our road game is misery on wheels.
Violet is sitting with Preston, Julianna is with Christina, and I want to punch both Preston and myself squarely in the face. In that order.
Instead, I pull out my phone to check in with Savannah about how puppy-sitting duty is going. I’m not sure why I’m so worried. He’s an animal; he’s going to be fine without me. And I’ll be fine without him. Even if I might kind of, sort of miss his furry paws and smelly breath.
Me: All good?
Savannah: Yup. Thanks to your hundred-page owner’s manual.
Savannah: Just kidding, big guy. He’s in good hands.
She’s exaggerating; my instructions were only two pages. In my defense, Biscuit is particular about the cleanliness of his water bowl and deviating from his bathroom schedule can have disastrous consequences. Plus, I needed to make sure Sav knew about his fear of the vacuum cleaner. We have to store it in the closet when it’s not being used, or he’ll sit and howl at it.
Maybe I’m trying to cling to the only piece of my life within my control. Because everything else for the last week has been utter shit. Classes have been unbearable, training with Violet has been fucking miserable, and my game is off to the point where several guys have commented. I’ve been attending therapy like it’s my part-time job, trying to untangle everything inside my head. Marie thinks I need to “put myself out there more” with Violet, but how am I supposed to do that when I tried and got blown to pieces?
Across the aisle from me, obnoxious pop music pours out of Connor’s AirPods, volume turned up so high I can hear every lyric of his Justin Bieber song as clearly as if I were wearing them myself.
“Will you turn that fucking music down?” I swat his arm with my Hockey Today magazine. I thought sitting with Vaughn would buy me some peace and quiet, but that only works if everyone else exercises basic common sense.
Connor makes a face, pulling an earbud out and hitting pause on his phone. “You’re miserable, you fucker. Do you need to get laid, or what? I mean, you’re unpleasant by default but you’re really taking it to a new level lately.”
Vaughn leans over, voice low. “It’s not really a sex thing, Haas. Cut the guy some slack.”
“He’s caught feelings,” Drew adds solemnly. “Four-letter feelings.”
I don’t even bother protesting. Maybe he’s right. Whatever it is, something is seriously wrong with me. I can’t focus on hockey, I can’t focus on school, and I can’t focus on anything but Violet when she’s around. Because I enjoy mind-fucking myself, I’ve still been driving her home. She even came over to visit Biscuit once. It was about as tense as one could imagine.
“Damn.” Connor studies my face. “If this is what love does to you, consider it a hard fucking pass for me.”
He’s got a point there. This seems like a whole lot more trouble than it’s worth. Too late for that now, though. Can’t just turn off these feelings, however inconvenient they may be.
“Can you please turn it down before I flush those AirPods down the bus’s toilet?”
“I will if you figure your shit out.”
I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin, man.”
***
Our Friday evening game goes well, at least. I utilize a few strategies Coach Ward taught us recently to keep my head straight and experience a good degree of success. With my mind focused on the game, I put in a solid effort that contributes to our win despite the situation with Violet. I also somehow manage to avoid breaking Preston’s kneecaps with my stick, which takes some serious self-control after the bus ride down.
When we return to the hotel, Coach Ward holds a miniature team meeting, reminding us about curfew before dismissing us. All the guys head to the hotel lounge to hang out until then, leaving me to linger in the lobby while I try to sneak back up to my room unnoticed.
“Come on,” Connor prods, jerking his thumb to the bar behind us. “Come for a drink.”
“Not in the mood. Gonna call it early.”
His eyes land on a pretty brunette headed to the lounge, her curvy hips swaying as she walks by, and he loses his will to argue with me. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
Relieved, I walk over to the bank of elevators and head up to my floor. And as luck would have it, Violet is standing in the hallway when I step out. Because, why not?
Unfortunately, my hotel room is down at the far end, which means I have to pass her.
“How’s your shoulder doing?” she asks quietly, shutting the door to her room. While the team has to double-up, the athletic trainers got singles—probably because Preston can’t share with the girls, and they’re trying to make it fair.
I reluctantly come to a stop, wishing we hadn’t crossed paths. Talking to her like this hurts too much. It’s easier to ignore each other, and even that’s brutal.
“Slightly better.” It’s the truth. I’ve been doing more stretching and rehab like she told me to, and it’s mitigating my issues. I’m not sure it’s making huge leaps forward, but at least it isn’t getting worse. “The stuff you told me to do seems to be helping.”
She flashes me a nervous half-smile. “Good. Are you going to keep up with it?”
“I told you I would, didn’t I?”
Confusion blinks across her face, like she doesn’t know what I’m referring to. I said I’d do it for a month when I made her come get a drink with me. Regardless of how poorly that turned out, I’ll keep my word.
“Fall Fest,” I remind her.
Realization dawns in her eyes, along with something I can’t place. One of the worst parts of this situation is, I can’t seem to gauge what’s going on in her head lately. Does she hate this space bullshit as much as I do? Then again, that’s probably wishful thinking. It was her idea.
“Nash, I’m sorry—”
My shoulders go rigid, and I hold up my hand, stepping past her. “Let’s not get into this again, okay? I got the message the first time.”
