The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

31. Stacey

CHAPTER 31

STACEY

TWO DAYS LATER

C aleb and Cassie’s wedding was a massive success, and Mitch and I spent all day Sunday laying on the couch. Which is what we’re doing again after going on a run together this morning. So when my phone rings for the third time in a row, I don’t want to cave and look at it. I want to be here with him. Which, if you’d told me I’d be saying that even three weeks ago, I would have thought you were crazy, but here we are. But it could be important, so I flip my phone over. It’s my client.

Shit.

It’s Monday.

I’m supposed to be working. What if something is wrong? We have an event next week. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Fuck,” I say, bouncing out of my chair. I start running down the hall to grab my computer bag.

“What’s wrong, love?” Mitch calls after me.

I skid back into the living room, bag in hand. “One of my other clients keeps calling me,” I say. “We have an event next week.”

“Go,” Mitch says.

“Mitch, I’m not going to leave you alone right now,” I say.

“I’ll call Thomas or Caleb if I start to not feel well,” he says. “But I promise, I’ll be fine. Go.”

“Call me if you need me,” I say. “I mean it, Mitch.”

“I will,” he says. “Now go save the world.”

I manage to let out a little chuckle as I slide on my shoes. I won’t be in my usual business outfit, but I can at least deal with whatever’s going on. Luckily, my office is just a few blocks away.

Making sure that I’ll bring name tags with me for an event in a week hardly constitutes an emergency. And it definitely doesn’t justify calling me three times in a row. But that’s my life sometimes. People with less experience fundraising need their hands held, and that’s what I’m good at, but sometimes I wish they would trust me and calm down a bit.

This is exactly what Mitch was like when we first started working together. He was so on edge and worried about every detail that he didn’t trust me to do my job. It was like we were speaking different languages. Now I realize he was doing it because he cares so much, and we’ve worked together for long enough now that we can basically finish each other’s sentences when it comes to event planning.

Ugh ... Mitch. What am I going to do? This is exactly what I’ve been afraid of. It’s exactly why I don’t date. I take my job seriously. I don’t get paid unless I do a good job. Today may have just been a drill, but I’ve had to put out many real fires before, and I don’t know how to be the business owner I want to be while being a good ... whatever I am to Mitch. I know he thinks he’s independent, and I guess he was fine relying on Thomas when I wasn’t around last week, but leaving him today just about ripped my heart out. I don’t want to not be there for him when he clearly needs support. But I’m officially behind on work and I need to catch up. What am I supposed to do?

I grab my phone and type out a quick text to Thomas.

Stacey: Hey, I had to leave Mitch alone to deal with a work thing. He says he’s fine, but just letting you know.

Thomas: I’ll keep an eye on my phone in case he calls.

Thomas: He’ll be okay, Stacey. This isn’t his first rodeo and it’s been a week since he started his meds back up.

But it’s my first rodeo and I feel like I jumped immediately into trying to ride the world’s most insane bull. Balance has never been my thing. I’m an all-in kinda woman. I think I went all in on this thing with Mitch and now I’m worried my business might be suffering. I get my email to my phone, so I know I’ve been ignoring things, but I haven’t really digested just how much. I take a deep breath and open my email account to find it full of messages from clients that I haven’t replied to.

Fuck.

I really don’t want to leave Mitch alone right now, but I could have a major problem if I don’t get back to some of these right away.

He’ll be okay, Stacey. I repeat Thomas’ text in my head, take a deep breath, and click on the first email. It’s a simple question that’ll take just a minute or two to answer. I can do this. I just need to focus on one email at a time.

I work my way through my inbox, and before I know it, I’m back to feeling focused and productive. I’m back to the me I know and love—the one who’s career-minded, driven, and working to make the world a better place.

The problem is, I don’t know how to be both. I don’t know how to be what Mitch needs and deserves, and be the person I’ve worked so hard to become. Just a few weeks of not being completely focused and my business almost suffered. But I can’t exactly tell Mitch all of this. Not right now. Besides, we’re supposed to have dinner tonight. It’ll be Mitch’s first night out of the house other than the wedding. I just need to get through that, and get Mitch a little bit more stable, and then I’ll figure all of this out. For now, I guess I’ll try my best to balance both. But I know it can’t last forever. It never does.

That Night

There’s a knock on my door as I’m slipping on my favorite red heels. Mitch must be here to pick me up for our dinner. I know I have to figure out what to do. The problem is, I don’t know what I want. If I could have both Mitch and my career, I’d do that in a heartbeat. But I don’t know if I can. And I certainly don’t even know where I’d start.

I walk over to my door and swing it open. I met with one of the most adorable images I’ve ever seen. Mitch, wearing a button-up and blazer, beard perfect as always, holding yet another bouquet of flowers in front of him.

“Hey, you,” I say. “It’s not Thursday.”

“Hey, love,” he says. “I just saw these and thought of you.”

My heartbeat quickens as I cross towards him. When I reach the door, he wraps an arm around my waist.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret just for me. It’s the first time he’s said it before. Sexy? Yes. Hot? For sure. But never just beautiful . Hearing the word on his lips basically levels me to the ground. What am I supposed to do here? Probably not reach my hand around his head to pull his lips to mine, but that’s what I seem to be doing. I also seem to be digging my hands into his hair and moaning against his mouth. I’ve lost all control and we aren’t even at dinner yet. Why does he have this effect on me?

When our lips finally part, he lets out a little chuckle. “Alright, love,” he says. “We have a reservation to get to.” Then he guides me out of my apartment with a hand on my lower back and leads me downstairs.

We’re seated in a private corner of the restaurant Mitch picked out. I think he picked it for me, though, because he knows how much I love steak, and he’s more of a fish guy.

“So,” he says.

“So,” I say, trying to ignore my phone buzzing on the table.

“You good?” he asks. But my brain has returned to work. Specifically, to what my phone could be buzzing about.

“Sorry,” I say after the world’s longest pause. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“It’s not your fault, love,” he says. “Listen, I know the past week has been a lot to handle, and I appreciate you not immediately running for the hills.” He pauses. “You’d have every right.”

He doesn’t really think that, does he? This has nothing to do with him. It’s about me and my inability to focus on more than one thing at a time. It’s about how I can’t be what he deserves.

“Mitch,” I start.

“Stacey,” he says at the same time.

“You go ahead,” I say.

“No, you first,” he says.

The waiter appears to refill our waters and ask if we want a bottle of wine for a third time. I politely turn him down again and wait for him to leave us alone so I can have a frank conversation with Mitch about how I’m feeling.

But then I look over at him and he looks ... sad almost .

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You can have wine if you want,” he says. “It won’t bother me.”

“I know,” I say. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes avoiding mine.

What on earth are you sorry for, Mitch?”

“I just wish I could be normal for you, I guess,” he says.

He ... What ... Normal?!

“Mitch,” I say. “There is nothing abnormal about you.”

I reach for his hand across the table. His phone buzzes on the table.

“Well, we both know that isn’t true,” he says, but he accepts my hand.

“My weirdness right now isn’t about you,” I say. “It’s because of me.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

My phone buzzes yet again but I ignore it. I rub the top of his hand with my thumb and take a deep breath. “I’m not great at this,” I say. “I’ve never been able to have my career and a relationship at the same time. I’ve spent years alone being focused on my business because when I’ve tried to do both, I’ve failed. And I can’t afford to lose my business. I love my career too much for that.”

“I love that you love your career, Stacey,” he says. My phone buzzes again, I think it’s a call this time. “It’s one of the many things I ...” His phone is buzzing now too. “Sorry, one sec.” He reaches for his phone and picks it up.

“What on earth do you want? I’m at dinner with Stacey,” he says to whoever is on the other line. “No, I haven’t been on Instagram today. Why?”

He pauses to listen to whoever called and I look down at my phone. I have missed calls from both Cassie and Hazel, and a text from Caleb. What is going on?

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He pauses. “Okay, bye.” My eyes fly back up to him to see him standing up and putting his jacket on. “I’m so sorry,” he says to me. “That was Thomas. I have to go home.”

He pulls out his wallet and throws two hundred-dollar bills on the table. As he does, I click the Instagram link in Caleb’s text. It’s a post from a local anonymous gossip blog. The photo shows Mitch walking out of a pharmacy with a pill bottle in one hand and the packaging for it in the other. I swipe to reveal the next photo of him clearly swallowing one of the pills. When I swipe to see the third, my vision goes red almost immediately. It’s a close-up of the bottle, showing the prescription name and dosage, as well as Mitch’s name on the bottle. Then I scroll down to read the caption.

Mitchell Greggs is ... psychotic? These newly surfaced photos of him downing antipsychotics just moments after buying them tell us he isn’t just crazy on the ice, but off it, too. It’s still unclear who in the Blizzards organization knows about their very own psychopath, but we’ll keep digging until we know the truth. This guy does regularly spend time with kids and fans, after all. It’s basically our duty.

What. The. Fuck.

I want to reassure Mitch that this is all bullshit. To tell him that they have no idea what they’re talking about. To tell him that he’s perfect just the way he is. But when I look up from my phone, he’s gone.