Not very long ago, the thought of carrying all this grief for even a moment longer had made me want to lie down and give up. Today, though, as my hands still trembled and my eyes still stung, the thought of missing Leif forever wasn’t as excruciating anymore. It would be a long, long time before thoughts of my best friend turned bittersweet, but I could finally believe that time would come.
I hurt a lot more now than when I’d walked into Shannon’s office today, but there was hope around the edges. Opening up that wound I’d been ignoring, grieving him in the way I’d desperately needed to but didn’t know how—it hurt like hell, but there was relief there too. That sense thatthere was no shame in having this pain and in needing to feel it this hard.
“I’m so glad I had him in my life,” I said shakily. “I really am. It just… I miss being able to think about him without…” I gestured at the tear that had slipped down my cheek, then wiped it away. “I guess that’s the price of having someone that amazing.”
“It is,” she said, her voice still gentle and soothing. “And as a society, we’re not supposed to feel this way over losing a friend. Men especially aren’t supposed to. But we do—including men—and sometimes the best thing we can do is give ourselvespermissionto really love and grieve our friends.”
I nodded slowly, swallowing against the ache in my throat.
This was hard. It hurt.
But for the first time since August, even as I hurt worse than I had in months, I could finally believe there was life after this.
After that therapy session, I went home and slept for three blissfully dreamless hours. I did that a lot after my sessions; they were cathartic and draining, and sometimes I just needed to faceplant for a while. I didn’t usually sleepquitethis hard afterward, but I’d been utterly drained.
A long nap, some lunch, and a few stupid internet videos later, I left the house again, but not for therapy or rehab. Though ice timedidkind of feel like unofficial therapy. I’d been staying conditioned as much as I could both on and off the ice, and though the club had explicitly said I wasnot barred from being around the team—something that happened during suspensions—I hadn’t been able to bring myself to join them. I still felt weird about everything. About leaving them high and dry. About everyone knowing I was in the assistance program. The thought of facing them, never mind joining them on the ice, made my stomach turn.
But Peyton had already seen me at my worst, so I felt okay about being around him right now. And he was willing to skate with me—he’d offered several times—so why the hell not? Though there was no game tonight, the team had practiced this morning, so this would be a light session, but that was fine.
Walking into the facility, I was still wrung out from therapy. It had been a good session, though. A hard one, but a good one. It had left me raw in ways that didn’t feel great, but I knew would help me heal. It was a little like having surgery to correct an injury—it sucked in the moment, and it wouldn’t fix everything overnight, but itwouldmake things better with time.
“I don’t even know if I have the energy to skate today,”I’d told Shannon at the end of our session.
“It’s okay if you don’t,”she’d said.“But from what you’ve been telling me, I suspect you’ll feel better after you’ve done some skating.”
We’d see, wouldn’t we?
Right now I had that feeling like the last thing in the world I wanted to do was skate or even work out. It felt a whole lot like arriving at a physical therapy appointment, knowing damn well that even if it was good for me, it was going to suck from start to finish.
But this wasn’t physical therapy, and I knew from experience that once I hit the ice, I’d shake thatoff.
When I stepped into the locker room, it was almost deserted.
Almost.
Peyton looked up from lacing his skates, and those blue eyes almost had me stumbling even before that brilliant smile came to life. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“It’s, um…” I dropped onto the bench by my stall. “I miss hockey, if that tells you anything.”
He chuckled, unaware of how gorgeous he was. “You’re a hockey player. If you’re not on the ice, you miss hockey. Full stop.”
I laughed. “Okay, yeah. You got me.” Sobering a little, I looked down as I untied my sneakers. “It’s been harder than when I’ve been out with an injury though, you know? Because, like, when I’m hurt, I can feel it. I can’t skate. I can’t play. Fine. This time?” I shook my head as I toed off one shoe.
“I get that,” he said softly, all the teasing gone. “I’m always climbing the walls during the off season.”
“Right? Especially when the playoffs are still going. So there’s still guys playing hockey while I’m not.”
“Exactly!” He laughed again. “Like when acertain teameliminated mine in the second round two years ago.”
I lifted my gaze, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see him shooting me a playful but pointed look. “What?” I shrugged innocently. “It’s not my fault you guys couldn’t get anything past Ziggy.”
“Ugh. Fucking brick wall.” He huffed with mock annoyance as he got up from the bench. “Not gonna lie, though—I’m much happier playing on his team than against it.”
“Tell me about it.” I stood and peeled off my hoody and T-shirt. “When we signed him, I was so damnrelieved.”
“They’re extending him, right?” Peyton sounded genuinely concerned. “We’re not going to let him become a free agent, are we?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t think there’s anyone on the roster Garywouldn’ttrade in order to free up cap space to pay Ziggy whatever salary he wants.”
