Morgan Rielly Imagine

Part Twenty-Two

I spend most of my night laying on my bed that I had stripped down to just a bare mattress. After I had gotten off the phone with Morgan all the calm that I had felt slowly deteriorated until I was a quivering mess of self-conflicting anger. During my anger management classes and endless hours talking to different therapists and doctors, I had developed many tactics to relieve my pent up emotions in safe means. That all went out the window.

Now my sheets and blankets are sitting in the corner of my hotel room. A mess of ripped white and gray linen meet their meanings end. I slept in a sweatshirt and long pants, using Morgan's scarf as a pillow as I tried and failed to find way to not only make myself feel better, but make Nick feel worse.

The phone calls had continued long into the night and I listened to the annoying ringtone every time. I refused to turn the phone off or to silent because I needed the reminder. Every single time he called it drove a stake deeper into my heart, reminding me of every reason I had to hate him.

But I didn't.

I mourned him.

I mourned the loss of my best friend of three years. I still loved him, despite everything. I always had. But I wasn't upset about losing a lover, it was the person I thought he was that I was missing. A person who I wasn't even sure was real.

Dawn came and with it the noises of a city coming back to life. I heard people walking up and down the hallway. I heard and smelled carts of breakfast rolling by but still I laid there and thought. Until I saw it.

Just poking out of my bag was the jersey that I had worn nearly every single night. I raised myself to my elbows and eyed the yellow and white rag for what it was; the thing Nick cared about most.

I called down to the front desk and asked what time the gift shop opened and then took the longest, hottest shower of my life. I let the cascade of heat wash away every streak of salty tears from my skin and let my flesh turn a dusty pink before I finally got out. Despite my insides still feeling like they are on fire, I dress to impress. Because if there is one thing I know about men, it's that if you look good there's a 99 percent chance they are going to notice.

I pull my pencil skirt, plunging blouse and the simple black pumps that I know make my legs look long on and get set on styling my hair. Luckily, my outer appearance has yet to reflect my inner turmoil so my hair is still shiny and willing to cooperate as I style it into long soft waves that curtain my face perfectly. By the time I'm through with my makeup its quarter to eight and I look damn good.

The gift shop proves to have the sole thing I need and I race back up to my room before it's time for the bus to leave for practice. I gather my necessities for a morning of press at the rink and then rush back downstairs, having a gut feeling that someone I know may be down there. Thanks to having to wait for the gift shop, I'm not the first one downstairs but the bus has yet to appear so I know I'm good.

The team loiters around the lobby and some spill out onto the sidewalk as we wait. Most send me questioning looks, some with pity in their eyes, others are clueless. Morgan and Mason have yet to appear but the second Jake sees me his eyes widen and I can see his fingers flying across this phone screen.

But over his shoulder, out the window I see him.

Nick walks slowly across the street, his cheek a shadow of a dark bruise that goes from his jaw to the corner of his eye and I feel my heart swell with pride at Mason's good aim. I march through the hotel door, ignoring Jake's protests and the brush of his hand on my arm. I keep my head held high as I wait for Nick to see me.