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Nine thirty on a Friday night and Grace stood in the basement of Hartford House folding her laundry. And someone else’s for that matter because all the dryers had been full and she sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for someone to free up a machine for her at this hour.
Daisy and Morris had gone off to a Sigma party for their date night—or weekend as the former had more or less hinted on her way out the door. Grace, on the other hand, had preloaded The Bourne Identity on her computer and prepared some snacks for a quiet movie night in her room all by her lonesome.
Which was fine by her because parties were not particularly appealing without Logan right now. She had yet to shake the inky feeling after Ramona’s SOS and didn’t plan on looking for trouble when there was no need for it.
Sometimes, Grace really thanked her lucky stars that she grew up with a stickler-for-the-rules father who instilled some maturity and sense of responsibility in her—even if that meant being isolated and looking pathetic while everyone else got wasted at Greek Row. Sophomore Grace might have found a boyfriend she was in love with and a possible future career in psychological profiling, but she was still slightly inept in the social department. Not everyone could take her serial killer rants as well as Logan did.
Her hands glided over various tees and sweaters to the sounds of dance remixes playing from the radio station on her phone. And at the bottom of the laundry pile, she stumbled upon a shirt that put a small smile on her face.
Picking up her phone, she snapped a shot of the aforementioned tee’s Briar Hockey logo before sending it to Logan with the following text: Yeah, so I found it.
“Baby, you don’t understand,” he had said, rummaging around his drawers while he packed for the trip to New York. “I’ve had that thing since freshman year. Since before freshman year. I wore it to college shirt day in high school.”
“It doesn’t have magic powers, Johnny,” she had retorted.
“Well, it’s the closest thing I’ve got since you’re not coming.”
“You’ve won plenty of games without me. I am confident that you guys can do it again.”
As much as Grace wanted to spend time with her boyfriend, a weekend of hockey in Ithaca hadn’t sound as appealing to her as it had to him. Hence, here she was walking back to her dorm with a basket of clean clothes and Jason Bourne waiting for her on her laptop.
Logan didn’t reply until Matt Damon started shooting down Clive Owen in a field. She looked at the lock screen of her phone, displaying his response. Jsyk, I blame u for that first period goal, his message read.
Grace paused the movie to check the results of the game on the school’s athletics website. She rolled her eyes at the sight of the box score, a 4-1 win for Briar.
Neither your shirt nor I can be held accountable for one goal, she texted back.
It really wasn’t her fault. Logan had been spending more time in her dorm now that Daisy was spending more time in Morris’ single. There was bound to be some of his clothes lying around her room. If anything, he should be the one to blame for wearing it over and not leaving with it back on.
The same thing happened the next night—Grace watching the second in the Bourne series and now wearing his tee in lieu of her usual pajamas. This time though, Logan called right when Matt Damon began accosting Julia Stiles in a subway station.
“Guess who’s currently ranked first in the conference?” he greeted her.
“Guess the magic didn’t wear off after I washed your shirt, huh.”
She half-listened, half-watched her movie as he recapped the game. For all the years Ramona tried to get her invested in hockey and all the school games Grace had gone to, interest in the sport continued to elude her. She wasn’t sure John would ever get her to love it—at least not more than football.
“Grace,” he said, bringing her back into the conversation after the movie distracted her. “I know you haven’t been listening. Hockey talk is over, so you—” He paused. “What are you watching now?” She grinned sheepishly.
“The Bourne Supremacy.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” he said. “Famous Cambridge boy gets more attention from my own girlfriend than I do.”
“Oh, shit. There are like fifteen cops after him.”
“You’ve seen the movie, right?” She hummed in response—too engrossed in the film to care that, yes, she had seen it at least ten times already.
So she was rewatching a great series over a lonely weekend while her boyfriend was out of town. Sue her. Grace was sure this hobby was a far better one to have than mutilating Barbie dolls.
“Which part are you on?” Logan asked. Even with her video playing, Grace heard shuffling on his end of the line and something that sounded like the opening sequence of the movie.
“John, are you—”
“Which part, babe?”
She told him—moved her cursor over the video and gave him the exact second of the scene. And there they were: two souls in different beds—in different states—watching the same movie at the same time. Subconsciously, Grace pressed the phone closer to her ear during their periodic commentary like the device was her lifeline.
It was. It was her substitute for his warm body next to hers. All she had right now was his voice, and she couldn’t help but cling to it.
“John?” she murmured after the credits rolled and video faded to black.
“Yeah?”
The ‘I miss you’ was implicit, but the words somehow got stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to be that person, the needy girlfriend who couldn’t live a day without her man. They had been apart longer than one measly weekend. Still, Grace had relished in the simple sound of John breathing on the phone for over an hour because right now she missed him like crazy.
“I’ll see you on Monday, okay? Sunday if we don’t get in too late,” he said. His voice had gone soft—a sense of reassurance mixed with desperation, she thought. “Grace?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She inhaled. Exhaled. Solo movie nights sucked sometimes.
“Okay.”
“What do you mean cancelled?” Grace glanced out the window again for any signs of a storm or even flurries. Not a one. “I’m looking outside right now. It’s sunnier than springtime in Paris.”
“Baby, it’s the fucking snowpocalypse here.” Of course it was. He was in goddamn Canada. A five-game road trip for the Providence Bruins meant Logan had been gone for more than a week and was currently stuck in Newfoundland, of all places.
It also happened to be his birthday today, which Grace had hoped to celebrate together in their apartment. She had bought nice lingerie and planned to order in from his favorite restaurant for the occasion. But then the snow gods had to descend and dump a blizzard on her boyfriend and his team, stranding them in a different country.
So instead of preparing for his return, Grace drooped over the kitchen counter and continued to refresh the weather page on her laptop only to read the same disappointing news over and over: a shit-ton of snow up north delaying and cancelling flights left and right.
“I went shopping for you,” she said.
“Did you?”
“I went shopping for me for you,” she clarified. “But now you’re not coming home.”
“You could still put it on.” Grace rolled her eyes at his words and suggestive tone. “We could FaceTime and—”
“You’re at an airport, John.” Like hell she was going to put on a show for him while he was in a public place. She couldn’t even handle the “Happy Birthday” song after her mother had scarred her for life with all the surprise parties. No way was she making herself the center of attention for any wayward eyeballs.
Still, the nice Victoria’s Secret teddy she had actually dared to buy sat in its untouched box and mocked her. Grace hadn’t arranged for anything over the top; she just wanted to be with Logan on this day and give him something that no one else could.
She was being ridiculous, though. She could just wear it when he came back for a birthday weekend. Why, then, did that thought make her wince in disappointment?
“Grace?” Logan’s voice cut through. “You still there?”
She sighed. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean to ruin your plans.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted. “God, you didn’t make it snow or deliberately miss your flight. This isn’t your fault. It’s… just…”
She dropped her forehead into the palm of her free hand. She was being stupid fussing over nothing. Jesus, Grace didn’t even know why this was bothering her so much.
But then she caught sight of Logan’s old Briar Hockey jacket draped over a chair. It was hers now, and Grace wore it almost everywhere since Logan had his Bruins one. And fuck. They had found a place to move in together despite her father’s misgivings, and she was still in school while he played in the AHL, and maybe she had a shitty week she was trying to ignore, but her primary distraction slash problem solver was currently more than a thousand miles away.
“I wish you were here,” Grace whispered through the phone, no longer able to hold it in.
She knew what it was going to be like. She knew he wanted to play professional ice hockey, and that meant road trips across the continent while she remained in Massachusetts. And Grace accepted that because she loved John and supported his dream.
That didn’t mean that she didn’t get lonely when he was gone.
“I wanna be there, baby.”
“I know.”
God, she was so painfully in love with him.
“Can you do something for me?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“Save the surprise for another time.”
She paused. “Really?” That was the last thing she expected.
“Grace Ivers, I would travel across the goddamn world to get to you, but I’m gonna be fucking tired when I get there, okay?”
She snorted. “Put it in a poem, Johnny.”
“Yeah, you’d like that.”
Grace could see his smile; she could practically feel it through the phone. The sight was what she dreamed of at night; it was what she longed for right now. And if she could, she would get on a plane to go to him, to be with him, to make his dreary wait just a little bit better.
Goddamn snowpocalypse.
“Happy birthday, Johnny.”
“Love you, gorgeous.”
Her phone lit up like a beacon in the night. The lamp she had turned off more than an hour ago remained dormant while her cell awakened the dark room with its buzzing and bright screen. Having been on the cusp of slumber, Grace stirred slightly in bed before giving up the indomitable fight.
It was John. She knew it was John before she even unraveled herself from the blankets and reached over to the nightstand. The call could be from any number of people, but Grace knew it was him.
She knew it was John like she knew her own name.
Picking up the device, she was greeted with the picture of them in Paris from last summer. He had proposed to her then with another one of his romantic gestures, and Grace had sworn for a professional ice hockey defenseman, the man whose engagement ring she wore on her finger had far more sweetness in him than zing in his slapshot.
Not that she would ever tell him that—for obvious reasons.
“Baby—” she heard the second she swiped to answer, and then off like a rocket he went doing his game recap with far too much energy than Grace could handle at almost two in the morning Eastern Standard Time.
Half listening, she tried to tuck herself back under the covers without losing her phone in the process. Logan didn’t miss a beat—going on about the game and his shifts and a massive hit on some guy named Kaše. The west coast road trip was crucial, she knew. But right now, Grace was equally concerned about her left arm freezing to death if she didn’t find a way to rewrap herself in a warm cocoon.
John never let her touch thermostat. Most of the time, she didn’t have to—not when he was a frickin’ furnace.
“Grace.”
“Yeah.”
“What did I just say?”
She was tired. It was well past her bedtime. What did he want from her? “Uh… Garrett scored the tying goal. Overtime… shootout…”
He huffed in defeat, and she smiled.
In truth, she had gotten used to his recaps. Whether he was home or away, she could always count on his game summaries. Grace had learned a lot more about the sport from them—understanding and even appreciating the intricacies from his perspective. She had also learned to listen.
“Sorry I woke you,” he sighed.
“No, you’re not.” Grace heard him chuckle on the other end before she let out a few giggles of her own. It was not a new occurrence anyway, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time. The Bruins were scheduled to play the Kings tomorrow night, and she would be getting a call afterward highlighting another night of play in California.
If anything, Grace took comfort in this routine—even if it was conducted at an ungodly hour. The occasional weekend trip to New York or New Jersey she could make, but games in the Western Conference could only be experienced through his postgame play-by-plays.
Really, she just wanted to hear him talk. Grace would never tire of hearing John’s voice.
“Tell me about your day,” he said. She paused and inhaled before launching into her own recap, far less interesting than power plays and brutal body checks. Though now that she thought about it, the obnoxious guy who hadn’t stopped flirting with her at Dunkin’ Donuts definitely deserved the latter.
“Please tell me you did,” Logan commented regarding the incident.
She grinned. If only.
The clock read nearly two thirty when Grace checked and stifled a yawn. She really needed to get some shuteye if she was going to wake up for an early day later. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to end the call.
“Grace, you need to sleep.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you gonna hang up?”
“Nope.”
She listened to him sigh on the other end—like she was being difficult when he had been the one that rang her in the first place. Logan was exasperated and demanding at the most peculiar times.
“Baby, please go to bed.”
“I am in bed, Johnny,” she retorted, her soft laughter giving her away.
“I’m hanging up because I love you.”
“Okay.”
The line went quiet, and Grace could hear him breathing again. The rhythmic sound soothed her a little—lulled her back onto the edge of slumber. She would give almost anything to have him in bed with her, to feel the rise and fall of his chest and his heartbeats against her body, to be enveloped in his arms instead of these never-warm-enough layers warding off the brisk winter air. It would be easy then, to drift asleep.
She did, eventually—letting the faint feeling wash over her before closing her eyes for the night. And somewhere between her consciousness and reverie, Grace hazily thought she heard John murmur “Goodnight, gorgeous,” but she couldn’t be too sure.
What she did remember were delicious dreams of her future husband and waking up with her phone still plastered to her ear.