“I didn’t pick it.” I raise my chin. “I’ve had it since peewee.”
He hums.
“What?”
“It’s an ironic nickname, that’s all.”
I lean against the boards. “What’s ironic about it?”
“I don’t think you have that killer instinct.”
“You’ve been paying attention enough to pass that judgment?”
He shrugs, then leans forward, dark eyes pinning me in place. “Are you always this testy with your coaches? I have a hard time believing that Alice would let that fly.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I break his gaze, unable to hold it as regret creeps over me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.” His tone is harsh, but his face is carefully blank.
“I do,” I say sincerely. “I just—” He justfrustratesme. He’s reached the highest possible level any goalie can achieve, and I want to learn from him. I want him to teach me. I want him to make me better.
And yet, he’s done nothing but show how utterly beneath this all is to him.
“It won’t happen again.” With that, I take off toward the net, but I hear so faintly, I’m not sure if I imagine it. But I could swear I hear him say, “I hope it does.”
8
Luke
Ijust finished heating up a shitty bowl of leftover pasta when my phone rings. It rattles against the marble counter, and I’m about to let it go to voicemail, assuming it’s my dad or brother. But when I glance down, I see a name I haven’t seen on my phone for a long time.
“Decker,” I answer, “uh, hey, man.”
“Luke fucking Holloway.” The voice of my old teammate, old friend, instantly takes me back to years ago. “I thought maybe you had changed your number.”
“Why would I have done that?”
He laughs. “Cause none of us have heard from you in years.”
I shut my mouth, unable to deny it. It’s been I don’t even know how long since I talked to Decker, or anyone. “Yeah, you know, life gets busy.” And by busy, I mean depressing.
“It’s all good, man. I get it. We all gotta do what we gotta do.” The ease in which he brushes off the way I completely removed myself from my past life is just like him. He’s always had an easy-going attitude, on and off the ice.
I open my mouth to ask him about the team, how things are going, but the words get stuck in my throat. Because I don’t want to know the answer. What if they’re doing great? What if they think this could be another season where they make a run for the cup, and I’m not there to do it with them? What if they’re flailing and everything is falling apart, and I’m not there to help fix it?
Either way, it’s not my life anymore. So, instead I ask, “How are you doing?” putting emphasis onyou, hoping he gets the hint.
“Honestly, never been fucking better.”That makes one of us. “That’s why I wanted to call you, actually. Tasha and I are engaged.”
Fucking hell. “Congrats, man.” I don’t have to fake my enthusiasm. “Shocked she stuck around all these years waiting for you to finally do it.”
His chuckle is light, and it brightens something in my dim, dull apartment. “Me too. I’ve been ready for it, but you know, life is crazy. Trying to fit big things in during the off-season gets hard.”
“I remember.” I lean back on my barstool and stare at the kitchen cabinets. “It’s like fitting a year’s worth of moments into a handful of months.”
“Right? So anyways, we’re going to have an engagement party next year. Family and friends, in the city. Don’t ask me for further details than that. I’d have to ask Tasha before I just give out false info, and with the season, who knows if we’ll be done by April or if we make a run for it, maybe June.”
“Smart man.” I remember how Elle was during our wedding planning. With me being in season, she carried most of the load with it. Not that she didn’t like it that way, but to her credit, she made it really nice without any help from me.
