The weeks since Leif’s death had been a blur of horrible emotions and some of the worst moments of my life. I was still having nightmares the moment the doctor’s grim words had registered with Rachel.
“I’m so very sorry, Mrs. Erlandsson,”the man had told her.
What followed had been the most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking sound I’d ever heard, and every night since, I hoped I wouldn’t hear it again. So far, no luck.
Like my teammates and their wives, I’d spent as much time as I could with Rachel. We’d helped with the kids. Kept up with the yard and the house. Sometimes I thought the only thing keeping any of us moving was helping to keep Leif’s family moving. I’d take whatever I could get.
Every day since, I’d dreaded the start of camp. I’d kept up my workouts if only to have an outlet and a distraction, but for the first time in my life, I hadn’t wanted to come back to the ice. More than once, in my absolute lowest moments, I’d seriously considered asking my agent to find some way to get me out of mycontract.
All it had taken each time was one look at Rachel and the kids. They were already taking the loss so hard. They needed to see us strong. They needed to see the Whiskey Rebels—the team Leif had poured so much of himself into—rallying and moving forward so maybe they too could move forward.
I wasn’t sure I could do that, but I was damn sure going to try.
Returning to this place where I’d spent so much time and made so many memories—most of them with Leif—had been harder than I’d expected. Putting on my gear. Existing in that room where nothing was left of him but his nameplate. Leaning my stick in his stall—God, that had nearly destroyed me.
A couple of seasons ago, Leif had been out with a broken wrist. That had been tough, but at least it had been finite. We’d all known he was coming back. And he was such a goddamned rink rat, he’d been there almost every day anyway just to hang out.
This absence wasn’t going anywhere.
But Ihadto move forward. I had to do this. If nothing else, for Leif’s memory and for his family. For our team.
So I’d pulled myself out of bed. Dragged myself to the rink. Forced myself into my gear. Made myself get out to the ice.
And…
And for the first time in weeks, I did feel better. Not good—good was a long way off—but better. More centered. More like me.
The comfortable burn of muscles getting back into the swing of skating. The familiar presence of my stick through my gloves. The vibration of the puck landing on my blade. The satisfaction of watching the my shot go deep into theback of the net, even when there was no goaltender to stop it.
I took some slow breaths as I warmed up for practice. For all I’d felt like my entire world was off-kilter, the ice beneath my feet was level and solid. It wasn’t like everything was right again, but the taste of cold rink air on my tongue gave me that first inkling of hope that maybe things would get better.
I’d lost a friend in major juniors. We hadn’t been as close as Leif and me, but his death had still hit me hard. The grief had seemed insurmountable. Normal had been gone forever. But over time… little by little…
I still thought about Alex a lot, and I still missed him, but life had gone on. There’d been happiness and joy again, and I could think about him now without choking up.
Was it too much to hope I’d get there with Leif, too?
“You know what Alex would say if he could see us now, right?”Leif had asked when we’d been sharing a behind-closed-doors and very manly cry after the funeral.
Wiping my eyes, I’d managed a halfhearted chuckle. My first laugh in days.“That we’re a couple of pussies?”
“Exactly.”Leif had sniffed.“Judgy-ass bitch.”
At that, we’d both burst out laughing. We’d still been crying, but we’d laughed, and it had felt good.
I exhaled a cloud and skated a small, lazy circle as I scanned the faces of my teammates and the prospects.
Is there anybody here I can have that manly cry with this time?
Right then, my gaze snagged on one of the new players, and my breath hitched.
In all the chaos, I’d forgotten about Peyton Hall. That we’d acquired him during the off season.
Before I’d come out here, we’d made eye contactacross the locker room and held it for a few seconds, and suddenly I’d been back on the golf course with Leif. There’d been a wager on the table and good-natured threats and his promise to troll me for my crush until the end of time.
The sight of Peyton Hall wearing a Pittsburgh Whiskey Rebels logo in our familiar practice facility had only carved the emptiness deeper. Every time I so much as caught a glimpse of him, I heard echoes of the chirps Leif and I had exchanged. I saw the void where there should have been my friend’s smirking face making me blush without saying a word, just flicking his eyes toward Hall and chuckling. Instead of snarky remarks about how much I wanted our new teammate, I heard painful silence.
And I felt howlittleI wanted the man.
