THIS HAPPENS WHILE CHANDLER IS AT DERICK'S HOUSE
Alex's POV:
My legs hang over the side of my hotel bed.
The girl I was with left as soon as I ran out; figures.
I run a hand through my shaggy hair and let out a deep sigh.
What the fuck have I done?
Then there's a knock at my door.
I get up and slowly twist the knob open, hoping that when I pull back the door, it'll reveal Chandler, but unfortunately that's not the case.
Wilson, Nikky and some of the other guys are standing around my door,
"You okay?" Carlson asks, giving me a sympathetic look.
"No I'm not fucking ok," I answer, but it doesn't come out as mad as I would've liked.
"We tried to get her to leave but she wouldn't, she really wanted to see you," Tom says putting a hand in his pocket.
If that was supposed to make me feel bad, then it did its job because my heart stings at the thought of Chandler smiling as she walked down the hall, excited to see the look on my face when I saw her, but that's not at all what she got.
I hate how the guys are looking at me like I'm the one to feel sorry for, because I'm not.
I'm the idiot, I'm the dirty cheater who didn't give a crap about a great girl who liked him.
I use the word liked, because there is no way that she wants to be with me anymore.
"It's my fault, I should've been more assertive," Carlson says putting a hand on his forehead.
I shake my head, "don't blame yourself for something I did."
There's an awkward pause, and then,
"It'll be okay Ovi," Latta says pushing me playfully, "she'll probably come running back."
He smiles and some of the guys give hesitant laughs, I do as well, but it's fake.
"Thanks guys," I say patting Latts on the shoulder and then turning around to head back into my room.
"I'm gonna stay in John and Karl's room okay?"
I turn around again; Backstrom. I totally forgot that I shared a room with him.
"I figured you'd want some alone time," I nod and then shut the door.
Their footsteps hit the ground softly as they all head back into their rooms.
I take off my shirt and replace my jeans with sweatpants.
Then once I'm comfortable, I fall into my bed.
I'm an asshole.
Chan was probably just starting to trust me and I hurt her.
I didn't think she was going to come up here, I figured she'd never even find out about it.
God what am I saying? Why did I even cheat in the first place?
I let out a deep sigh and close my eyes.
I feel like someone has just placed 400lbs on my shoulders.
Slowly my mind drifts off to the events earlier; when I ran after Chandler.
She got into a car with some random person.
At least I think it was a random person. Maybe she knows someone in New York and called them to come pick her up. That's probably what happened.
She's not stupid enough to get into a car with a stranger.
*************************************
A few hours have past, and I'm just starting to fall asleep, when my phone buzzes.
Hoping its Chandler, I jolt up, reach over to the nightstand, unplug my phone, and check.
It's a text from an unknown number.
My finger slides across my phone to unlock it and I read the message,
"Look who's in my bed tonight,"
It's followed by a picture of Chandler, belly down and naked, with the covers pulled down just below her hips.
Before even thinking, my fingers start typing,
"Who is this,"
Seconds later the person replies, but it's only helps me narrow down the suspect a little bit,
"You may be able to score on the ice, but I score everywhere else."
That comment outrages me, but I'm able to determine that whoever's texting me is probably someone who plays for the Rangers.
"Who the fuck is this?"
I text again, and before the person can reply, I send another one,
"Did you fucking drug her?"
It takes a few minutes for the person to respond this time,
"Nope, she practically begged for it,"
And then the person sends a video.
I get a chill. My fingers move to click on the play button, but I'm scared of what my eyes are about to see.
With caution I proceed to watch the video.
It's pitch black wherever it was filmed, and obviously taken behind a cracked open door, but when I turn up the volume a little bit, I hear it,
Heavy breathing and Chandler's small, almost raspy moans.
As soon as I realize what I'm listening to, I turn the video off and nearly throw my phone across the room.
I hate whoever is texting me, I hate Chandler.
No I don't. I hate the fact that Chandler had sex with someone else. And I'm sure she probably feels the same way.
I move across the room and pick my phone up.
I'm very particular about exiting out of the video and deleting that message.
My face heats up with anger. I want to know who Chan slept with, I want to punch something, I want to scream.
But what can I actually do? Whoever texted me is obviously not going to give up their identity, and now that I think about it, is it even my business?
Chan left me, and she made it clear she didn't want closure, so should I just give up and let her move on?
That idea sounds good in my head, but not in my heart.
I can't let myself do something like that, I have to make things right.
Hopefully Chan will want to talk to me, and then we can work this out.
She doesn't have to understand, but she has to know I'm sorry.
*************************************
In the morning, after some snooping around and the help of Backy, I'm able to determine who the mystery fucker was,
Derick Brassard.
