“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, panic bleeding into his anger as he reaches me, coming to a stop a couple of feet away. “You’re going to fall and fuck up your shoulder.”
I ignore him. I shuffle closer to him, sliding carefully across the ice.
“I’m not here to yell at you,” I say breathlessly, my focus locked on him.
He looks torn between reaching out to grab me and force me off the ice and backing away to protect himself.
“Then go home, Lou,” he says, his voice tight. “I’m working.”
“I went to see Carson,” I say.
He frowns. “What?”
“I went to his house. I told him I was retiring.”
The words hang in the cold air.
Tanner goes completely still. His jaw hangs open. He knows what hockey means to me. He knows I don’t have much of an identity outside of the game. The idea that I would quit, for him, doesn’t compute.
“You—what?” he whispers.
He’s taller than me since he’s on skates. I look up at him, and all I can do is hope he can see how sincere I am.
“I had it all wrong,” I say. My voice cracks, but I don’t even care. “In the kitchen. I was trying to do what was right for you, but I was so wrong.”
He stares down at me, his chest heaving. He’s trembling slightly. Or maybe that’s me.
“I tried to push you away because I thought you needed to be a starting goalie more than you needed me,” I say, shuffling a few inches further into his space, close enough to feel the cold radiating off his pads. “But I was wrong. And I thoughtIneeded hockey more than I need you.”
I shake my head, water dripping from my hair into my eyes.
“But I was so stupid, Tanner. I need you more than hockey. More than anything. You’re my home. And I’m not playing another game if it’s not with you.”
Tanner
Lou’s words hang in the air between us.
I’m not playing another game if it’s not with you.
My brain, usually a high-speed processor of angles, velocity, and probability, grinds to a halt. I stare at him, standing there in his soaked hoodie and sneakers on the fresh sheet of ice.
Louis Tremblayishockey. I grew up studying him. I’ve watched him in the locker room, the way he loves everything about it, from the other players to the equipment guys, right down to the gear and the jerseys. And I’ve also seen the fear in his eyes when he thinks about life without the game.
And yet, he walked into Carson’s home tonight and tried to put an end to his career.
Not because his shoulder is broken. Not because he’s too old.
He did it for me.
Suddenly, I can see it all. He wasn’t pushing me away because he didn’t want me. He was pushing me away because he loves me enough to let me go. And when I wouldn’t go, he tried to burn his own world down to make space for mine.
I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But my throat is locked tight.
Louis shifts his weight, trying to close the distance between us, but physics is a bitch, and he starts to go down, his eyes going wide as his feet start to slide out from under him.
“Shit—”
My body moves before my brain can issue the command. I lunge at him, my skates biting deep into the ice to anchor me as I reach for him.
