Kiss and Don’t Tell
: Chapter 25

The blackout curtains are drawn, with only an inch of light cutting into my rather dark apartment.

There’s an empty six-pack in front of me.

And I haven’t bothered with a shower or a shirt today.

What’s the point?

I’ve been waiting on the call from Doc all goddamn day. I’ve run through my fight with Winnie far too many times. And I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. I’m so fucking miserable, that instead of entertaining the idea of turning on the TV, I’ve just sat in solitude instead. No noise, no distractions, just my toxic thoughts on how I could’ve handled things differently.

As I sit on the couch and stare into space, there’s a knock at my door.

Desperate hope blooms in the pit of my stomach as I sit up and look to the entryway. Could I be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world and have my girl come back?

I peel myself off the couch and go to open my door.

All hope fades as I see the four faces smiling at me from the other side of the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.

“Couldn’t let our man suffer alone,” Hornsby says, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving it a squeeze as he walks into my apartment.

One by one, they give me a pat on the back or a squeeze to my shoulder and then roll their suitcases into my place. I hope they don’t think they’re all staying here.

“Love the dark and moody vibe you have going on here,” Taters says, right before he tears the curtains open, letting the sun scorch me with its brightness.

“Look at that. The sun is having some vampire-melting vibes on our friend,” Posey says as I cover my eyes.

“Does it smell in here?” Hornsby asks, sniffing.

“There’s a definite stink,” Taters agrees.

Holmes just walks past me with a sympathetic look and then takes a seat in one of the chairs in my living room while the other boys start airing out my apartment and cleaning up my bottles.

“Look, he’s drinking light beer.” Posey tsk-tsks. “If you’re going to mend a broken heart with alcohol, you have to throw calories out the window.”

“Have you eaten anything?” Hornsby asks.

“From the lack of plates in his sink, I’m going to say no,” Taters announces. “Order some pizza. I’m starving.”

“On it,” Posey says, taking charge in the food department like always. He pulls his phone from his pants and heads down the hallway. He most likely has our favorite pizza place as one of his ICE contacts in his phone.

“I’m going to grab some real beer from the store around the corner,” Taters says.

“And I’m going to snag some ice cream.” Hornsby rubs his stomach. “I know we could all use some after that car ride and listening to Posey drone on endlessly about the chocolatier guy he likes following on Instagram.”

Taters and Hornsby take off, leaving me alone with Holmes, who just placed my car keys on the kitchen bench. So he drove my car? Good. His brow crinkles as he looks up at me. He doesn’t have to say anything, it’s all in that look.

You okay, dude?

Sighing heavily, I walk over to the couch and take a seat. “I’m such a fuck-up.”

“So you’ve said.”

I roll my head to the side to look Holmes in the eyes. “I’m fucking scared about the test results. Doc didn’t seem optimistic. And I drove away the one person who could take away that worry.”

Holmes scratches the side of his jaw. “Yeah, that’s a bad fucking day.”

“Tell me about it.”

PIZZA BOXES ARE SCATTERED across my living room, two gallons of ice cream—one rocky road, because Hornsby thought it was appropriate, and the other cookies ’n cream—are almost entirely consumed, spoons just resting in the boxes now, and there are empty beer bottles all around the coffee table—not the light kind.

Posey is lying across the floor, a throw pillow under his head as he clutches his stomach. Hornsby is sitting next to me, licking his ice cream spoon, and Taters is pacing the living room, while Holmes hasn’t moved since he sat down.

“Did you really think Winnie would go behind your back to be with Josh? Seriously, dude?” Taters asks.

I drag my hand over my face. “No,” I groan. “But I didn’t trust Josh, I still don’t.”

“You say this as if you know him,” Taters says.

Posey glances at me, giving me a knowing look. Sighing, I say, “I do know him. He’s my half-brother.”

All the boys, besides Posey, turn toward me. Hornsby is the first to say something. “Your half-brother? Are you fucking serious with that shit?”

“Yes,” I say. “I thought I recognized Winnie. I couldn’t place her at first, but when I did, it was like everything clicked. The guy, who was a dick to her, who made her second-guess everything about herself. That was Josh.”

“Holy shit,” Hornsby mutters.

“Did you talk to him about it?” Holmes asks.

“He’s been trying to get in touch with me for a few weeks now. I think to tell me he had cancer. I don’t know, I’ve ignored his attempts. But we did share a text thread where he called me out for being with Winnie. He must have seen a picture on social media or something. Who fucking knows, but I told him he had no right to even talk about her after what he had done. He didn’t take it well, I guess in my mind, I thought he was trying to steal her back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Taters mutters. “That’s the stupidest piece of crap I’ve ever heard. Have you seen the way the girl looks at you? Nothing is going to change that, especially some lame attempt at a grocery store—if that is even what he was doing, which I doubt that it was.”

“I know,” I groan. “Fuck. I was in a shit headspace yesterday and when I saw them together, I just saw black, and no matter what, there was no way of getting me out of that headspace. Not until I watched Winnie walk out the door. By then, it was too late.”

“Never too late to chase after the girl,” Posey says, his voice pained from how much food he scarfed down.

“He’s right. Chasing after her would’ve been ideal,” Hornsby says. “Could’ve been like a movie.” He holds his arm out and says in a dramatic fashion, “No, don’t go. I—I love you.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say.

“No, he’s got a point,” Taters says. “Chasing after her would’ve been a very smart move.”

“Ideal,” Posey says.

“Well, I didn’t. So let’s drop it.” I reach for another beer but Hornsby swats my hand away.

“You’ve had enough. Plus, beer isn’t going to fix your problem. What you need is an action plan.”

“What?” I ask, completely exhausted from having to recount everything from yesterday and listening to the boys berate me for being a dumbass. I knew they liked Winnie, but I didn’t think they liked her this much.

“Wait.” Posey lifts his finger in the air. “We first need to ask him—does he want the girl back? That’s how this goes. I’ve seen it many times. Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy is a jackass and loses girl, boy confides in bros and tells them what a jackass he is, then boy CONFESSES his need for girl, and boy creates action plan with bros to get girl back. We need the confession before we can move on.”

“Beautiful point,” Hornsby says, turning toward me now, his hand draping over the back of the couch. “Do you want Winnie back?”

“He’d be an idiot not to want her back,” Taters says, surprising us all. When he feels all eyes on him, he casually shrugs. “I might have been a dick at first, but she grew on me. And I’m not an idiot, I could see how happy she made Lawes.”

“You make my nipples hard,” Hornsby says.

“I think that’s just because you haven’t gotten any for over a month,” Taters says. “Longest drought since I’ve known you.”

“Over a month? Really?” Posey asks. “Are you ill?”

“Can we bring it back to me, please?” I ask.

“That’s right. Hornsby might be . . . well, horny, but that’s nothing compared to the DEFCON 1 situation we have going on with Lawes,” Taters says. “So, like Posey was asking, are we dealing with a situation where you want the girl back?”

There’s no need to think about it. The past twenty-four hours have been absolute hell. Winnie is the kindest person I know. Her bravery, even after losing her mom, astounds me. I’ve relived so many of our moments over the last day—playing Jenga, our day in Banff, eating together in the loft, our hilarious drive from Banff to Vancouver—and even though we’ve only known each other such a short time, my heart knows her. My soul knows her. She’s quirky but sweet. She stole her mom’s trophy back. Her sharp wit makes me laugh, and her body . . . I miss curling into her body at night and then exploring it with my tongue. Her trust in me sexually blew my mind. But I miss her trust in me. I miss hearing her say my name and watching her eyes grow soft whenever she sees me. How I fucked all of that up just makes me angry.

I just miss her. So fucking much.

“Yeah, I want the girl back,” I say. “I want her back desperately.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Posey fist-pumps the air. “Now, Hornsby, we can form a plan.”

“This is where I excel.” Hornsby rubs his hands together.

“How do you excel at this?” Taters asks. “You’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get a girl back. I’ve seen enough shows and movies.” Hornsby turns toward me. “First things first—deal with whatever Doc has to say. There’s no way you can make up with Winnie if your mind is completely fucked from whatever news he has for you.”

“True.” Posey pumps his fist from the ground.

“Secondly, you need to talk to Josh and clear the air with him. It’s evident you hate the guy, but you need a clean slate.” The thought of talking to Josh physically makes me feel ill. “Once we deal with that, then we go in softly.”

“Why does that bring up an image of a flaccid penis?” Taters asks.

“I thought of the same thing,” Posey says. “Too ashamed to say it, though.”

“I don’t mean go in with your penis.” Hornsby rolls his eyes. “I mean, you have to slowly woo this girl. Let’s be honest, she’s been freaked out with how fast her feelings for you grew, so why not take the time—and yes, it might be painful—but take the time to woo her? To get to know her better, on a deeper level. To just . . . talk. Become her friend. And from there, then you swoop in.”

Taters nods his head. “This is a good plan.”

“How is that a good plan?” I ask. “I want her back right fucking now.”

Hornsby grips my shoulder. “The best things are worth waiting for. Didn’t you tell her she’s worth the wait?” Why do these assholes remember everything I tell them? And why the hell do I tell them everything?

“Yes,” I grit out.

“Then, prove it. If she’s worth the wait, then she’s worth the time. If she’s worth the time, then you need to take it. Make the most of it. Don’t come barging in like a goddamn alpha asshole demanding she goes out with you again. Befriend her, woo her, sweep her off her feet, and then when the time comes, you win her back.”

“My nipples are hard thinking about the end result.” Posey rubs his nipples.

“Oddly, mine are too.” Taters brings his fingers to his chest. “I’m concerned.”

I turn to Holmes, who has been silent this whole time, looking for his opinion. “My nipples aren’t hard,” he says, then adds, “but it’s a good plan.”

Damn it.

I was hoping for something much faster, something that gets my girl back in my arms by tomorrow, but as much as I hate to admit it, I think they’re right. Winnie was always freaked out about how fast things happened, so why not slow it down? Why not give her a chance to take a breath and realize that it wasn’t just a whirlwind, that this—what we have—is real, and I’m hoping it’s forever.

Buzz. Buzz.

My eyes go to my phone on the coffee table. Doc’s name comes across the screen.

Fuck.

I reach down and pick it up. “Hey, Doc,” I answer. All the boys sit up and stare at me.

“Hey, Pacey. Do you think you can come into my office tonight?”

Fuck . . .

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I can come in.”

“I WASN’T aware I would be graced by all of you,” Doc says as he takes a seat at his desk.

The boys file in behind me. Hornsby and Taters both sit next to me, while Holmes and Posey stand behind.

Hornsby reaches out to hold my hand and I swat him away.

“No,” I say.

“Seemed like the thing to do.” Hornsby shrugs.

“Can I conclude that you’re comfortable with the boys hearing what I have to say to you?” Doc asks.

I would prefer to be alone, but they won’t let that happen. They’ve been attached to my side ever since they arrived. Plus, it might be good to have an extra set of ears—or four extra sets of ears—to hear whatever Doc has to say.

“Yeah, I’m good with them knowing.”

“Very well.” Doc lets out a deep sigh, folds his hands on his desk, and looks me in the eyes. “The scans all came back negative.”

I expel a sigh of relief as the boys all clap it up.

“That’s right, our boy is a healthy motherfucker,” Taters says.

“Dude, settle down,” I say, even though I feel the same juvenile urge to yell at the top of my lungs. “Does that mean no tumors or anything like that?”

“Correct,” Doc says, “but we did notice something on the X-rays.”

“Fuck.” Posey punches Taters in the arm. “You celebrated too early, you fuck.”

Taters rubs his arm as he looks at me, concerned.

From his desk, Doc pulls out a skeleton’s head and sets it on the desk.

“Is he missing part of his cranium?” Hornsby asks.

“His jaw is inverted,” Taters throws out.

“A loose fragment in his brain,” Posey shouts.

“Can you not guess?” I ask. “Just fucking listen to what Doc has to say.”

“Thank you,” Doc says, the corner of his lips tilted up. “Have you ever heard anyone talk about the atlas? The first bone in your neck. You might have heard it referred to as C1 before.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“The atlas is ring-shaped and has the important task of supporting the head. It’s also responsible for facilitating movement in the head and neck. When you nod, that’s the atlas at work. It serves as a pivot, and it allows your head to move forward and backward.” He points to the skeleton and shows us the bone. “Right here—you see how the general curve of your neck looks like a banana facing out?” We all nod together, the boys leaning a little closer for a lesson in bones. “This is what we’d call a healthy spine. Now, over the course of time, our spines have their fair share of wear and tear, getting out of line, flattening, and in your case, curving in the opposite direction.” Doc cranks the neck of the skeleton in the opposite direction and we all groan from the sound.

“Oh Jesus, that made me nauseous,” Posey says from behind me.

“This is what your neck looks like.”

I study the skeleton.

“It’s farther forward than it should be. This is what I was wondering about yesterday. I believe you’d already developed poor spinal health from being a professional athlete. It’s common, especially with all the heavy lifting you do and lack of spinal care. But your injury we believe worsened the abnormality. You suffered whiplash from how you fell on the ice, and it did more damage than we expected. And when your atlas and neck are misaligned, this can cause the debilitating migraines.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “So, there’s nothing seriously wrong with me?”

“This is still serious. If we don’t treat the problem, then your pain will increase and your days on the ice will be shorter.”

“But there’s a plan to take care of it?” Taters asks. “We need this guy in front of the net.”

Doc nods. “Yes, we have the best medical staff in the league, and I’ve spoken with our exercise physiologist and physiotherapist to start you on a treatment that stabilizes the muscles in your neck. They’ve devised a physical therapy routine with the aim to have you ready for next season, but it means staying here and going through physical therapy.”

“If it’ll get me ready for the season, I’ll do anything.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He places a piece of paper in front of me. “We want to start you off with an ART therapist.”

“Art therapist?” I ask. “How the hell is that going to help?”

“Painting can be very soothing,” Posey offers.

Doc laughs. “Not that kind of ART therapist. I’m talking about active release technique. All the teams in the league are starting to hire them and the Agitators just brought one on staff.”

“What do they do?” I ask.

“They work on individual pain zones by releasing the tension in the muscles while moving your body. It’s extremely successful and there have been great results worldwide. We’re going to start loosening the ligaments and muscles in your neck first so we can make the proper adjustments, then we’re going to pair that with chiropractic work and physical therapy to strengthen you the proper way. We’re very confident you’ll no longer experience migraines and be feeling brand new by the beginning of the season.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Hornsby says while patting me on the back. “Our boy is going to be on fire this fall.”

Relieved, I ask, “When can I get started?”

“Tomorrow. We’ll set up a schedule.”

“I DON’T WANT to fucking do this,” I say, phone in hand.

“It’s part of the plan,” Hornsby says while driving his pen into his notepad. “The Plan” is written at the top. Underneath are three bullet points. Head. Josh. Girl. That’s it. That’s the immaculate plan Hornsby came up with.

“We can skip this part of the plan.”

“No,” the guys say in unison.

Then Taters steps in. “We’re right on this. Clear things up with Josh, and then we can move on.”

“Fine,” I draw out before clicking on his name and letting the phone ring. Nerves drive up my spine as I wait and as time ticks by, I think he’s not going to answer until . . .

“Hello?”

Fuck.

Eyes squeezed shut, I swallow hard and then say, “Josh. It’s, uh, it’s Pacey.”

“Pacey, yeah, hey.”

To the boys, I mouth, “Awkward. Fucking awkward.”

Taters whirls his finger around, motioning for me to continue.

“So, uh, this is that phone call you’ve been asking for.” Sweat drips down my back. Please, for the love of God, let this be over.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I wasn’t sure you’d ever call me.”

“For reasons I’m sure you’re aware of,” I say in a snippy tone.

“Yeah, I am. Now. Not sure if Dad told you, but I was diagnosed with cancer a while back. It was pretty tough. I’m not looking for sympathy, it’s just part of this journey I’m on. When I was going through treatment, I realized that if something happened to me, not a lot of people would care because of what a dick I’d been. That first night of chemo, I decided to make amends when I was done. I wanted people to know that I am a good guy.”

“Makes sense.”

“Which means I owe you a huge apology. I’m not looking for your acceptance or forgiveness, I know that has to be earned over time, but I want you to know I’m sorry for the way I treated you and Dad. If I should be mad at anyone, it was supposed to be my mom. But it seemed to be easier being mad at two people I didn’t even know.”

Hell, I hate that he’s making sense, that I can feel his pain because it’s softening me, weakening me.

“For what it’s worth, Pacey, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for the way I texted you about Winnie. It was a shock, seeing you with the girl I love, but I understand I lost her and that’s all on me. But I took those bottled-up feelings out on you, and I’m sorry.”

What the hell do I say to that? The guy has been an ass since I’ve known him, so I’m not going to automatically want anything to do with him. But I know what my dad would want. Our dad. He’d want me to extend an olive branch.

Even though I’m on the phone, I sit taller and then say, “Thank you for your apology, Josh. It does mean a lot to me. And who knows, maybe over time we can replace out what being brothers means for us.”

“I’d like that,” Josh says.

“Just not anytime soon, I’m still fucking pissed by the way you treated Winnie. She deserved so much more.”

“I know. I fucked up, big time.” That makes two of us. “And even though I can’t have her, I know she’s in good hands with you.”

“Thanks,” I say, knowing good and well that I’m still in the doghouse with her.

“Sure.” He sighs. “Think I can text you every once in a while, get to know you better?”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip.

“It’s hard, man. It’s going to take me some time to have a different mindset where you’re concerned.”

“I can understand that—”

“But I’ll give it a try.”

“Yeah?” Josh asks, full of hope.

“Yeah.”

Emotion heavy in his voice, Josh says, “Thank you, Pacey.”

“Just take it slow.”

He chuckles. “I will. Promise.”

“Okay.” I glance at Hornsby who is giving me the thumbs up. “I should get going.”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t want to take up too much of your time. Thanks again, Pacey, you’re a real class act.”

“Bye, Josh.”

“Bye, man.”

We both hang up and then I fall back into the couch, sweat streaming down my back.

“See? Was that so hard?” Hornsby asks.

“That was fucking torture.” I take a second to gather myself. “But I’m glad I did it.”

Hornsby taps his notepad. “Okay, boys, we’re on to our third and final bullet point. Time to get the girl.”

“Onward!” Posey shouts, pointing his hand in the air.

Jesus Christ, why did I get these guys involved?

“I’VE NEVER WANTED to jack off so much as I want to right now,” Taters says as he flops down on my couch.

“What the fuck, man?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Dude, that was a stressful few hours. Doc calling you into his office, the fear of the unknown, all that atlas talk . . . I was ready to crawl inside my body and wish it all away. Then the phone call with Josh. Shit, that was awkward. And now that it’s over, all that pent-up energy needs to be released.”

“Well, go back to your fucking place. Jesus,” I mutter as I take a seat on the other end of the couch, letting out a solid breath.

He’s right, though—what a stressful few hours. I feel as though a huge burden has been lifted off my shoulders. Does it suck that I won’t be going back to Banff this summer? Fuck yes, but in the grand scheme of things, maybe it’s best. Getting my shit together before the beginning of the season is what I need, and that includes solving things with Winnie. The buzz of my phone makes me jump. Surely Josh isn’t texting me already.

Dad: Heard you spoke to Josh. How was it?

Pacey: Sucks about his cancer. And I don’t know, better to have that stuff said, I guess. It will probably take me a while to forgive the way he treated you, but that’s normal.

Dad: It is. Glad you reached out, Pacey. You’re a good man and I’m proud of you.

Pacey: Thanks, Dad. Appreciate that. Call you and Mom soon, okay?

Dad: Sounds good. Love you.

Pacey: Love you too. Send my love to Mom.

Posey is ordering us food and Hornsby and Holmes are both pouring beers in the kitchen for everyone as I put my phone away. I need to let Mom and Dad know about my neck at some point, but that’s for another day.

“So now that we know what the hell is wrong with you, we have to focus on Winnie,” Taters says.

“Yeah.” I smooth my hand over my forehead. “Why does the physical therapy and schedule Doc will put me through feel like a walk in the park compared to what I’m going to have to do to win Winnie back?”

“Because that will be a breeze. Playing with emotions, convincing someone they’re the one for you . . . trust me, that’s not fucking easy.” Taters directs his attention out the window, clearly struggling with the pain of losing his girl.

“Still nothing from Sarah?”

“Not sure I really want anything from her at this point. She’s done with me and I think I have to accept that. I think I’m holding on to the past, when maybe she’s right and we outgrew each other. And my mom, who’s friends with her on social media, said she went away for the weekend with some guy.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

“I think it’s what I needed. Her moving on. I’ve been in limbo, I think. For so many years, I’ve never looked at another girl. Never thought about sex with another woman, but now . . . suddenly I’m allowed to, and that’s weird. It’s as though I’ve been given permission, and I hadn’t felt that it was real. But now it is. Now it is.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Is that what it was like for Winnie in some way? Despite being so hurt by Josh, was she also not quite sure she could pursue someone else?

“But enough about me. What’s your approach with Winnie?”

The boys all filter into the living room at the same time.

“We need to ease her into conversation,” Hornsby says. “Let’s be honest, she’s not going to respond to phone calls at this point. Our best bet is text message. Also, do you have her address?”

I shake my head and then say, “But . . . I think I can get it. Her best friend Max might trade me info. He’s dying to get Ian’s phone number. I’m pretty sure he’d give up Winnie’s address for that.”

“Then do it,” Hornsby says. “Because you’re going to be sending her shit.” He rubs his hands together. “Fuck, I’m excited. We’re getting our girl back.”

“My girl,” I correct him. “We’re getting my girl back.”

“Whatever.” He holds out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”

“You’re not texting her.”

“No, you fuck, I’m going to draft a text. The first one has to be important.”

“He’s right,” Posey says. “The initial contact after a break is the most important. We have to think on this.”

I pull out my phone and open up a new text, but I don’t put in her contact information just yet, in case of an accidental send. I hand the phone over to Hornsby, who holds it out and starts typing away.

“Share with the group,” Taters says. “Read out loud.”

“Okay.” He clears his throat. “‘Hey, sexy ass—’”

“I would never say that to her.”

Hornsby looks over his shoulder. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

I grab the phone from him. “That’s not the problem.”

Taters takes the phone from me and starts typing. “‘Hey, Winnie boo-boo—’”

“Or that,” I yell. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Posey takes the phone this time and starts typing while saying, “‘What’s up, Winnie? Daddy misses you.’”

We all groan, and to my surprise, Holmes steps up and grabs the phone.

He spends a few silent seconds typing away and then he tosses the phone on the coffee table before reclaiming his seat in the chair.

As a collective, we all lean over the coffee table to read what he wrote.

I read it out loud. “‘Hey, Winnie, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I wanted to make sure you got back home safely. And I also wanted to apologize for what happened the other night. There’s no excuse for my actions. All I can do is apologize, and I plan on doing that, over and over, until you feel comfortable enough to accept that apology.’” We all look up at Holmes and sit back.

“Wow.” Hornsby starts to slow clap. “Who fucking knew?”

“And that’s why he’ll be my best man,” I say.

“There’s no way I can compete with that.” Taters takes a sip of his beer. “That’s perfection.”

“Now, what if she doesn’t respond?”

“Then it’s a text a day until she does,” Hornsby says. We all look to Holmes, who slowly nods.

“That’s correct.”

“Then we might want to draft some follow-up texts,” Taters says.

We all turn to Holmes again, who smirks. “Might be a good idea.”