Changes

I slowly stirred awake from my deep sleep, opening my eyes languidly to adjust to the early morning sun. Expecting to find myself in Pat's guest bedroom, I nearly gasped when I recognized the gray walls of his own bedroom. It was then that I felt the heavy arm draped across my waist and the naked lap pressed against my backside. The events of the night before came rushing back in a single second; and immediately, a light blush was painted across my cheeks.

I turned towards Pat's bedside table to inspect his alarm clock. It was nearly 6:30 in the morning, the time I usually found myself sneaking out of Pat's bed. I knew that he always woke up at some point during the dead of night and saw me tucked underneath his arm, but leaving early helped prevent confrontation. Once we were outside his bed, he would never bring it up. But, on this morning, I planned on staying in his large bed and in his warm embrace until we couldn't any longer.

However, my stomach had other plans. A low growl sounded from the depths of my abdomen and practically shook my entire body. I had to get out of bed and at least start breakfast. So with a quick look behind me to make sure that Pat had not stirred from the noise, I slipped out of his arms and swung my legs to the side of the bed. I picked up his t-shirt from the ground and threw it over my head, the hem landing just below my butt and the sleeve slipping off one of my shoulders. A quick scan of the floor, and I found my underwear from the night before. But, unsurprisingly, they were soiled and I'd need a new pair.

With my underwear dangling from my fingertips, I hurriedly tiptoed out of Pat's bedroom and into the hallway, making my way to the guest room door. Its white paint job reminded me of the night before—standing behind the door waiting for Pat to do something and contemplating whether to venture into Pat's room later when the loneliness in my own bed got too unbearable. I smirked at the outcome of the night.

I pushed the door open slowly and slipped inside the bedroom, throwing my soiled underwear towards the growing pile of laundry in the corner. For the next few minutes, I dug through my entire suitcase looking for a pair of clean underwear or shorts—but of course, I had only packed for a few days. I groaned in frustration and stood up, glaring at my suitcase. In a surge of aggravation, I picked up my bag and turned it upside down, spilling its contents across the hardwood floors. My mouth was starting to form an 'O' when I noticed a card tumble out and land on the top of the pile. I placed my suitcase back on the ground and sat down next to the pile of its contents, picking up the card between my fingertips.

After a quick glance, I recognized the bright red of the font as the same color of the Blackhawks' famous home jerseys. Then, my eyes flickered towards the picture of #88 playing in the corner and Donna Kane's signature flawless script in the other. It was Pat's Cup Day Party invitation—something I had stuck into my bag just in case.

I examined the card, which had another picture of Pat on the back, smiling proudly as he held the Cup above his head. He was still clad in his uniform—including some blood splattered across his shoulder—and his face was covered in a thin layer of sweat. But he still looked incredible. A large, flawless smile overtook his face, crunching up the corners of his eyes slightly and making the apples of his cheeks appear perfectly round. His blue eyes were bright and happy. He was happy.

I let out a long sigh as I thought about myself. I had just gotten out of two relationships—one serious relationship and one that was incredibly faulty. Even though Pat and I hadn't defined whatever this was, it probably wasn't the best move to jump into another relationship. That much had been evidenced by Grant.

My thoughts drifted back to Pat. I couldn't do this to him; I had too much baggage and I needed to handle it myself. I couldn't ruin what he had going for him. He was at the climax of his life, winning the Stanley Cup for the second time in four years at the young age of 25. Some people didn't it win it at all after playing for 25 years. He was happy. I didn't want to ruin it.

And I wouldn't.

I hurriedly threw all the clothes back into my bag—except a new pair of underwear, jean shorts, and a tank-top that were found at the bottom of my bag. I threw them on and continued to clean up the rest of my room, making my bed and a quick call for a ride.

A few minutes later, the guest room was rid of all my stuff and my overstuffed suitcase sat by the door. I folded Pat's shirt neatly before placing it on the bed and placing the card on top of that. My phone vibrated in my pocket, signaling that my ride had arrived. In a moment of rash decision, I pulled a pen and post-it out from the bedside table and attached a note to the card, before stuffing it under the t-shirt and dashing from the room.

With my bag thrown over my shoulder and my flip-flops clutched in my hand, I jogged out to the idling car. He stood outside of it, leaning against the passenger side calmly and playing with some app on his phone—his dark curls falling into his face as he looked down at the screen of the device. He was clad in a simple pair of mesh shorts, a t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, and his signature Red Sox baseball cap. As I came closer to him, he looked up and sent me that heart-wrenching smile that never failed to make me question my decisions of the past.

“Hey, Al,” he spoke, his voice still raspy and thick with sleep.

“Eric,” I greeted him with a tight hug, “Thank you so much for doing this for me... Even after—uh—everything.”

He sent me another small smile, “No problem.” He pushed himself off from the car door, opening it for me, and moved to grab the strap of my bag from the shoulder. In one smooth motion, he took my suitcase and threw it into the open trunk, before closing it and making his way around to the driver's seat.

We both dropped into our seats and sat there for a moment. I twirled my thumbs around my other fingers, waiting for him to speak up—which, of course, only took a few moments. It was one of the things I loved about Eric. He was so caught up in fixing other people's problems that he almost always forgot about his own. He was incredibly selfless in that way, so I wasn't surprised when he wanted to help me with mine.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked cautiously, turning in his seat to face me—even though my eyes were trained firmly on my hands.

I simply shook my head. But he continued anyway, “Grant?” I could almost hear his jaw clench as he spoke the name of my recent ex-boyfriend.

“We broke up a few days ago,” I murmured, “So you don't have to say his name with such hatred.”

He let loose a large grin, his jaw relaxing almost completely—but his determined eyes were still trained on me. “Patrick?”

I felt my head move up a small fraction, eliciting a tiny nod for his question. He sighed and took off his hat, running a hand through his unruly bed head.

“I'm going to give you advice, but you can't get angry. Alright, Al?” I nodded reluctantly. I hated when people started rants that way; I was probably going to get angry anyway. “You have to stop running away from your issues. You ran away from me because of the miscarriage and proposal. You ran away from Grant because of his drinking issue. And now, you're running away from Pat because of who-knows-what.”

I turned to him quickly and matched his determined gaze, begging myself not to crumble under his intense stare. “I need to go,” I said firmly, “I can’t stay here.”

“And why not?” he inquired, his eyes racking across my face for any indication of my feelings towards the situation. I willed myself not to break my poker face; it’d only make the situation that much more complicated.

I groaned, “Do I really have to explained?”

He simply stared at me. I gave him an exaggerated eye-roll before launching into the logical explanation that I had conjured up as I was frantically collecting all of my belongings from Pat’s house. “It’s not a good thing for us to be involved. Pat’s too happy at this point in his life for me to ruin it with my baggage. And I need a break. I just got out of two relationships. I don’t need to be launching myself into a third—especially with my recent track record.”

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing at mine and attempting to make me crack. When I didn’t, he sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He merely nodded and turned back towards the wheel, pulling out of Pat's driveway and starting the short drive to the airport. I kept my head down and away from the window, prohibiting myself from looking back towards the house I was leaving. Though the mere beauty of the house—with its classic architecture and flawless detailing—would cause me to reconsider my decision, I truly feared looking at Pat's bedroom window. It would make me change my mind in an instant. I was supposed to be behind that window, sharing Pat's large bed with his naked, sculpted form. I was supposed to be tucked underneath his large bicep with my arms splayed across his bare midsection. I was supposed to be there. But I strapped in Eric’s passenger seat, moving further and further away from that window.

I quickly shook the thoughts from my mind and dropped my head onto the window, closing my eyes and willing sleep to calm my nerves.

♢♢♢♢

Eric shook me awake lightly, making me realize that we were parked alongside the curb of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport. Noticing our location, I immediately perked up in my seat, unbuckled myself, and jumped out of the car. Eric followed suit and moved around to the back of his SUV, grabbing my single bag from his trunk. I moved to reach of its handle, but he swiftly moved it away from my reaching hand and sauntered into the airport—ignoring the calls of angry cabdrivers that were waiting for his parking spot.

I followed him inside the building and quickly took a spot next to him in the ticket line. When we reached the counter, I listened to Eric inquire a ticket for me—a quick, direct flight to the O’Hare Airport in Chicago. I let him handle all of the talking. My mind was in a confused state—between foggy from my nap in the car and buzzing from all the thoughts that had run through it over the previous hour. I stood quietly beside him, listening to his raspy voice discuss the one bag I needed checked. But when the clerk asked for a credit card, I reached for the over-sized purse slung over my shoulder and began to dig through its contents. However, Eric quickly beat my sluggish actions and handed over his sleek card first.

“Eric!” my eyes widened at the card clutched in the clerk’s hand before shifting them to her questioning gaze, “You can give that back to him, now.”

Eric shook his head at the lady and lightly pushed her extended hand away, “Keep it. I’m paying for the ticket.”

“Eric, I can pay for my own ticket,” I explained calmly.

He nodded, “I know.”

“So I don’t need you to pay for my ticket.”

“I know,” he repeated and turned towards me, “But I’m buying your ticket.”

“Why?” I tilted my head towards him in confusion. I had no idea what he was doing. I knew that Eric’s job in Boston had been well paying, but that didn’t mean he had the money to throw away on a sporadic plane ticket. Especially one for a girl that had broken his heart and was in the process of breaking another.

He pursed his lips for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, “Because I owe you.”

My eyebrows furrowed together, “How so?” If anything, I owed him much more than I could ever give. He gave me my first love story. He loved me in more ways than I thought possible. He loved me—flaws and all. He was more than understanding about my flee from Boston. And most recently, he dragged himself out of bed in the early morning to help me flee again.

“You came to me when you needed help. You let me in,” he took off his baseball cap and ran a large hand through his curls, “Not as your boyfriend, but as your friend. And that’s more than I could ever ask for.”

I let loose a large smile and launched myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you…for being my friend,” I whispered quietly into his solid chest. He squeezed me tightly in response and placed a light kiss onto the top of my head.

After a few moments, we both turned back towards the clerk—with slight blushes painted across our cheeks in embarrassment of the scene we had just created. However, she merely smiled at us and motioned to the card, receipt, and ticket on the counter. She had already checked my bag, swiped Eric’s card, and plugged his information into the computer. With a quick signature on the receipt and a quiet bid goodbye, we made our way towards security. I gave Eric a quick hug and kiss on the cheek—thanking him profusely for the ride and the ticket—before I turned towards the security section and started to make my way towards the end of the line.

“Wait!” I called after him, spinning around quickly and grabbing his arm.

He turned around to meet me and gave me a puzzled look, “Yeah?”

I could tell he was tired of catering to me—after all, he had woken up many hours before he needed to and driven me to the airport—but a large smile stayed plastered across my lips, “Give me your phone.”

Reluctantly, he dug into the pocket of his mesh shorts and came up with his phone, placing it timidly in my hand. “What are you doing now, Al?”

I held up my pointer finger to him and unlocked his phone, the pads of my thumbs moving swiftly across the screen as I typed. After a few moments, I lifted up the phone with a satisfied smile and turned it up towards his face. His eyebrows furrowed towards the bridge of his nose and he opened his mouth to ask a question, which I promptly interrupted. “My new phone number.”

A happy smile overtook his look of confusion, his pink lips showcasing his flawless teeth. “Thanks, Al,” he pulled me in for a final hug, before pushing me towards security with a playful shove.

♢♢♢♢

After moving through security and combing through the early-morning crowds for a seat near my gate, I was finally able to relax. Coming to Buffalo, my plans for the weekend had been completely innocent: go to Riley’s wedding, spend some quality time with my family, and then hightail it out of there before I got sucked it. But obviously, things hadn’t gone quite as planned. I hadn’t planned to run into Eric, or to end things with Grant, or to wake in Pat’s arms. Everything was unexpected and unplanned. So I was reacting in the way I knew best—to run. Being back in Chicago would give me time. Time to adjust myself to the foreign city’s way of living. Time to sort out my thoughts. And time to prepare myself for Pat’s return and how I would react.

Digging into my purse, I pulled out my phone and quickly swiped my thumb across the screen. I expected countless text messages and phone calls from Pat, but I was left empty-handed. The only new notification was a text from Livvy, asking when I expected to be home. I answered immediately, informed her of my arrival time, and invited her to lunch the following day. I needed a second opinion on my decisions and Livvy was definitely the person to go to.

After discussing the events of her week—which consisted mostly of working at the coffee shop, going out with some of her old girlfriends, catching up on Gossip Girl, and even a mysterious one night stand—I told her I’d talk to her when my plane arrived in Chicago. I didn’t want her to ask about my week. As far as she knew, I was coming back to Chicago with Grant in tow. I’d explain to her later, after a long nap and soak in my tub. But for now, I was too tired to even think about what had transpired over the past seven days.

My phone vibrated in my hand with a simple bid goodbye from Livvy and I moved to stuff my phone back into my purse. But as I did, a pair of familiar Nike running shoes appeared before me.

My gaze floated upward from the shoes. A pair of workout shorts clad his bottom half and a fitted Blackhawks t-shirt was stretched across his broad, solid chest. His blonde curls were organized in a haphazard pile on his forehead, in a serious state of bed-head. Bed-head that you created, I reminded myself. And just underneath his unruly curls, his bright blue orbs were locked on mine.