Mr. Charming, page 24
She laughs, so I ask for one more favor, hoping she’ll indulge me.
“Tedi…”
“Yeah?”
“Can we FaceTime? I just want to see you.” I know I’m showing how vulnerable I am, how much she undoes me, but I don’t give a shit anymore.
“You just saw me. We spent dinner together.”
“Is that a no?”
“No, it’s not.”
The words are barely out of her mouth before I’m turning my phone back toward me and pressing the FaceTime button. Her face lights up my screen, and there’s a little too much flesh to expect my dick not to perk up.
“Gorgeous,” I say.
A slight blush pinkens her cheeks. “Handsome.”
“This was a bad idea.” The urge inside me to flee my condo and cross the city to get to her apartment is almost impossible to control. “I want to be with you even worse now.”
“Me too. I kind of wanted to take your sister and mom to the hotel and have us go home together. Like old times.”
Relief washes through me that she wants the same thing as me. That we’re on the same page.
“What were you doing before I called?” I change the subject, needing to make sure I don’t actually ambush her and show up at her door. She’d let me in, even though she shouldn’t.
“I was writing in my journal.” She flashes it on screen.
“You still do that, huh?”
She flashes her pen, her fancy colored pen she always used when writing to her older self. Her grandma had dementia, and she’d written in journals that they would read to her. Tedi wants the same thing if it happens to her.
“I do. How about you?”
I nod. “Not as often, but sometimes. Gotta keep that shithead teenager up to date about our wins and our fuckups.”
Once I started therapy, my therapist thought it would be a good exercise for me to write to my younger self about what I’ve done and accomplished. He thought it was a way for me to forgive myself for the things I did in the past as well as work through some of the pain from my relationship with my father. It’s kind of worked, so I can’t say he was wrong, but at first it felt impossible to put pen to paper and write about how I felt.
“Your teenage self would love who he became.”
“You think?” I lean back with my arm under my head on my pillow. “I think he’d kick me in the nuts for losing you.”
“Well, then I guess senior citizen Tedi and young buck Tweetie would beat the shit out of both of us for what we allowed to happen.” She pauses, looking contemplative. “Your sister brought up a good point to me today.”
“Yeah?”
My sister is always giving advice when she’s not asked. She practically forced me to tell her everything that went down with Tedi. She was relentless in her calls and her visits. I blamed it on her divorce and needing a situation or person to fix since she couldn’t fix her own life. I’m not sure I would’ve made it through that dark time without her, though. I’m lucky to have Georgia, and I loved every time I looked into the stands and saw her and Tedi laughing together tonight. I’m not sure why my mom was sitting by Conor’s dad, but that’s a problem for another day.
“Your sister asked me when enough is enough. That maybe we need to stop punishing ourselves and just live. Stop overcomplicating things.”
“Don’t you just hate her and her free advice?”
Tedi laughs at my obvious joke. Georgia’s told me the same thing many times before, but it’s a hard thing to do.
“It’s the worst.” I watch her lie down and rest her head on her pillow.
“I wish I was next to you right now,” I say, feeling my dick swell under my sheets.
“What would you do, Tweetie?” Her voice is soft and seductive, so I tread about as lightly as I usually do. Which is to say, not at all.
“Ask you to blow me?”
She shakes her head, a smile teasing her lips.
“Before I can answer that, I need to see what you’re wearing. Will you show me?” I bring my hand down and stroke myself.
She pans the camera down her body.
“Slower,” I say, enjoying the cami tank top that’s snug against her bare tits, her nipples hard and poking against the fabric. The waistband is something plaid. I assume it’s flannel pants, but she surprises me with shorts that showcase her smooth legs. “You kill me, woman.”
She brings the camera up to her face again.
“What would you do if you were next to me right now, Tweetie?” There’s that voice again.
“I’d inch over to you and start by kissing your shoulder.”
“Sounds nice.”
“I’d slide my finger under the strap of your cami and lower it away from your collarbone as my lips continued their journey up your neck to your jaw. I’d hover over you, my lips millimeters from yours. I’d tell you how beautiful you are and how I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“Am I?” she asks, a desperation in her voice.
“Yes, Tedi, you’re mine. Always have been.”
“Go on.”
“I’d place my lips to yours and slide my tongue along the seam of your lips, hoping and praying that you’d open for me.”
“I would,” she whispers.
“I’d slip my tongue in and seek yours out.”
“My tongue would meet yours, and my fingers would weave through the hair at the back of your head, those beautiful blonde strands, just to make sure you deepened the kiss. You’d groan or growl or moan.”
“I’d groan.”
“I’d slide my arm out of my cami, and you’d remove the strap on the other side.”
“My knee would nudge your legs.”
“And I’d open them, giving you room to fall between them. Your hard bulge would press to my center.”
“Then you’d get wet with the feel of my hard cock.”
“I was already wet. I was wet from you just being next to me.”
“God, I wouldn’t want to stop kissing you, but there’s more of you I have to touch, have to suck, have to lick. So my mouth would trail kisses along your flesh.”
“Goose bumps would rise along my skin, chasing your tongue,” she says.
“I’d nudge down the top of your cami until your tits popped free. I almost nut myself, but I glance up at you right as I open my mouth…”
“And suck. I arch my back, inviting you to take me.”
“I wouldn’t leave the other one out. I’d have to give it the pleasure of my mouth.”
She giggles, and I tug on my dick harder.
“My other tit thanks you.”
“By the time I’m done, your cami would be bunched around your stomach, and I’d be heading down to my second favorite part of your body.”
“What’s your first?” she asks.
“Focus on my fingers pulling back the front of those flannel boxer shorts and finding you wearing…”
“Nothing. I’m bare.”
I growl, my dick so hard I’m not going to make it much longer. “Fuck.”
“I thought you’d like that.”
“My fingers would hook along the sides of your boxers, and I’d gradually tease you by sliding them down your legs until I free them and toss them far away. Your skin would pinken like it always does.”
“It does?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, and it’s fucking stunning. Watching your skin almost glow with the anticipation of what I’m going to do to you. Now, let me finish because I’m just getting to the good part.”
“Well, excuse me then.”
“Where is your hand, Tedi?” I ask. “Slide it under the waistband of those shorts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You feel how swollen your clit is, how wet you are? Slide your finger inside and coat your whole pussy with your arousal. I want to hear it slip and slide through your folds.” My dick twitches in my hand as I watch her slide her hand under the waistband of her shorts.
“God,” she says, panting.
“Yeah, that’s me, babe. Those are my fingers, exploring and teasing you. I’m right between your legs, and I’m staring up at you to make sure I’m doing exactly what you like. Listening to your breathing, looking for your reactions. Your head rocks back on the pillow and your back arches off the mattress because it feels too good. I bring my mouth to your clit…”
“Tweetie…”
“I suck, and I place my finger at your entrance, but I don’t push it in. I rim your opening, warming you up, getting you so needy that you feel like you’ll die if I don’t give you what you want.”
“Keep going…”
I tug harder on my dick now. Faster. “Your hands fly into my hair, making sure I don’t have any crazy ideas of stopping. I love the tug you give my hair. As my finger slides and arches inside you, you grind along my face, taking what you want. You’re so close to the edge.”
“I am.” She moans.
“Take it, babe, suffocate me with your pussy.”
“Oh shit!” She drops the phone, and I’m left staring at her ceiling, but the sound alone makes me tighten my grip on my shaft.
“Show me. Show me your fingers,” I beg.
She brings them to the phone and places them in her mouth, sucking her arousal off her fingers. That’s all I need before I come so hard I drop the phone too. Tedi laughs, and it only makes me come harder.
After, I fall back on the mattress, spent but not exhausted. If she were with me, I could really get a workout and tire myself out.
“Your turn,” she says after we’ve recovered our breath.
“What?”
“Swipe a finger and taste yourself.”
I glance at the lashing of cum all over my stomach. “Would that get you all hot again?”
She laughs. “No.”
We each put our phones on the bed and clean up before we’re back to FaceTiming.
“I’ll see you at the airport?” she asks.
“Yeah, I wish I was picking you up.”
“I wish a lot of things, but soon. Now I still have to write in my journal and get my beauty sleep.”
“You don’t need any of that. You’re beautiful.”
“Night,” she says.
“Night.” But neither of us hangs up.
We both laugh.
“Hey, what is your favorite part of my body? I’ll try to showcase it tomorrow for you,” she says.
“That’ll be hard.”
“Why?”
“It’s your heart, Tedi. My favorite part of your body is your heart.”
She sighs, and her head falls to her pillow. “Good night, Tweetie. I have to go before I send an Uber for you. See you tomorrow.”
I’m still laughing as she cuts off the video.
I lie in bed and think about what my sister said about leaving the past where it is. She’s right, and an idea of a way we might finally be able to move on pops in my head. I hope it works.
Fifty-Two
Tedi’s Journal Entry
Present Day
Chicago
* * *
To my older self,
* * *
Well, we’re about to throw in the towel. He just gave us one helluva orgasm via phone sex. And he’s saying so many sweet things. I’m starting to feel like I’m just wasting time that we could have together. Pretty soon, you’re going to be reading that it’s over, we lost the battle. Then again, we wouldn’t lose because we’d have him, and that was the goal in the first place. He’s really matured these last few years. I’m going to chance our heart this one last time. I hope you’re not shaking your head reading this because I made a foolish decision. I hope you want to beat my head in because I did waste all this time without him. And I really hope that he’s across from you right now as you read this.
Fifty-Three
Tweetie’s Journal Entry
Present Day
Chicago
* * *
To my teenage self,
* * *
I know our journals are sacred. That we said we’d never share them with anyone. But she has to know. She has to read our thoughts for herself. It’s the only way to heal us. To stitch up the wound from the past and move forward to a new future. Sorry, buddy, but I promise you, we can trust her.
Fifty-Four
Tedi
As we often do now, Tweetie and I make up some excuse to sneak off before boarding the plane. One of us grabs a snack, and the other one goes to the bathroom, or some version of that. No matter what, we’re usually the last ones to get on the plane. Tweetie usually leads us down the jetway with his hand on my back. The best is when he places his hand low and his fingers cover my ass.
After we had phone sex, the line I’m trying to draw in the sand is getting washed away. Not that I’m crazy for sex, but more because I want to be with him. I crave being able to go up to him whenever I want and touch him, kiss him. Sex is just a really big added bonus.
I continue down the plane aisle as he slides into his normal seat with Conor, Henry, and Rowan. I’m just getting situated when Conor comes over and hands me a box. “Eloise wanted me to give you this. She said it was meant for you.”
I take the small box. “Thanks. I’ll send her a quick text to thank her.”
“Oh, um… she’s with a really big client, so maybe wait until we land.” He’s jittery, but I just smile and thank him again.
The nice thing about where I sit is that there usually isn’t anyone across from me. Sometimes we have extra people like press or staff who don’t always go to games, but the space gave me privacy to interview the other players who, thanks to Bud, aren’t getting any publicity on the team.
The box isn’t wrapped in paper, but it’s a designer box with a ribbon around it. I hope Eloise didn’t spend a fortune on something for me. I untie the bow and place the ribbon on the seat next to me before lifting the lid to the box.
Pushing through the red tissue paper, I see two journals. Tweetie’s journals. The ones I gave him for Christmas the year before we broke up. He’d always used those black-and-white composition ones, and I’d make fun of him for it, while he’d joke about my fancy journals and colored pens.
My hand runs over the worn leather with a small heart in the bottom right corner. I wasn’t going to put his initials on it, and it felt weird putting my name on it, so I settled on a small embossed heart.
I pick it up out of the box. There’s no note or anything. I open it, and the first entry is dated the day I declined his proposal. I shut it and pull out my phone since we haven’t pulled away from the gate yet.
I can’t.
You said no flowers.
I took it back.
Please?
This is private.
Nothing is private when it comes to you.
The plane pushes back from the gate.
Tweetie…
Please. I love you, Tedi, and I want you to read it.
It’s a long flight.
Okay.
We’re on our way to Anaheim, and he’s right, we have a long flight.
As the plane barrels down the runway, I take a deep breath and open his journal. I’m not sure if my stomach dropping is from the plane or the words at the top of the page.
To my teenage self,
* * *
Our worst nightmare just came true, and I’m not sure where we go from here.
I knew he wrote to his younger self, but reading it makes me feel Tweetie’s pain. The way he’s almost telling his younger self, like, “Hey, look at us and what a fuckup we are.” The disappointment Tweetie feels when writing, how he made a mistake or messed up is soul-crushing. He’s told me stories about his dad and how messed up of a teenager he was. That if it wasn’t for hockey, he never would’ve gotten his life together.
Tears fill my eyes as I read how much he hurt just like me in those days and weeks and months after our breakup. How he fought himself from coming after me. Telling himself he didn’t deserve me, that he loved me enough not to drag me back into the fucked-up world of him being in professional sports and all that came with it. And then at some point, there’s a shift, and he seems to come out of his grief enough to see that he has to move forward.
If he didn’t play hockey, what else could he do? He never finished college, didn’t have a degree, so how would he support himself? With hockey, he could give his mom the life she’d always deserved.
It was the last entry before he seemed to turn things around that made a fresh set of tears fall down my cheeks.
I have to trust that the universe isn’t done with us yet—that Tedi isn’t just a memory, but a part of my story still being written. Maybe we’re just caught in some in-between, a pause instead of an ending. And one day, when the timing is finally right, she’ll be mine again.
Until that day comes, I’ll wait. And as I wait, I’ll become the man she deserves—the best version of myself, for her.
I pick up the other journal, stuffing the one I’ve read in my bag.
The pilot announces that we’re landing, so I put the second journal in my bag and pack up the rest of my stuff. I have no idea how I’ll face him now or on the bus. All I want to do is get to my hotel room and read the rest of his journal.
The plane lands, and I don’t have to worry because Tweetie doesn’t try to interact with me. I end up talking to one of the trainers on the bus. By the time I get in the lobby, I hear Conor tell Tweetie what room they’re in as they walk to the elevator.
Is he embarrassed or just giving me space? I have no idea.
I don’t unpack or even take off my jacket before I throw myself in the chair in my room and pull out the second journal to continue reading.
“Tedi…”
“Yeah?”
“Can we FaceTime? I just want to see you.” I know I’m showing how vulnerable I am, how much she undoes me, but I don’t give a shit anymore.
“You just saw me. We spent dinner together.”
“Is that a no?”
“No, it’s not.”
The words are barely out of her mouth before I’m turning my phone back toward me and pressing the FaceTime button. Her face lights up my screen, and there’s a little too much flesh to expect my dick not to perk up.
“Gorgeous,” I say.
A slight blush pinkens her cheeks. “Handsome.”
“This was a bad idea.” The urge inside me to flee my condo and cross the city to get to her apartment is almost impossible to control. “I want to be with you even worse now.”
“Me too. I kind of wanted to take your sister and mom to the hotel and have us go home together. Like old times.”
Relief washes through me that she wants the same thing as me. That we’re on the same page.
“What were you doing before I called?” I change the subject, needing to make sure I don’t actually ambush her and show up at her door. She’d let me in, even though she shouldn’t.
“I was writing in my journal.” She flashes it on screen.
“You still do that, huh?”
She flashes her pen, her fancy colored pen she always used when writing to her older self. Her grandma had dementia, and she’d written in journals that they would read to her. Tedi wants the same thing if it happens to her.
“I do. How about you?”
I nod. “Not as often, but sometimes. Gotta keep that shithead teenager up to date about our wins and our fuckups.”
Once I started therapy, my therapist thought it would be a good exercise for me to write to my younger self about what I’ve done and accomplished. He thought it was a way for me to forgive myself for the things I did in the past as well as work through some of the pain from my relationship with my father. It’s kind of worked, so I can’t say he was wrong, but at first it felt impossible to put pen to paper and write about how I felt.
“Your teenage self would love who he became.”
“You think?” I lean back with my arm under my head on my pillow. “I think he’d kick me in the nuts for losing you.”
“Well, then I guess senior citizen Tedi and young buck Tweetie would beat the shit out of both of us for what we allowed to happen.” She pauses, looking contemplative. “Your sister brought up a good point to me today.”
“Yeah?”
My sister is always giving advice when she’s not asked. She practically forced me to tell her everything that went down with Tedi. She was relentless in her calls and her visits. I blamed it on her divorce and needing a situation or person to fix since she couldn’t fix her own life. I’m not sure I would’ve made it through that dark time without her, though. I’m lucky to have Georgia, and I loved every time I looked into the stands and saw her and Tedi laughing together tonight. I’m not sure why my mom was sitting by Conor’s dad, but that’s a problem for another day.
“Your sister asked me when enough is enough. That maybe we need to stop punishing ourselves and just live. Stop overcomplicating things.”
“Don’t you just hate her and her free advice?”
Tedi laughs at my obvious joke. Georgia’s told me the same thing many times before, but it’s a hard thing to do.
“It’s the worst.” I watch her lie down and rest her head on her pillow.
“I wish I was next to you right now,” I say, feeling my dick swell under my sheets.
“What would you do, Tweetie?” Her voice is soft and seductive, so I tread about as lightly as I usually do. Which is to say, not at all.
“Ask you to blow me?”
She shakes her head, a smile teasing her lips.
“Before I can answer that, I need to see what you’re wearing. Will you show me?” I bring my hand down and stroke myself.
She pans the camera down her body.
“Slower,” I say, enjoying the cami tank top that’s snug against her bare tits, her nipples hard and poking against the fabric. The waistband is something plaid. I assume it’s flannel pants, but she surprises me with shorts that showcase her smooth legs. “You kill me, woman.”
She brings the camera up to her face again.
“What would you do if you were next to me right now, Tweetie?” There’s that voice again.
“I’d inch over to you and start by kissing your shoulder.”
“Sounds nice.”
“I’d slide my finger under the strap of your cami and lower it away from your collarbone as my lips continued their journey up your neck to your jaw. I’d hover over you, my lips millimeters from yours. I’d tell you how beautiful you are and how I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“Am I?” she asks, a desperation in her voice.
“Yes, Tedi, you’re mine. Always have been.”
“Go on.”
“I’d place my lips to yours and slide my tongue along the seam of your lips, hoping and praying that you’d open for me.”
“I would,” she whispers.
“I’d slip my tongue in and seek yours out.”
“My tongue would meet yours, and my fingers would weave through the hair at the back of your head, those beautiful blonde strands, just to make sure you deepened the kiss. You’d groan or growl or moan.”
“I’d groan.”
“I’d slide my arm out of my cami, and you’d remove the strap on the other side.”
“My knee would nudge your legs.”
“And I’d open them, giving you room to fall between them. Your hard bulge would press to my center.”
“Then you’d get wet with the feel of my hard cock.”
“I was already wet. I was wet from you just being next to me.”
“God, I wouldn’t want to stop kissing you, but there’s more of you I have to touch, have to suck, have to lick. So my mouth would trail kisses along your flesh.”
“Goose bumps would rise along my skin, chasing your tongue,” she says.
“I’d nudge down the top of your cami until your tits popped free. I almost nut myself, but I glance up at you right as I open my mouth…”
“And suck. I arch my back, inviting you to take me.”
“I wouldn’t leave the other one out. I’d have to give it the pleasure of my mouth.”
She giggles, and I tug on my dick harder.
“My other tit thanks you.”
“By the time I’m done, your cami would be bunched around your stomach, and I’d be heading down to my second favorite part of your body.”
“What’s your first?” she asks.
“Focus on my fingers pulling back the front of those flannel boxer shorts and finding you wearing…”
“Nothing. I’m bare.”
I growl, my dick so hard I’m not going to make it much longer. “Fuck.”
“I thought you’d like that.”
“My fingers would hook along the sides of your boxers, and I’d gradually tease you by sliding them down your legs until I free them and toss them far away. Your skin would pinken like it always does.”
“It does?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, and it’s fucking stunning. Watching your skin almost glow with the anticipation of what I’m going to do to you. Now, let me finish because I’m just getting to the good part.”
“Well, excuse me then.”
“Where is your hand, Tedi?” I ask. “Slide it under the waistband of those shorts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You feel how swollen your clit is, how wet you are? Slide your finger inside and coat your whole pussy with your arousal. I want to hear it slip and slide through your folds.” My dick twitches in my hand as I watch her slide her hand under the waistband of her shorts.
“God,” she says, panting.
“Yeah, that’s me, babe. Those are my fingers, exploring and teasing you. I’m right between your legs, and I’m staring up at you to make sure I’m doing exactly what you like. Listening to your breathing, looking for your reactions. Your head rocks back on the pillow and your back arches off the mattress because it feels too good. I bring my mouth to your clit…”
“Tweetie…”
“I suck, and I place my finger at your entrance, but I don’t push it in. I rim your opening, warming you up, getting you so needy that you feel like you’ll die if I don’t give you what you want.”
“Keep going…”
I tug harder on my dick now. Faster. “Your hands fly into my hair, making sure I don’t have any crazy ideas of stopping. I love the tug you give my hair. As my finger slides and arches inside you, you grind along my face, taking what you want. You’re so close to the edge.”
“I am.” She moans.
“Take it, babe, suffocate me with your pussy.”
“Oh shit!” She drops the phone, and I’m left staring at her ceiling, but the sound alone makes me tighten my grip on my shaft.
“Show me. Show me your fingers,” I beg.
She brings them to the phone and places them in her mouth, sucking her arousal off her fingers. That’s all I need before I come so hard I drop the phone too. Tedi laughs, and it only makes me come harder.
After, I fall back on the mattress, spent but not exhausted. If she were with me, I could really get a workout and tire myself out.
“Your turn,” she says after we’ve recovered our breath.
“What?”
“Swipe a finger and taste yourself.”
I glance at the lashing of cum all over my stomach. “Would that get you all hot again?”
She laughs. “No.”
We each put our phones on the bed and clean up before we’re back to FaceTiming.
“I’ll see you at the airport?” she asks.
“Yeah, I wish I was picking you up.”
“I wish a lot of things, but soon. Now I still have to write in my journal and get my beauty sleep.”
“You don’t need any of that. You’re beautiful.”
“Night,” she says.
“Night.” But neither of us hangs up.
We both laugh.
“Hey, what is your favorite part of my body? I’ll try to showcase it tomorrow for you,” she says.
“That’ll be hard.”
“Why?”
“It’s your heart, Tedi. My favorite part of your body is your heart.”
She sighs, and her head falls to her pillow. “Good night, Tweetie. I have to go before I send an Uber for you. See you tomorrow.”
I’m still laughing as she cuts off the video.
I lie in bed and think about what my sister said about leaving the past where it is. She’s right, and an idea of a way we might finally be able to move on pops in my head. I hope it works.
Fifty-Two
Tedi’s Journal Entry
Present Day
Chicago
* * *
To my older self,
* * *
Well, we’re about to throw in the towel. He just gave us one helluva orgasm via phone sex. And he’s saying so many sweet things. I’m starting to feel like I’m just wasting time that we could have together. Pretty soon, you’re going to be reading that it’s over, we lost the battle. Then again, we wouldn’t lose because we’d have him, and that was the goal in the first place. He’s really matured these last few years. I’m going to chance our heart this one last time. I hope you’re not shaking your head reading this because I made a foolish decision. I hope you want to beat my head in because I did waste all this time without him. And I really hope that he’s across from you right now as you read this.
Fifty-Three
Tweetie’s Journal Entry
Present Day
Chicago
* * *
To my teenage self,
* * *
I know our journals are sacred. That we said we’d never share them with anyone. But she has to know. She has to read our thoughts for herself. It’s the only way to heal us. To stitch up the wound from the past and move forward to a new future. Sorry, buddy, but I promise you, we can trust her.
Fifty-Four
Tedi
As we often do now, Tweetie and I make up some excuse to sneak off before boarding the plane. One of us grabs a snack, and the other one goes to the bathroom, or some version of that. No matter what, we’re usually the last ones to get on the plane. Tweetie usually leads us down the jetway with his hand on my back. The best is when he places his hand low and his fingers cover my ass.
After we had phone sex, the line I’m trying to draw in the sand is getting washed away. Not that I’m crazy for sex, but more because I want to be with him. I crave being able to go up to him whenever I want and touch him, kiss him. Sex is just a really big added bonus.
I continue down the plane aisle as he slides into his normal seat with Conor, Henry, and Rowan. I’m just getting situated when Conor comes over and hands me a box. “Eloise wanted me to give you this. She said it was meant for you.”
I take the small box. “Thanks. I’ll send her a quick text to thank her.”
“Oh, um… she’s with a really big client, so maybe wait until we land.” He’s jittery, but I just smile and thank him again.
The nice thing about where I sit is that there usually isn’t anyone across from me. Sometimes we have extra people like press or staff who don’t always go to games, but the space gave me privacy to interview the other players who, thanks to Bud, aren’t getting any publicity on the team.
The box isn’t wrapped in paper, but it’s a designer box with a ribbon around it. I hope Eloise didn’t spend a fortune on something for me. I untie the bow and place the ribbon on the seat next to me before lifting the lid to the box.
Pushing through the red tissue paper, I see two journals. Tweetie’s journals. The ones I gave him for Christmas the year before we broke up. He’d always used those black-and-white composition ones, and I’d make fun of him for it, while he’d joke about my fancy journals and colored pens.
My hand runs over the worn leather with a small heart in the bottom right corner. I wasn’t going to put his initials on it, and it felt weird putting my name on it, so I settled on a small embossed heart.
I pick it up out of the box. There’s no note or anything. I open it, and the first entry is dated the day I declined his proposal. I shut it and pull out my phone since we haven’t pulled away from the gate yet.
I can’t.
You said no flowers.
I took it back.
Please?
This is private.
Nothing is private when it comes to you.
The plane pushes back from the gate.
Tweetie…
Please. I love you, Tedi, and I want you to read it.
It’s a long flight.
Okay.
We’re on our way to Anaheim, and he’s right, we have a long flight.
As the plane barrels down the runway, I take a deep breath and open his journal. I’m not sure if my stomach dropping is from the plane or the words at the top of the page.
To my teenage self,
* * *
Our worst nightmare just came true, and I’m not sure where we go from here.
I knew he wrote to his younger self, but reading it makes me feel Tweetie’s pain. The way he’s almost telling his younger self, like, “Hey, look at us and what a fuckup we are.” The disappointment Tweetie feels when writing, how he made a mistake or messed up is soul-crushing. He’s told me stories about his dad and how messed up of a teenager he was. That if it wasn’t for hockey, he never would’ve gotten his life together.
Tears fill my eyes as I read how much he hurt just like me in those days and weeks and months after our breakup. How he fought himself from coming after me. Telling himself he didn’t deserve me, that he loved me enough not to drag me back into the fucked-up world of him being in professional sports and all that came with it. And then at some point, there’s a shift, and he seems to come out of his grief enough to see that he has to move forward.
If he didn’t play hockey, what else could he do? He never finished college, didn’t have a degree, so how would he support himself? With hockey, he could give his mom the life she’d always deserved.
It was the last entry before he seemed to turn things around that made a fresh set of tears fall down my cheeks.
I have to trust that the universe isn’t done with us yet—that Tedi isn’t just a memory, but a part of my story still being written. Maybe we’re just caught in some in-between, a pause instead of an ending. And one day, when the timing is finally right, she’ll be mine again.
Until that day comes, I’ll wait. And as I wait, I’ll become the man she deserves—the best version of myself, for her.
I pick up the other journal, stuffing the one I’ve read in my bag.
The pilot announces that we’re landing, so I put the second journal in my bag and pack up the rest of my stuff. I have no idea how I’ll face him now or on the bus. All I want to do is get to my hotel room and read the rest of his journal.
The plane lands, and I don’t have to worry because Tweetie doesn’t try to interact with me. I end up talking to one of the trainers on the bus. By the time I get in the lobby, I hear Conor tell Tweetie what room they’re in as they walk to the elevator.
Is he embarrassed or just giving me space? I have no idea.
I don’t unpack or even take off my jacket before I throw myself in the chair in my room and pull out the second journal to continue reading.
