Changes

“Fuck,” I groaned, shutting my eyes again quickly before the bright sunlight coming through my open blinds could do too much damage.

My head pounded from the thought of having to move any muscle in my body, but I gathered some energy and stuffed my face further into my pillow to block out any more sunlight. As I rubbed my temple slowly, trying to ease away some of the pain, I heard a soft groan from beside me.

My eyes sprung open—suddenly immune to the sunlight—and I hastily shifted my gaze to the heap of blankets beside me. My gaze shifted from object to object as I quickly tried to comprehend my current situation.

One of my heavy arms was draped across her back and one of my hands palmed part of her plump ass. She laid sprawled out on her stomach with her cheek facing in the opposite direction, so I couldn’t see her face. A large pile of brown wavy hair laid disheveled on top of her head and splayed across the white pillowcase.

It was Allie.

Shit.

I searched through my mind for any clues as to why Allie would be sprawled out in my bed, but nothing came to mind. Any memories of the night before were extremely vague and full of blurry faces.

After a moment, she groaned lightly again and shifted her weight on the bed.

“Fuck,” I heard her cursed quietly before reaching a hand up to her temple. Suddenly, she felt the presence of me in the bed—or my hand splayed across her ass—and whipped her head around. Her eyes grew wide and a look of confusion was plastered across her face.

“I have no idea,” I chuckled, removing my hand from her butt and using it to rub my own temple for a moment. I turned to look at my bedside table, glancing at the clock.

11:00 AM

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Allie hastily peek beneath my comforter and release a sign of relief. We were both fully clothed in what we had worn out to the club. She rolled onto her back and let out a small giggle before covering her face with her hands.

“Do you have any recollection?” I asked, turning back towards her. She shook her head slightly and let another giggle slip past her lips.

“So much for a memorable first night in Chicago,” she laughed.

After a few minutes of collecting our thoughts and allowing our original headaches to subside some, Allie and I climbed out of our pile of sheets and composed ourselves for the rest of the day.

As I walked into the kitchen where Allie sat at the island, I threw a t-shirt over my head. I was clad in a simple pair of Nantucket red shorts and a plain white tee. My wet, blonde curls were sloppily piled on top of my head and my face—recently covered in an uneven ginger beard—was finally cleanly shaven after 55 days of Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Allie gasped at my smooth face and ran a delicate hand across my cheek, “Much better!”

I rolled my eyes at her and moved towards the refrigerator, “So what do you want to do today?”

She shrugged, taking a small bite of the toast that lay on a plate in front of her, “I don’t know. I was thinking about unpacking into my new apartment, if you wanna help.”

I gave her a small nod, reaching for the box of doughnuts in the corner of the refrigerator, “Where is said apartment?”

She used her unoccupied hand to point in some direction—probably the wrong direction—and waved it around, “Just two blocks down, I think.”

“Seriously?! So I can come bother you at any hour of the night?”

“Not at all, superstar,” she stood up and dumped her empty plate into my sink, “We’re gonna have to set some ground rules.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I waved off her comment and shoved a glazed doughnut into my mouth; my cheeks filling up like a squirrel’s.

Allie and I spent the rest of the morning gathering her things from around my apartment and cleaning up whatever mess we created last night in our drunken state.

“So why did you decide to leave Boston?” I questioned, throwing an empty water bottle across the room and watching it land perfectly into the large garbage bag we had dragged into my room, “Did you miss me that much?”

“Yeah, I just couldn’t spend that much time away from you!” She placed a hand on her heart jokingly and continued organizing the pile of sheets we had left on my king-sized bed.

A moment of silence fell over us and I stared at the empty beer can that laid in my hands, “Nah, but seriously, why?”

She looked at me for a moment, her eyes flickering between mine, before her face fell in defeat, “I would tell you that it was primarily for career, but that’d be lying.” She paused for a second and considered her words, “Let’s just say I had some relationship trouble and it was time for a change.”

Her eyes left mine and she concentrated intensely on the empty pillowcase that rested between her small hands. “Do I have to beat anyone up?” I chuckled, making my way over to where she took a seat on the semi-made bed, “Just say the words and I’ll book the next flight out to Boston. He won’t even know what hit him.”

She shook her head, “I gave him a few slaps to the face before I left so I—”

“I doubt those hurt,” I cut in playfully and she doled out a few harmless punches to my shoulder.

She turned away from me, stuffing the nearest pillow she could find into the empty pillowcase that filled her hands, “He doesn’t even know that I left Boston, so I doubt I’ll need your help.” She finished making up the pillow and tossed it towards my dark-stained wooden headboard. “But if I need backup, you’ll be my first choice.”

I nodded slightly, replaying her words over and over again in my head. This guy was looking for Allie. He wanted something from her and he sounded dangerous.

I touched her forearm that was resting between us lightly with my callus-covered fingertips, stirring her from her thoughts and making her jump slightly. “Al,” her eyes snapped up to meet mine again, “Just how bad is this guy?”

She grabbed my hand with hers and intertwined our fingers, “It’s over with, Pat. I’m fine and it’s in the past. No need to dwell on it.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before a tight smile was plastered across her face, “Now, come on. Let’s go see my new apartment!”

♢♢♢♢

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell Pat about Eric and what had happened between the two of us, but I just didn’t feel the need to. He wasn’t looking for me to hurt me. He wasn’t dangerous in anyway. In fact, I was pretty sure that in the end, the whole ordeal actually hurt him more than it hurt me. Actually, I was positive that was the case. I could tell that Patrick had the wrong idea about Eric, but that didn’t really concern me. If Eric did happen to find me in Chicago, I would need someone to back me up for a little bit. Just to give me some time to think. To get all my thoughts in order, so that I could give him a clear explanation of my blatantly obvious issues and what had caused my sudden departure. I needed to hear that explanation, too. I just needed time.

“Your name is Allie and you’re my pal-y,” Pat rapped from his sprawled-out position on the floor of my new living room. We had spent the past hour ripping open boxes that had been labeled sloppily with a black sharpie and placing objects in their new positions around my house. In addition to helping me sort through the multitude of boxes, Pat was also distracting me from the issues I had left behind in Boston.

“I think it’s time for that coffee break.” However, he was also achieving his own mission: distracting me from the task at hand. Pat has the attention span of a squirrel; he cannot focus on a sole task for over 60 minutes.

Over the past ten minutes, Pat had tried to gain my attention in multiple ways, including singing his own rendition of a couple Adele songs, making a fort out of the discarded empty boxes—and then proceeding to yell “Snowball fight!” and throw packing peanuts at me—and creating his own rap about my name.

“Alright, alright!” I picked up a large handful of packing peanuts and threw them in Pat’s general direction, “But this is our last break!”

After multiple hours of Pat’s constant nagging and a few additional coffee breaks, Pat and I—mostly me—had completely unpacked my apartment and assigned new positions to the familiar objects. Pat was sprawled out on my over-stuffed sectional and I laid between his legs, my back pressing up against his sturdy chest. I silently looked around my new apartment, smiling at how organized and homey the unfamiliar place already felt.

The front door opened up into the living room, which was now completed with my television and sectional couch. A small archway led into the large and updated kitchen with large windows that exposed the bustling streets of Chicago below. The apartment included two bathrooms and three bedrooms—one of which would be converted into a small office, another would remain as a guest room, and the last would serve as my own bedroom.

“This place really is amazing, Al. How’d you afford it?” Pat’s chest vibrated underneath my head.

“I had to sell my apartment back in Buffalo,” I sighed, “but I think—”

“Wait, you what?”

I repeated my statement, even though I knew he had heard me the first time, and awaited his response. Suddenly, one of his large hands gripped my waist and the other grasped my shoulder, flipping me over in one fluid motion, so that I was now simply lying on top of him.

His large blue eyes searched mine for any indication that what I had just said had been merely a practical joke, but they fell in defeat after a few moments and his grip around my waist tightened slightly. His large, muscular arms drowned my tiny waist and made me feel small in comparison.

“You’re not coming back for the summer?” His saddened voice finally broke the silence that had been stirring around us.

“No. Well, not right away,” I shrugged. “I think it’s for the best since I just moved here and all. I can get acquainted with the city and possibly get to know my co-workers before I actually begin to work. Plus, I don’t want to be staying with my parents all summer.”

“I can’t believe you’re not gonna be there,” Pat let out a deep breath, calming whatever thoughts were stewing around in his head.

He stuck out his bottom lip and whimpered quietly—reminding me that he was still a small child trapped inside the rock hard body of an adult.

“Don’t sulk, Pat,” I pushed my cheek against his solid chest and quickly breathed in his scent, “I promise I’ll come visit you.”

“It won’t be the same,” he muttered, rubbing his large hands up and down my back.

He was right.

It wouldn’t be the same. Pat and I had spent every summer together since we had become friends. Although our activities changed over the years, we still stuck by each other during those two months—before we were obligated to return to our separate lives.

“I’ll miss you,” he breathed, spilling the words out in a low whisper. If it hadn’t been for my cheek pressed against his chest, I doubt I would’ve even heard it.

I slurred the same words back to him in response and soon found myself drifting off into a deep sleep, soothed by his even breaths.