The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 20: Reality Check

~Eleanor~

I open my eyes for the first time since everything went dark. I have no idea where I am. The wooden walls and desk, the dark chair, the black couch I am laying down on, everything is unfamiliar. The only one I recognize is Liam or Matthew I am not really sure at the moment. He is sitting behind the desk, on the dark chair. His laptop is on and I see him type something on the keyboard. I sit up on the couch while trying to gather my thoughts on what happened. I remember writing a story about a girl who meets a guy, I remember getting up on stage, and then nothing. Blank. When he saw me try to get up, Matthew, or Liam, left his desk to sit beside me. He is rubbing my back with his hand, but the whole situation is blurry. I think he asks me if I want something to drink, so I shake my head. My brain is fuzzy, but my stomach is finally back to its normal state, I don't want to do anything that would ruin this. I ask him what happened.

"You fainted, Eleanor. Good thing Blair was holding you or you would have probably hit your head on the reading desk," he says, his soft softer than I ever heard him talk. His hand is still rubbing circles on my back. I keep my eyes in front of me to avoid his worried look. "Do you want me to call anyone?" I shake my head for the second time. "Not even your boyfriend? He could come and pick you up, you can't go to your class this afternoon." Who does he think he is to tell me what to do like this? If I think I can go, then I'll go.

I chuckle. "Even if you called him, he's in North Bay for a game. There's no way he would miss his game and do a seven-hour bus ride just because I fainted." My voice is raspy like it usually is in the morning. It makes me wonder what time it is. I look at the watch on his wrist, it's almost noon which means that I was unconscious/slept for almost two hours. I scout over so that his hand falls from my back before adding: "And we're not in such a good place right now, so." I haven't talked to him since he left yesterday. I don't really know if I'm waiting for him to call or for me to gather enough courage to call him. We'll see, I guess.

"On a brighter note, your short story won. Vivienne gave me the pages and I read it while you were sleeping. It was great. I just hope that it's not how you felt when you saw me this morning." I turn towards him for the first time since waking up.

"It's exactly how I felt," I say dryly. "You shouldn't have lied, Matthew. Or should I call you Mr. Langley? Or maybe you would prefer Liam. So many names for only one man." I'm proud of my comeback. Usually they arrive much later during the conversation which is one of the main reasons why I prefer writing since I get to think about what I want to say before actually saying it.

"Call me whatever you want except Liam. And I'm sorry, I panicked. You just had such kind words for my book," he answers laughing. I rub my face with my hands mostly to hide my smile, but also to bring back Ben into my mind. No matter what is going on right now, I love him more than anything. "What is it you said again?" he asks, his tone once again playful.

"Boring dystopian novels about impossible stuff," we say at the same time. We both laugh.

"I just hope that your problems with your boyfriend aren't because of our coffee date of Saturday." I wave my index in his face.

"Wasn't a date." He nods but lowers his eyes. "And no, it's not about that since he doesn't know. It's about something a lot more complicated than that I'm afraid." How do you explain to a stranger that your boyfriend thinks you're nothing compared to hockey? Especially when that someone doesn't know anything about hockey or your relationship. You don't, because he is a stranger. Even if you really want to because you have no one else to talk to about that except your British-Columbian friend who still lives in BC. Which reminds me...

"You cannot talk about Ben to Blair and Vivienne." He scrunches his brows, asking me to continue my explanation. "They don't know about hockey. They think he is an engineer working with his uncle. Just promise me you won't say anything." I don't like his expression. It's a mix of pity and judgment. The last time someone looked at me that way, it was when my mother learned about my upcoming move to Ontario. She never understood why I wanted to leave everything behind to follow a boy.