Picture Perfect | Claude Giroux Philadelphia Flyers story |

Aftermath

-----Kat's POV

"Kat!" Jules yells as she approaches my bathroom door, "Kyle's calling again- thought you should know."

I roll my eyes and groan in frustration. I take a deep breath and hold my head under the bathwater filled with bubbles. "Thanks," I mumble after I lift my head above the water. I smear the excess water from my eyes with my soggy hands. I've been trying my best to ignore Kyle's numerous apologetic texts and voicemails for a few days now. I know he's probably genuinely sorry but I can't just go back to him.

"Kat?" Julie asks, tapping the door several times lightly, shaking me from my thoughts, "are you alright? You've been in the tub for a while- I'm afraid you'll look like a raisin when you get out," she half laughs.

"This sucks," I grumble loud enough so she can hear me through the door.

"You can't mope around forever Kattie," she chimes, calling me by my least favorite nickname. Her footsteps moving away from the door fill the silence between us.

Thankfully, the Flyers didn't have a game the last two nights and I called out of work the past two morning so I didn't have to go to their practices just to take a picture for Instagram (Kelly wants the Instagram account to be really active to gain and connect with fans).  I just couldn't bring myself to get out of bed- I was too vulnerable to see Claude and I didn't want any of the guys seeing how close I resembled Frankenstein's Bride. Once Jeff, my closest friend at work, heard that I was "sick" with the sniffles, he offered to go to the practice and take a photo for me but I told him not to worry; I decided to post one of the many photos I have of them practicing on my phone already.

Suddenly, I realize I'm shivering and the water surrounding me has gotten incredibly cold. I slowly get out of the tub and wrap a fluffy maroon towel around my torso. I unplug the drain and the water swirls down the chrome pipe with a quiet whirling whisper. I ignore my reflection in the mirror and I brush the tangles out of my hair as I walk into my bedroom. I change into baggy sweatpants and an old college shirt before making my way out to the kitchen to make myself lunch.

I hear my phone vibrate, letting me know I had missed a few calls from Kyle while I was in the tub. I let out a defeated sigh, still no texts from him.

"I guess he still hasn't said anything to you?" Jules asks, hearing my sigh.

"No, Kyle has left hundreds of voicemails! He has sent thousands of texts- my phone has been blowing up for days now," I confess stressfully as I look through cabinets for a box of mac'n'cheese.

"No, not him- you know who I'm talking about," she replies with an arched eyebrow, "Kyle wasn't the 'he' I was referring to."

"Claude hasn't sent anything- no texts, no calls, no emails, no voicemails or a friggin' carrier pigeon for Christ's sake!" I shout and throw my hands up in the air; coincidentally, the macaroni box was in one of my hands, causing a loud rattling sound to erupt. "Maybe he realized I'm too easy of a challenge- he needs a girl that'll put up a better chase," I admit angrily.

"Or he realized he can't date you 'cause you work for the Flyers," she says offering a better excuse.

"I hardly think that's the case," I huff.

"Well think what you want but you have to see him tonight, regardless," she reminds me of the game tonight.

"Yeah, yeah I know," I remark, "Will you come with me though? Keep me from looking like a miserable mess?"

"I'd love to come, but I can't work miracles," she teases with a laugh.

***

-----Claude's POV