I suspected he’d intended to have some wine with dinner, too. There’d been a bottle of white on the counter, but at some point while he’d been cooking, the bottle disappeared.
As we ate, I gestured with my fork at his glass, which was three-quarters full of Pepsi. “If you’d rather have wine, it really doesn’t bother me.”
“I…” Peyton chewed his lip. “That’s good to know, I just… I don’t know.” He picked up some salad on his fork. “It didn’t feel right, drinking in front of you while you’re still going through the program.”
My face heated as I picked at my salmon. “I appreciate it. I do. But… really. It’s fine.” I sighed. “Honestly, the alcohol hasn’t been that much of a problem. I was self-medicating, yes, but… Well, it’s like you said—I’m not an alcoholic, but if I’d gone on like that much longer, I would’ve been one.”
He swallowed. “I’m glad you’re doing it, then. The program, I mean.”
“Me too.”
We held each other’s gazes, and the moment threatened to get painfully awkward.
“So, um.” I cleared my throat and focused on my food. “How has practice been going?” Not the smoothest change of subject ever, but thank God, Peyton ran with it.
“Good. It’s good. The penalty kill isn’t doing so hot, so Coach has us doing a ton of special teams work.”
My head snapped up. “What’s going on with them?” I paused, then sheepishly added, “I, um… I haven’t been watching the games much.” Much? More like“at all.”Being away from hockey and my teammates hurt, and I was afraid to hear what the commentators were saying about me.
Peyton cut off a piece of salmon with his fork. “It’s hard to say what the issue is. They’ve been doing exactly what they’re supposed to do, so—I don’t know, maybe the other teams have just figured them out? Whatever the problem is, they’ve allowed six power play goals in the last four games.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. The second unit has been especially rough, but honestly, I think it’s just lack of experience. Both the power play and penalty kill have been shuffled around a bit because we’re down some players, so we’ve got some guys up from the farm team, and…” He waved his hand. “They’re young, you know?”
My stomach somersaulted. “A couple of players missing from the power play.” I nudged my food with my fork. “Including one who’s in rehab.”
Peyton jumped as if he’d forgotten I was one of the missing players he’d been referring to. “Avery.” He shook his head. “This isn’t on you. We’re also missing Willie becausehe has the flu, Mix was down until yesterday with the same, and Lavoie is probably done for the season because of his elbow.”
“So it’s the worst possible time for me to be?—”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” he said gently. “We’re holding the line. The penalty kill’s struggling right now, and we’ve had some tough losses throughout the season, but we’re doing all right in the standings. We’re still in the playoff conversation.” He gave his head another shake. “We’ve got this while you recover, same as we’ve got it while Willie and Mix recover.”
Half a dozen arguments flew to the tip of my tongue.They’re sick and injured—I’m not. I should’ve held on until the rest of the roster was healthy. The team shouldn’t have to do all this extra work because I couldn’t keep it together.I could hear my therapists’ voices in the back of my mind, reminding me I wasn’t being selfish or neglecting my team. I could hear my coach and GM telling me they supported me and wanted me to take care of myself. I could hear everyone and their mother reassuring me that this wasn’t weakness or failure. It was grief, plain and simple, and I was doing what was best for myselfandthe team by addressing it.
“Avery,” Peyton said again. “We’ve got this. Everyone’s working hard and stepping up to the challenge, and you’re going to come back in a few weeks as an even better version of yourself.” He smiled. “It’ll all be worth it.”
I exhaled. “God, I hope so. I guess it’s good I’ve been practicing.” I frowned as I scratched the back of my neck. “Not sure how long it’ll take to get my timing back once I’m with the team again, but…”
“Well, we don’t have tojustpractice one-on-one.”
I locked eyes with him.
Peyton stared at his plate and half-shrugged. “The otherguys—if you want to skate with more than just me, I know I can get some to join us. Eminem and Baddy would definitely be down.”
“They…” I sat back in my chair, and I somehow I managed to whisper, “Really?”
“Absolutely. They all miss you. Every time we have a team meeting, someone’s asking about when you’ll be back.”
“They do?”
He nodded, and he smiled. “The only reason I didn’t tell them we were skating today was I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if a bunch of them stuck around to see you.”
My throat tightened around my breath. “You think they would have?”
“I’d bet money on it.”
“Whoa.”
