"Ha, right. He's an asshole, Burnsey," I rebuke, taking a step toward the hall to our right. Burns steps in front of me again, stopping me in my place as I attempt to squash the irritation building inside me for my best friend.
I need to see Brooke.
"Or maybe..." he continues hesitantly, his hands up in surrender. "Maybe he's just failing at trying to love you the only way he knows how."
I burst out in laughter.He can't be serious."Not sure this calls for your usual Canadian positivity, buddy," I quip, but Burns doesn't crack a smile.
My brow creases as I search his face for any sign that he's joking, but the expression shining back at me is stone-cold. "Wait, you're serious?" I throw my hands to my hips and shift my weight. "You think him pushing me to be… pushing me so hard all this time is because hecares? That he started this rumor not to strong-arm me but because he doesn't know how else toloveme?" Brett shrugs, and I cross my arms over my chest. "No shot."
"All I'm saying is that sometimes how someone treats you..." His voice drifts off as Ward walks past us again. I roll my eyes, waiting for the rest of his sentence. "It isn't personal."
I scoff, dropping my arms back to my sides. "No offense, bro, but it feels pretty fucking personal."
Burnsey gives me an empty grin, then shakes his head. "Yeah, no, for sure. I totally get that," he relents. "Just, uh—just give it some thought, eh?"
I nod and smack my palm against his shoulder. "Sure, man."
His face falls, and I realize that, for some reason, this means something to him. As I study his expression, I become more sure. Me understanding this is big—important.
"Hey," I say seriously, my annoyance morphing into reassurance. "I will. Okay?"
He smiles, genuinely this time. "Love ya, bud," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah," I say, still taken aback by our entire conversation. Brett is always good for throwing me off with the shit he says, but this hits harder than it usually does.
I give his arm a squeeze, looking at him with my full attention. "Love you too, Burnsey."
He finally steps out of my way, but I can't shake his words as they stick with me like he meant them to. For the millionth time this morning,Brooke's face drifts into my mind, but this time, it's for a different reason. When she and I reconnected, she shot me down so fast my head spun. She was short and closed-off and acted like she wanted nothing to do with me.
But I didn't quit.
I knew that deep down those actions weren't directed at me. I gave her the time she needed—the space shedeserved—to let me in. And the grace to do it the only way she knew how.
So, how come with my dad it's different? Instincts tell me that it's because he'ssupposedto love me unconditionally—I had to earn Brooke's feelings. But maybe Brett's right.
That's just really fucking hard to believe right now.
I spent every second I had before warm ups, searching for Brooke. I checked the offices and the tunnel, the shooting bay and the gym. I even checked the goddamn sauna, which only made me fucking hard on top of everything else. She's not here. So, either she bailed on the game or she's doing one hell of a job avoiding me.
Both options worry me. She should be here. This is her last game with the Flames. Did something happen? Or is the other possibility the only reason for her absence? Maybe she's not avoiding me in the arena. Maybe she's gone, and she's avoiding me altogether.
I tried convincing myself earlier that if anyone would understand that this is all bullshit, it'd be her. Our… whatever it is now… was built on her learning about how different I am from how the world sees me. But doubt creeps into my mind like the tune of an obnoxious song you can't outrun. I can't lose her right now.Fuck, I can't lose her ever. And if anything good has come from this, it's the solidification that there's not an ounce of doubt in my mind about that.
Glancing up at the countdown clock, the rapid-fire numbers tick past at the rate of my heartbeat. I've spent most of warm ups avoiding all people in the stands, looking for the only one I care to talk to right now. As the horn sounds to call us back to the bench, my eyes still don't find Brooke, but they land on what might be the next best thing. Sprinting to the boards while the team piles off of the ice, I pound my glove on the glass off to the side of the boys.
"Coach's girl!" I yell, my voice muffled by the wall between us. When she doesn't look, I tap my stick against the glass. "Alex!"
With that, her head spins toward me, then to Monte who's busy talking to Max. When she looks back at me, I pull my helmet off and throw my head back, telling her to move closer. She stands almost hesitantly, but I don't have time to overthink if that's because she's confused or knows something I don't. Or because she's trying to avoid coming between me and her best friend.
"Where is she?" I call when she reaches the boards.
She once again looks to Coach, whose back is turned to the both of us. "At the hospital, I think."
I stand paralyzed, pulling a Petrov and racing through every word I know that rhymes with hospital, thinking I must have misheard her. When I come up empty handed, I try to blink away the worry.
"Sorry, no," Alex adds before I can respond. "She's fine." My whole body deflates, and she definitely notices. She grins and raises her brows in… admiration? Acceptance? "Her aunt was taken there yesterday. I think she's been with her."
Once again, I'm up in arms as Brooke's words from before seem to echo off the walls.
