I'm just really scared she's not okay.
My mystery girl is not fine. She's worrying and panicking just like I am, but she's shoving it down, swallowing it, and carrying it all by herself. She's pretending she's alright so she doesn't burden anyone else. So she doesn't have to feel what she's trying to tuck away.
But she does.
Even if she won't say it out loud. Even if she seemsfineto the world.
"Fuck," I whisper as my last teammate steps off of the ice.
"What?" Alex yells.
I shake my head, my mind racing a mile a minute as I push off toward the bench. "Thank you," I call back to her, holding my helmet up and over my head.
Stepping past the boards, I calculate how much time sits between now and the time I can get to her. Every fiber of my being says to leave. To skip the game, find my girl, and make sure she's okay. Make surewe'reokay. But I can't do that. Especially now. Not with the narrative already working against me.
"Drew! Drew!" The sound of my name floats above me as I step into the tunnel. I avoid searching for the source, but instead, I find Emma Dean waiting for me as I take just a few paces toward the locker room.
"Not now, Emma," I say, brushing her off. I take one step forward, but her trusty cameraman blocks my way. "Seriously, dude?"
He shrugs, hiding behind his equipment, as Emma tries again. "Oh, come on, Drew. Before the game—give us the Anderson Exclusive. Are you leaving Golden City at the end of this season?"
I part my lips to speak—or fucking tell her off—but the same voice from earlier answers first. "No, he's not."
I turn to see my dad standing behind me, and his eyes meet mine differently than they usually do. More genuine.
"I, um..." My head's fucking spinning. I can't keep up.
"Drew is happy where he is. The Flames are his family," he says into the camera. Emma's eyes dart back and forth between the two of us before Dad turns to face me. "One he desperately needed these last few years."
"And how do you know our star forward?" Emma asks, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away fromhim.
"I'm his father," he says, looking at me.
"Anything to add, Drew?" Emma shoves the microphone in my face, and I shake my head, still looking at a man I haven't seen in years. "Well, you heard it here first, G.C.—looks like we'll get number twelve alittle longer."
I shoot her a look when she finally signs off, but Emma barely notices as she turns to walk away. With her out of the picture, I bring my attention back to Dad, questioning him with just my expression.
"I went to visit your mother's grave the other day, which was long overdue," he says, not quite making eye contact.
I tilt my head, curious about what he's getting at and how this relates to the rumors. "You were there. I saw you with that girl outside of the locker room the last time we actually talked in person." The creases in my forehead flatten. "Are you seeing her?"
"Uh, yeah," I stutter, still so thrown. "I am. Sort of. I guess."Hopefully.
Dad grins without showing his teeth, his eyes fluttering. "I barely recognized you between the hair and the smile. You looked happy there. With her." He clears his throat before continuing. "Happier than I've seen you in a long time."
"I am, Dad," I shoot back.
"Does she have anything to do with the changes you've been making?"
"Yeah," I jeer. "She actually does. And thosechangesare—"
"They're good," he interrupts.
The end of my sentence gets stuck in my throat. "They are?" is all I manage to say.
"Yeah, son. I—I didn't think so at first. But I see it now. That's why I've been trying to call you."
"My phone's broken."
