What I did pay attention to was how the noise suddenly ticked down a few notches. Gear still moved and people stillspoke, but the relaxed vibe and loud heckling was conspicuously gone.
When I walked into the locker room, I glanced around, and almost everyone was looking my way. Everyone else was very interested in whatever gear they were putting on or adjusting. Even the equipment managers were suddenly very focused on their clipboards or, in one case, a helmet visor being tightened.
I pretended not to notice as I continued toward my stall.
As I started changing, people started chattering again, but the vibe was still subdued. Even those who chirped each other were quiet and half-hearted.
Awesome. I managed to kill my relationship and make the locker room unbearably awkward. I’m on a fucking roll today.
The guys who’d seen me in the hallway must’ve clocked that something was off and passed it on to the rest of the team, because they all gave me a wide berth. No comments about Avery and me hooking up. No comments about us bailing on our informal practice at the last second. Not a word.
I could only imagine what I looked like if all of them—even those who didn’t always pick up on social cues—intuited that they should leave the subject alone.
Great. Nothing saidI’m a goddamned messlike a whole room full of hockey players who were in possession of some juicy gossip but were conspicuously holding back their snark.
As we geared up, I noticed some of them sending texts and having hushed conversations as they showed each other screens.
If I had to guess, they were texting Avery to make sure he was okay. God, the guilt over that burrowed deep intomy chest; he was struggling enough lately. I justhadto pile this on him, too, didn’t I?
This day just kept getting better and better.
I managed to get through practice much the same way I’d made it from Sewickley to downtown Pittsburgh without dying—rote memory and autopilot. I held my own during our various drills, and though it wasn’t my best performance, I didn’t fuck up while the special teams practiced.
The guys didn’t keep their distance per se, but they were clearly nervous around me. Conversations were focused on hockey and nothing else.
It was Coach Tabakov who finally pulled me aside and faced the elephant in the locker room head-on. In the hallway, arms crossed over his jacket, he eyed me. “You’re not here today, Halls. What’s going on?”
I struggled to hold his gaze, and I finally gave up and stared at the concrete between our skates. “Just some… personal stuff.”
“Anything I should be aware of?”
Oh, he probably needed to know this one. Especially with Avery getting so close to being reactivated, the prudent thing to do would be to let Coach know that his top line center and right winger had broken up. And that they’d been together in the first place.
That maybe his top line center was bringing more problems to this team than anything, and maybe the no-move clause in that center’s contract needed to be revisited.
But I was anything but prudent right now. I was brittle and I was a coward, and I just shook my head. “No, Coach. It’s—I’ll have my head in the game tonight.”
I sensed the skepticism coming off him. When I looked up, though, I wasn’t ready for the concern that was also in his expression.
“Tell me honestly, Halls,” he said softly. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”
Ihaveto be. If I don’t have my shit together tonight, then…
Then I don’t know what’ll happen.
I swallowed the lump trying to rise in my throat. “I’ll be fine tonight.”
His expression hardened, but only slightly. “I need to know if I can count on you.” He gestured toward the locker room. “Iftheycan count on you.”
I nodded despite the roiling in my stomach. “By the time we suit up tonight, I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure if I was promising him, myself, or both.
But one way or another, ithadto be true.
I should’ve been settling in for my pregame nap, but I already knew that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I wandered my apartment, trying to figure out what to do besides talking to Avery, since that was obviously not an option.
Finally, I realized I needed some outside guidance, so I sent out an SOS to the only person I could think of to ask for advice. Thank God I had someone I could talk to about things like this, too. I’d teased him that he owed me after I’dfinallytalked him out of getting back together with that douchewaffle he’d been on-again off-again with all last year. The reality, though, was that he was a good friend. He knew me well, and I trusted his intuition about a lot of things,even if he was—with one exception—terrible at picking men to date.
