I feel off kilter when I get home, listless and uncertain. While all the other girls had messages from their boyfriends or husbands this afternoon, I had silence from Darren. Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, but with what happened last night and the discussion about the expansion draft, I’m feeling less than secure, which is not like me.

The reason Darren and I work so well is partly because he’s never pushed to get serious. He seems content to keep doing what we’re doing. Which is fine with me—or at least it was.

I drop my purse on the kitchen counter and scrub a hand over my face. I need something sweet. Well, what I really need is Darren and an orgasm. But since I saw him last night, that’s not an option unless I want to look clingy—which is something I pride myself on not being—so I’ll have to settle for hot chocolate.

I fill my milk frother, because I’m not ruining nice hot chocolate by using boiled water, and pick one of the gourmet tins my mom likes to send me. Every month I get a care package from her. Mostly it’s herbal stuff likes teas and candles and creams for endless youth, but she also likes to send me whatever new sex toy she’s found at whatever Dominatrix conference she’s attended recently. She means well, but it’s awkward.

I check the tin with the candies my mom sends me and frown. My supply is dwindling, which is yet another thing to worry about. I haven’t been this anxious since . . . well, since we left The Ranch. I tap on the counter, waiting for the milk to froth. I could maybe try giving myself an orgasm to take the edge off, but I’m not sure that’s going to be helpful.

I’ve just poured the frothy milk into my mug when my phone buzzes on the counter. I snatch it up, but my smile fades as Mom flashes across the screen. I feel bad for being disappointed, but I’d hoped Darren might check in. I put a pin in my disappointment because it’s nice to hear from my mom. She keeps busy, so sometimes it’s difficult to find time to catch up.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Char-char, how’s my baby girl?”

“I’m good.” I prop the phone on my shoulder, dump a handful of marshmallows into my hot chocolate, and head for the living room. “How are you?”

“Fantastic. Just wonderful! I can’t talk long because I’m in between clients, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be in town next week.”

I sit up straighter, fingers of unease raking down my spine and slithering lower. It’s such an uncomfortable feeling, especially when I’m talking to my mom. “In Chicago? When?”

“Probably not until later in the week. I’ll know more soon, but I want to spend some time with you! I haven’t seen my baby in almost a year, and I miss you. Oh! And I have some new fun things for you, too! Early birthday presents and such. You’ll be around? I know sometimes you travel for work.”

I hold in my sigh of relief. Darren leaves for the first two away games of the playoffs in a couple of days, so I don’t have to worry about my mom being in town at the same time he is. So far I’ve been lucky that her infrequent visits have coincided nicely with his away games.

Also, I don’t actually travel for work, but sometimes I go to away games with Violet when they’re on the weekends or we can get a day off, especially on the long stretches when the guys are gone for more than a week. It’s nice to break up the separation a little. I don’t talk to my mom about relationships since she’s very much against them. She hasn’t had a real boyfriend since we left The Ranch, and that was over a decade ago.

“That would be great. What’s in Chicago, other than me?” My mom wouldn’t just come for the sake of visiting me. It’s not that she doesn’t love me—she does—but her life is . . . strange. She doesn’t stay in the same place for long, moving around the country and refusing to set down any roots. She’s not designed for parenting, something I learned once we left The Ranch. She’s really good at a few things: getaways, making candies, and being a career Dominatrix.

“I have a work conference. It should be a lot of fun. Oh! My five o’clock is here! I’ll call you when I’m in town.”

“Okay. Oh, and Mom?”

“Yes, Char-char?”

“Can you bring me more candies? I’m almost out.”

“Of course, honey. I’ll bring lots.”

I end the call and flop back on the couch. It’s close to dinnertime, but I don’t feel like making anything. I wonder what Darren’s doing now. For the first time ever, I consider what it would be like to have someone to come home to, how I might like to curl up in that reading chair in Darren’s living room and wait for him to walk through the door.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to be less independent and not quite so afraid of being trapped in someone’s jar.

DARREN

Practice is tense, as expected. I follow Alex to the sauna and drop down on the bench. Half the team is in here, and most of them are talking about the upcoming playoff game against Nashville. Not knowing who’s safe and who isn’t only adds to the stress.

After a while, the sauna clears out until it’s me, Alex, Miller, Randy, Lance, and Rookie.

“So . . .” Rookie slaps his bare thighs. “You and your girl get freaky, huh?”

Of course he’s the one to start off the conversation.

I shrug. “I guess it depends on your definition of freaky.”

“Whatever floats your boat, right?” Miller glances nervously at Lance when he scoffs.

I don’t know his whole story, only bits and pieces from time spent with him. But based on his previous on-ice behavior, his penchant for fights, his occasional destructive meltdowns, and his former reputation with women, I can take a stab in the dark.

I wonder if the ability to intuit brokenness in other people is a sixth sense only other damaged people are privy to. Like me and Charlene. Sometimes the most broken souls find each other, as if their missing pieces exist in another person. It doesn’t matter what form the abuse takes. The holes it leaves in the psyche fracture the soul, too. It probably accounts in part for my instant attraction to Charlene. She’s guarded and open at the same time. I might want more from her, but I won’t take it at the risk of pushing her too far and losing her entirely.

“As long as you’re both into it, it’s cool, yeah? Consenting adults and all that.” Randy runs his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. “Do you buy Charlene’s lingerie, or does she do the shopping?”

I try not to envision all the lace and satin and leather we left in the living room last night. “I buy the lace, she buys the leather.”

Randy’s eyebrows pop. “Who’s in control?”

“Who’s in control in your bedroom, or bathroom, as it were?”

Randy rubs his bottom lip. “Both of us?”

“Why would you think it’s any different for me and Charlene?”

“Good point.”

“I gotta get home,” Lance grumbles and pushes up off the bench. The massive cross tattoo on his back shifts as he punches the door open and disappears through it.

“He gonna be all right?” I ask.

Miller runs a hand over his buzzed head, then taps his temple. “I think he has some messed-up ideas about what’s going on with you and Char.” He turns to Randy. “I’ll ride home with him.”

“Mind if I come with you?” Rookie asks.

“If you want, sure.” Miller shrugs.

“You think I need to talk to Lance?” I ask as Miller and Rookie get up to leave.

This is the exact reason I like my privacy, because people tend to jump to conclusions. Often the wrong ones.

“He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Randy says. “I’m hoping whatever conversation the girls have today will get relayed by Poppy and he’ll relax a bit.”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

Miller and Rookie take off, leaving the three of us.

“So, I have a question.” Alex’s knee is going a mile a minute.

“Fire away.”

“What exactly are you and Charlene?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Alex rolls his shoulders. “Like, is this a real relationship or is it contractual?”

“Contractual?”

“Like those books they all read—you know, they made some of them into movies, and those girls binge watch the fuck out of them every time a new one comes out, and then Violet wants to—” He pauses, maybe realizing it’s not just the two of us, and he should probably censor. “Anyway, in the beginning the girl signs all these papers about what she will and won’t do. Is it like that?”

“No, Alex. It’s not like that.”

“So then what’s it like?” I can see the challenge in his eyes, and maybe a little mistrust, because I haven’t been upfront with him about this, and we’ve been friends for a long time. But explaining how it really is exposes Charlene, and I’m not willing to do that, because it could compromise what we have.