub against his legs.
“Oh, she wants you to stay.”
Declan chuckled, and he even bent to scratch Princess’s head. She gave him the obligatory purr. His mom had told him how Camila had come over the other night to get Princess her fresh ice water. Declan hadn’t acted like it was a big deal, because it wasn’t, but he couldn’t help wondering what Camila had thought when she’d walked into his place. Surely she’d noticed the clutter all around—well, the word clutter might offend his mom if he spoke his thoughts aloud. According to her, his condo was lacking many essentials.
But Declan liked simple.
As he headed out the door, the urgency to get to the video location kicked in again. He hoped that things would be a slow start, because he was pretty sure that the guys would be giving him plenty of crap. They were on his home turf, and he hadn’t been flying in or working through other travel arrangements.
