A Groom of One’s Own: A Sweet Hockey RomCom
Chapter 23

Bailey

I hoped this would go better. It was a great plan. I could totally picture Eli’s face when he opened the box to see the squirming surprise I managed to stuff in there as he pulled into the driveway.

But that was before Doris got nervous in the box—something I should have seen coming—and managed to both poop and pee. It also looks like she rolled around in it.

Which means when Eli walks into the house, what he gets instead of a new dog in a box with a bow is me lifting a poo-smeared and urine-soaked Doris out of a box that needs to be taken outside and burned immediately.

“Is that Doris?” he asks, dropping his keys right next to the door.

I freeze as Doris starts wiggling in my arms and wagging her tail, both things sending unwanted substances around the front hallway as well as all over me.

Great. Even when I try, I suck at this surprise kindness gift-giving thing. You win, Eli. You win.

“Surprise?” I say. “And also, sorry. Doris got nervous, and now I need to go give her a bath. And I think I need a bath and maybe to do some laundry⁠—”

“I’ll help,” he says.

No hesitation. No concern for getting poo on his person. Just drops his bags, plucks Doris from my hands, and starts up the stairs, cooing in her ear like she’s not the canine embodiment of a portable toilet.

Is it possible to fall more in love with someone when poop is involved?

You wouldn’t think so. But as I join Eli in the upstairs bathroom and help him clean Doris up, I absolutely fall harder. Farther. Whatever. Just … all the falling.

“Look at how good you clean up, D!” Eli says, toweling her off in front of the mirror. She looks at him with adoring eyes, like she didn’t pee on his shoe just last week when we were kissing in the shelter.

Somehow, that feels like years ago.

I lean against the wall, watching Eli in the mirror as he baby-talks to Doris, who isn’t quite the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen. Her fur is growing back, which helps, but she’s definitely more in the so-ugly-she’s-cute category. Whatever kind of mix she is, there’s pug in there somewhere. I can tell by the almost comically bulging eyes and short, snuffly snout.

“I can’t believe you got me a dog.” Eli turns his megawatt smile my way. “Got us a dog,” he corrects and my heart shimmies happily. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“I know,” I say softly. “Happy wedding, hockey player. Sorry she’s a day late. I figured the timing would be better after.”

Eli’s smile falters. “I have to leave soon.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to go,” he says, and I’m already nodding.

“I don’t want you to go.”

This moment feels huge. It feels like way more than a post-dog-bath kind of moment. More significant than any conversation that should happen in a bathroom.

And why, now that I’m thinking about it, do Eli and I have so many bathroom moments? We really need to fix this.

I don’t realize I’m rubbing my sternum until Eli’s gaze drops to my hand and he frowns. “Are you okay?”

He’s probably so used to picking up on cues from his mom that Eli legitimately thinks I’m in physical pain. How do I explain that my heart is aching at the thought of him leaving?

I already miss his smiles and his touches and just him—the way he’s able to lighten any room he walks into with his presence alone.

“I’m just⁠—”

Whatever words were on their way to coming out of my mouth—maybe just nervous babble, maybe a confession, like I’ll miss you or maybe even I think I love you—I’m interrupted by a horn honking outside.

Like, obnoxiously honking.

It has to be Van.

Eli sighs heavily. “I think that’s my ride. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I hold out my arms for Doris. Eli gives her a little squeeze, looks like he’s about to kiss her head, then rethinks and hands her over.

Good call. Wet dog hair on the lips is not something anyone wants. Ever.

Especially not when you’re planning to kiss a human, which I guess he was, as he surprises me by leaning in quickly, kissing me so thoroughly that I stumble when he releases me. His big hands find my shoulders and squeeze lightly.

“Take care, wife. I’ll text. And call. And video call.”

“Any chance of adding teleportation into the mix?”

His grin is fast and sweet and makes me want to chase after him, stuffing myself in the bigger of his two suitcases.

“I wish,” he says. And then with a last look that I swear is full of enough longing to make my hope in this sprout wings, Eli pounds down the stairs, grabs his bag, and is gone.

Eli: Any point I score in tonight’s game is a gift for you.

Bailey: Should I take it personally if you don’t score?

Eli: I’m taking it personally that you’re even thinking I WON’T. You’ve been watching the last few games, right?

Bailey: Yes. I’ve been watching. Every game, I’ll have you know. With your mom, Annie, Doris, and sometimes Jenny, Shannon, and the book club ladies. Gran even came once.

Eli: How did Gran do? I think she hates me, by the way. She kicked me in the shin at our wedding.

Bailey: Sorry. It’s not personal. She hates me too. She kind of hates everyone. Except Felix. And Doris. They bonded. But it was fine having her over. Other than when she tried to steal a steak knife. For what purpose … I don’t want to know.

Eli: You really have watched every game?

Bailey: All the ones streamed on YouTube. Which is all of them so far. I don’t even get up to pee until there’s a commercial, which might be TMI, but too bad.

Bailey: You’re kind of good at the whole scoring thing.

Eli: Kind of?

Bailey: Didn’t take you for the kind of man who needs a good ego stroking.

Eli: We’re still getting to know each other. Maybe I’ve been hiding my giant ego from you all this time.

Bailey: Doubtful. I may not know ALL the little things about you, but I’m a good judge of character. I’m observant. And I’ve been snooping in your room.

Eli: Our room.

Bailey: Still feels like yours. Other than the half a dresser you cleaned out for me. Thanks for that. But especially for the Buenos. I’ve been finding them all over the room. How many did you hide?

Eli: I’ll never tell.

Bailey: Well, thank you. It’s very sweet.

Eli: It’s a small thing. And we can work on making the room feel like OURS when I get home.

Bailey: I like that idea. Back to your ego—you don’t have a giant one hidden somewhere. Not even a small one. You have healthy confidence.

Eli: Gee, thanks?

Bailey: What?

Eli: Healthy confidence sounds just like what every woman is looking for in a guy. Goes hand-in-hand with being a nice guy.

Bailey: You’d be surprised. Healthy confidence is incredibly sexy.

Eli: Thanks. It’s nice to know you find me incredibly sexy, Leelee.

Bailey: I was wrong about you not having an ego, hockey player. Also, thanks for using punctuation in your texts for me.

Eli: Anything for you. But honestly, this is hard. I’ve used more periods in texts this week than ever in my life.

Bailey: It’s like a bouquet of periods!

Bailey: Okay, that sounded really bad. Ew. EW! EW! EW! Sorry. SO sorry. Let’s roll that back.

Eli: How about a bouquet of commas?

Bailey: I accept.

Eli: New idea: every point I score equals a point with you.

Bailey: Come again?

Bailey: And if this turns into some kind of misogynistic thing that has to do with scoring, I’m going to block your number.

Eli: Not that kind of scoring! Also, please don’t block my number. I won’t make it through the rest of this trip without seeing your face in our nightly chats. Thanks for staying up for me, by the way.

Bailey: I like seeing you too. Even if having you in Pacific Standard Time sucks. You’re totally worth the lack of beauty sleep, husband.

Eli: And you don’t need sleep to be beautiful, wife.

Bailey: Aw, flattery will get you everywhere. Now, tell me more about this non-misogynistic point-scoring thing.

Eli: Now it sounds stupid.

Bailey: Tell me anyway.

Eli: I was thinking maybe as I accumulate goals, I could earn Bailey Points.

Bailey: Oooh! I like this. It’s kind of like my own kind of currency?

Eli: If that’s how you want to think of it.

Bailey: And what do Bailey Bucks—fully leaning into the currency thing—get you?

Eli: I don’t know. Maybe this idea got away from me.

Bailey: Liar. You know what you want. You just can’t say it.

Eli: I sometimes have trouble with that.

Bailey: Me too.

Bailey: How about I suggest things and you can say yes or no.

Eli: Yes.

Bailey: Good job! You got the hang of that quick. Okay, how about head rubs?

Eli: YES.

Bailey: Wow. That was enthusiastic.

Eli: You gave me a head massage on our wedding night.

Bailey: I thought you were asleep.

Eli: I was. Mostly? I thought it was a dream. But it was a really lovely one.

Bailey: Noted. Another option: I could cook for you?

Eli: No offense, but no.

Bailey: Offense taken! Why not?

Eli: Last night, when we were doing our nightly Q&A thingy from that book you found, you said you couldn’t cook. That you once forgot water was boiling until it all evaporated and then ruined a pot.

Bailey: I thought we agreed that our little get-to-know-you exercise wasn’t to be used as ammo against the person.

Eli: Not ammo! Just knowledge. And now that I know you can’t cook, I think it’s best we keep it out of Bailey Bucks.

Bailey: Fine. Back massages?

Eli: YES YES YES YES

Bailey: Don’t you have a trainer or something for that?

Eli: The team has a massage therapist come in sometimes, but she’s not you.

Bailey: SHE? Your massage person is a woman?

Eli: Jealous?

Bailey: Honestly, yeah. I hate the idea of other people touching you. Does that make me a terrible person?

Eli: No. You’re my wife. You can feel that way all you want. I like it a lot.

Eli: And trust me when I say I DO NOT like or want any guy touching you. He won’t like it either if he wants to keep his hands. Or face.

Eli: Did you fall asleep texting again? Or did my violent side scare you?

Bailey: I don’t hate it.

Bailey: Okay, fine. I kind of love it. But …

Eli: This but is taking a long time…

Bailey: I just don’t always know what to expect here. What’s real and what’s … just the arrangement.

Eli: We should probably talk about that.

Bailey: We probably should.

Bailey: I’m not great at talking about things. I wanted to before you left, and then I chickened out.

Eli: Really? Because I wanted to before I left and I sort of chickened out. But also I’ve been trying to wait.

Bailey: Why?

Eli: I was advised that patience might be a good virtue in this particular situation.

Bailey: Patience is overrated. Any other reason?

Eli: I’ve been told I can be too much.

Bailey: You are NEVER too much for me, Eli. And I don’t want you to hold back.

Eli: Noted.

Eli: Hate to go now, but Parker needs me for a TikTok video.

Bailey: Likely excuse.

Eli: Trust me—I’d much rather talk to you. Video chat later after the game?

Bailey: Can’t wait.

Eli: Awkward together?

Bailey: Awkward together.

There’s a difference in watching Eli play hockey while in the same building and watching while at home on the couch.

Not just the lack of screaming fans and energy—Annie and Maggie have a lot of energy, and we all do a lot of screaming—but it somehow ratchets up my worry. When things got physical on the ice at the few games I went to at the Summit after the proposal, there was a comfort in knowing I was right there. Just in case anything happened. Not like I could do anything. Or that he’d necessarily want me if he got hurt. I doubt I could have even gotten to him, considering I don’t know my way around the building and security wouldn’t let me just wander around.

But we had proximity.

Watching him on the TV screen, knowing tonight he’s somewhere hours west—Arizona? Texas? Nevada?—in a whole other time zone, makes me twitchy. I can’t eat much, and I find myself spinning my rings incessantly, wishing they worked like Dorothy clicking her heels together, sending me to the no-place-like-home that is, apparently, my husband.

“What happened to little bro’s game?” Annie asks, tossing a piece of popcorn toward her mouth. Missing. Plucking it from her lap and offering it to Doris, who gobbles it up.

I choose to ignore it because a few pieces of popcorn won’t be an issue. Even if, on a whole, Annie’s insistence on feeding Doris anything she begs for could result in a long-term health crisis, namely obesity. I also ignore Annie’s question, which was probably rhetorical anyway.

“He’s just having a bad night,” Maggie says, brow furrowed. Then she points a finger at Annie. “Don’t even think about giving him a hard time. You know he’s too hard on himself already.”

“Which only makes it more fun to poke at him about it,” Annie says.

Meanwhile, I’m watching for the cameraman or whoever’s producing this livestream to pan over the bench, where Eli is currently seated. Hard on himself, huh? I guess it doesn’t surprise me that easygoing Eli wouldn’t go easy on himself. It makes me wish I were there even more.

Something is definitely off, and I can’t help but worry it’s because of our text conversation.

We’ve texted off and on every day while he’s been gone. I had to go out and buy a portable charger because my battery won’t last, and I’m more addicted than a teenager to my phone. It’s either in my hand, tucked into my bra, or in the back pocket of my jeans. Somewhere I’ll feel the buzz of an incoming text or see the screen light up.

Sometimes it’s just light things. A selfie in a Seattle coffee shop or some other city location that should be significant but I have to google. Pictures of Eli with the guys, him on a bus, him in the locker room. I’m sure he didn’t realize in one of those there was at least one guy in the process of taking off his pants. There are also memes and GIFs and jokes. He even started using punctuation for me!

We’ve also been getting to know each other better. Mostly thanks to a book I found in Book Smart, my favorite bookshop in Harvest Hollow’s cute little downtown. It’s a book of questions for couples, meant probably to be asked while sharing a meal or something. Over text works just fine too.

We’ve gone over everything from what objects we’d save from a house fire to favorite and least favorite foods, dream vacation, and biggest fears. Which led to deeper discussions in which I shared more openly than I ever have about what it was like after I lost my parents, and he talked about growing up not knowing his dad.

Honestly, the one big elephant in the text convo is our real feelings. Which … I think somehow are the framework underpinning our conversations. We danced around them in our last text, and I think that means a real conversation is imminent.

I tell myself not to freak out. It’s not wishful thinking to imagine we share the same feelings. I’m not reading into Eli’s words, his near-constant communication, the way he lights up when our video chats connect and he sees my face.

This is real. No matter how it started or what we expected.

My heart does a few somersaults and then a few cartwheels thinking about our call tonight. When we might—finally—be honest about our feelings.

Unless … that’s why he’s playing poorly. Why he looks off and distracted. Because it’s a bad conversation coming. Or he changed his mind.

I tell myself that’s really stupid.

Maggie pats my knee. I’m almost knocked over by a wave of guilt for the basket of lies I’ve woven for her. “Maybe he just misses his wife.”

Or maybe he isn’t sure how his wife really feels about him because she’s kind of a coward.

“I don’t think missing me is the reason.”

“Are you kidding?” Annie tosses a handful of popcorn my way. And even though I’m not in the least bit hungry, I eat it. Mostly to save it from Doris, who is well on her way to developing a popcorn addiction. “You two are disgustingly adorably perfect for each other.”

“Are we?”

It’s probably the question that gives it away. Something shaky in my voice that has both Annie and Maggie swinging their gazes in my direction. They make eye contact first—something passing between them I can’t decipher but very much fear is something like, Liar! She’s a lying little liar!

When I swallow, my throat catches and I have to try again. “What?” I ask.

Maggie purses her lips, but it’s not an annoyed look—or disappointed. It’s—wait. Is she holding back a laugh?

“You know we know, right?”

“Know?”

Annie flings popcorn at me, and this time, I don’t stop Doris from launching up into my lap to scavenge the pieces. “We know about you and Eli getting married for his visa.”

My stomach drops to somewhere in the vicinity of the earth’s core as I chew the inside of my cheek, wishing my words wouldn’t choose this moment to disappear.

“I wasn’t sure why at first,” Maggie says. “But then I looked up the timing of his visa, and his sudden rush to get married made sense.”

“Oh,” I manage, already mentally calculating what it will cost to have my things moved back out when Maggie asks me to go, wondering if my old apartment has been rented or if maybe I should stay in a hotel. At least until I figure out my next steps.

Then I realize she isn’t asking me to leave. Not accusing me of lying. And she doesn’t look disappointed. She looks amused.

“You aren’t upset?” I ask.

“Heavens, no,” Maggie says. “I don’t care how my children find love. I only hope they do.”

“And you’re clearly in love with him—for reasons I can’t fathom, being that he’s my brother and all.”

Yeah, it is pretty obvious, huh?

Maggie takes my hand and gives me a soft squeeze. She no longer looks amused but tender as she says, “And he’s clearly head over heels for you.”

“You think?” I whisper.

Maggie nods, smiling with tear-filled eyes that make my chest suddenly constrict.

Annie rolls her eyes. “Can you seriously not tell? He’s a smitten kitten.” She pauses with a piece of popcorn halfway to her mouth, blinks rapidly, then drops her hand. “Oh, my gosh—you don’t know.”

“I—” The one syllable chokes out of me, and I can’t continue, shrugging instead.

Maggie drapes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, the move so familial, so maternal that it shakes something loose inside of me. “Oh, sweetie. Has he not told you how he feels?”

“To be fair,” I say, my voice finally returning, even if it’s wobbly. “I haven’t told him either. We’ve been talking around it. Are you—are you not mad that we lied? That I lied?”

“Nope,” Maggie says. “I’m just happy at how things have turned out. I’ve gained another daughter, and my Eli is happy.”

It’s more grace than I deserve, and I whisper, “Thank you” just as Annie jumps to her feet, knocking the popcorn bowl to the ground. Her eyes are wide, staring at the television, where the game is still streaming.

Only now, the action has stopped and there are medical personnel making their way onto the ice, one player flat on his back. A helmet is a few feet away, but his head is blocked by someone standing in the way of the camera.

There’s a rushing buzz in my ears as I watch the screen, knowing even before the person moves revealing the blond head of hair I ran my hands through just last week. The breath whooshes out of my lungs in a sickening wheeze.

“What happened?” Maggie says, her voice pulled tight.

“I didn’t see it,” Annie says, sounding dazed. “The announcers said something about his head. He’s unconscious.”

I don’t even realize I’m getting on my feet until I’m halfway across the room. All I can think about is Eli being injured and being alone. Not knowing how I really feel about him.

“Where are you going?” Annie asks.

“To get my purse,” I say, not slowing down. “I have to get to him.”

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