I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve been hurt in all my years of playing hockey. I’ve had broken bones. I’ve taken one-hundred-plus-mile-per-hour pucks in places people should never take pucks. I’ve lost teeth. I’ve been beaten to the point of being unable to walk for days.
I’ve played through it all.
But this hurt? I’m not sure I can handle it.
And this time, it’s all my fault.
I fucked up.
I fucked up big, and not just out on the ice where we blew a three-to-one lead yesterday and lost seven to three because my head was completely out of the game.
No. I fucked up long before tonight, so many times in fact.
I should have never kissed Hollis.
I should have never slept with her.
I should have never kept sleeping with her.
And I definitely, one hundred percent should not have fallen in love with her.
But I did, I did, I did, and I so fucking did.
Standing in that hospital room seeing her with all those straps and monitors on her broke me. It broke me and it fucking scared me that it broke me, because this isn’t about us. It was never supposed to be about us.
Things with Hollis were never supposed to be this serious. One time, one night, and we move on. One night and we act like it never happened. She wasn’t supposed to still be around, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to get pregnant.
This whole thing has been a mess from the beginning, and I only have myself to blame for giving in to the temptation and breaking my rule that hockey comes first no matter what. I don’t know the exact moment I fell for her—probably when she punched me—but I know the exact moment I realized I couldn’t love her. I can’t love her because if I do, I can lose her. If I never love her at all, I’ll never know what it feels like to lose her, and I can walk away intact.
But that’s bullshit.
It’s always been bullshit.
I know that now. I know that because I’m sitting on this godforsaken bench in a million shattered pieces, and I have no clue how to put myself back together.
“How do you want it?”
I sigh, because I knew I’d be hearing from him at some point. I finish lacing up my skates, then look at Collin, who is standing over me with his arms crossed and a murderous stare etched into his eyes.
He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him one bit.
I sit back, meeting his ire because I deserve it and I know I do.
“How do I want what?”
“Your death. Poisoning? Axe? Arrow? Shovel? Rope? Knife? Chainsaw? Spoon? Take your pick.”
“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood for your games.”
“Oh, trust me—this isn’t a game.”
Imagine my fucking surprise when he actually pulls a spoon out of his back pocket and whacks me on top of the head with it.
“OW! What the…”
He grabs me by the sweater, pulling me off the bench and tugging me until we’re nearly touching noses.
“Fuck off, Wright,” I seethe, ignoring the surprised cries of What the fuck from our teammates, who are already half-dressed getting ready for practice. “It’s not your battle.”
“Bullshit it’s not. Your girl has been on my couch for the last week while my girl is fixing her. It’s my problem as much as it’s yours.”
He pulls me close until we’re nose to nose, and I grab his sweater, shoving at him, but he doesn’t budge. “Leave it alone.”
“No!” he roars.
I shove him again, catching his chin with my fist that’s holding his sweater. It’s the first hit, and it’s all it takes for his eyes to darken and for him to take a swing at me.
I let him hit me. I let him hit me because I deserve it and so much more.
I don’t know how long he hits me. I stop counting, and I stop hitting back. I just take it, accepting my punishment.
Because this? What’s happening right now? It’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling on the inside.
“Dude, dude. Whoa. Come on, man, that’s enough, all right? Chill out.”
Rhodes pulls on him, trying to drag him away. He doesn’t relent, and I like that he doesn’t relent. I like that he’s here having Hollis’ back. I’ve never been happier to be hit in my entire life.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!”
Collin drops me the instant Coach blazes into the room, a glower marring his face as he takes in the sad state of each of us. His hands are on his hips, his lips pressed and angry. He shakes his head, looking completely disgusted by both of us.
“Is this what we’re doing now, huh? Fighting each other instead of the other team?” He scoffs. “Fucking despicable.” He points a finger at Collin. “Scratched, starting tonight.” Then he points to me. “You? Two games. You’re supposed to be leading this team, especially right now when we need it the most. Instead, you’re in here fighting with your own teammates. You know better than that, Captain.”
I hate the way he spits the word at me.
I don’t feel like a captain. Especially not right now.
I nod, accepting it.
“Good. Now get the fuck out on that ice and leave whatever this bullshit is in here. Understood?” He laughs derisively, shaking his head and muttering as he walks out. “Fuckin’ children. All a bunch of children.”
The door slams shut behind him and the room is completely quiet, everyone just watching to see what’s going to happen next between Collin and me.
We stare each other down for a long time until finally, Rhodes lays a hand on his shoulder.
“We got practice, man. This is over.”
“It’s not. It’s not over. He doesn’t get to just break her and walk away. That’s not how it works.”
“Break her?” I mutter. “I didn’t break her. She broke me.”
Collin whirls back around, ready for more. “What’d you say?”
“I said I didn’t break Hollis. She broke me, and I love her, okay?” I shove myself up, staggering just slightly from being knocked around like a punching bag. I rub at my jaw that’s already throbbing, trying to catch my breath that just won’t seem to come. “I love her. Are you fucking happy now?”
“No,” Collin seethes. “I won’t be happy until she’s happy, and you have a lot of fucking fixing to do.”
“This is all your fault,” I say to Smith as we head into the building for the game tonight—the game I won’t be playing in because I’m a healthy scratch.
Everyone knows that’s the worst kind of scratch to be. It means you’ve screwed up and now you have to pay by forcing your team to pick up the slack without you while you sit in the box with the night off, watching the repercussions of your actions.
It fucking sucks, and it especially blows because Coach wants Collin and me up in the box together. Based on the bruises on my face and the split lip he’s rocking, it’s clear we got into it with one another. The press is going to have a fucking field day with it no doubt.
“Yeah? And how’s that exactly?”
“You told me to ask her to dance, and I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all.”
His brows rise, and I hate that the look he’s giving me says we both know that’s not true. I think even if Hollis and I hadn’t danced that night, we would have still ended up in that garden together, wrapped around one another like a clandestine meeting under the stars.
If we hadn’t, Smith would have told me to ask her to dance.
He knew all along.
Fucker.
“What are you going to do?”
I look back at Fiona. The only thing I want to do is jump inside of her and drive to Hollis and tell her how sorry I am.
But I can’t. I have to be here, for a hockey game I’m not even fucking playing in because Coach is sadistic.
“I’m going to fix it. Eventually.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“This might sound fucking nuts, but have you tried honest communication?”
I snort. “Like you’ve tried with Emilia?”
“My situation is a little more…complicated.”
“And mine isn’t?”
“No. It’s pretty straightforward if you just get your head out of your ass and look at it from a non-damaged perspective.”
“But I am damaged.”
He stops walking, turning to me. “You’re right. You are—but so is Hollis. She got divorced less than a year ago because her husband was cheating on her. Then she got pregnant right after. She’s damaged too, but guess what? She’s not going around putting up walls and blocking people out because she’s afraid. She’s facing this shit head-on, which is a lot more than I can say for you.”
I…fuck. He’s right. I know he’s right.
“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. “I know, okay? I’m an idiot. A bigger idiot than Miller.”
“Yeah, you are,” Miller says as he walks by shooting me judgy eyes.
Shit. Even the rookie is on my case.
Smith sighs. “I’ve put my life on hold for my career. I’ve been married to this game for longer than you’ve been alive. Hockey is my life, but it doesn’t have to be yours. So, if you love her and there’s a chance for you to have a family, take that chance. Because trust me, Lowell, these years? They’re going to fly by fast, and before you know it, you’ll be an old man like me signing one-year contracts hoping you can hold on to the game you love for just a little longer because you know when it’s over, you’ll truly be alone.”
I swallow, my mouth sticky and dry just thinking about living a life without Hollis in it. I mean, yeah, we’ll always be connected because of the baby, but just thinking of another man raising my child too, another man touching her…knowing her the way I do…
I can’t stomach it.
It’s supposed to be me.
I’m yours, she promised.
Mine, I swore.
“Tell her, Lowell.”
