*Lena*
Eason.
The single most important person to me. The one person who could make me plan a romantic trip when romance wasn’t even my thing.
Yet, here I was, driving through the darkness of rural Alaska, with a sulking ice hockey star slumped in my passenger seat.
That was what falling in love with someone as special as Eason would do to you.
He hadn’t spoken more than ten words since we left LA. His right hand, the one that should be gripping a hockey stick right now, laid useless in a cast on his lap. I could feel the waves of frustration rolling off him, filling the car with a heavy silence.
It was obvious he didn’t care to be here in the little effort he’d put into his outfit - a gray hoodie and jeans. A perfect representation of his mood. Normally Eason always tried to incorporate the team's color - gold, navy blue and white - into his outfit, even though they heavily contrasted with his dirty blonde hair. That’s how much he loved hockey.