“I saw it in her eyes. She’s not fine,” Cole adds.
Cooper’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “Whatever this is between you two, it’s not over. Neither of you is acting like it’s over.”
Their words should loosen something inside. Instead, everything presses harder, like the honesty in the room is pushing against a dam that’s about to give.
I nod because I don’t trust my voice. My eyes sting, the warning hitting too late. Cole must see it, because his arm slips away, giving me room without leaving. Beau shifts his weight but stays close. Cooper keeps his hand where it is, steady and grounding, waiting to see which direction I fall.
My vision blurs. I blink hard. The sting sharpens. “I just…”
I can hear my heartbeat and the hitch in my breath even though I’m clenching my jaw to keep it steady. The word falls apart in my mouth. I drag in a slow, painful breath.
“It hurts,” I admit quietly. “Every part of this hurts.”
Cooper’s grip on my shoulder tightens, not to hold me back, but to hold me together. “You are allowed to feel that.”
The kindness in those words twists something in my chest so hard I almost fold forward. A small, broken sound slips out of me before I can swallow it down. Barely more than a breath, but enough for all three of them to hear.
Cooper stays still, anchored at my side, his voice steady for all of us. “Take a second.”
I bend forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tight my fingers tremble. I bow my head until it almost touches the space between my thighs andbreathe. My shoulders shake once, a small tremor I can’t stop. One tear hits the mat between my skates. I blink the rest back so hard it hurts.
No one comments or reaches for me. They give me those few seconds of being wrecked and raw without trying to fix it or pretend they didn’t see. By the time I sit up again, my throat is shredded, and my hands are numb. I scrub a palm over my face, wiping away what I can.
“I don’t know how to fix any of this. Not what is going on with Alycia. Not my game. Nothing,” I say, voice low and frayed.
Cooper shifts until he’s fully shoulder to shoulder with me, not as a coach, but as the brother who walked me across frozen ponds and taught me how to get up.
“You don’t have to fix it tonight.”
The words land softly. Soft hurts almost as much as everything else.
I nod, more from exhaustion than agreement, and push to my feet. I don’t trust my voice, so I don’t use it. I strip off my gear, shove it into my bag, and head for the door. Cole and Beau step back. Their eyes follow, but they don’t try to stop me.
The hallway outside is colder than it should be, lit by long fluorescent strips that hum overhead. The adrenaline has burned off, leaving a hollow ache humming through every inch of me. I pull a slow breath into my lungs. It barely reaches the ache lodged behind my sternum.
By the time I push through the heavy door to theplayer entrance, the cold hits me head-on. I stop just outside, brace a hand on the railing, and bow my head. The world finally goes quiet enough for everything I’ve been holding back to shove to the surface.
The ache under my ribs pulses, stretching tight with every heartbeat until it feels like my body is too small to hold it. I lower myself onto the concrete step beside the door. I breathe in. Again. Again. The breaths stop being functional.
My chest grows heavier, the strain under my ribs so tight it feels like something is splintering from the inside. I grip my hands together, fingers locked until the skin over my knuckles turns white. I don’t know if it’s the cold or the emptiness, but the truth slips through the thin place I have been trying to patch.
I miss her.
The thought hits hard, knocking the air I have left out of my lungs. The cold finds every weak spot and sinks into my bones. None of it hurts as much as the truth unraveling inside me.
I fold forward, shoulders rounding, elbows on my knees. My hands are locked so tightly my fingers have gone numb, but if I loosen my grip, even a little, I know the ache will spill out everywhere.
The world goes soft around the edges. I try to blink it clear. It only sharpens the grief pressing against my ribs. I think I have it under control for half a heartbeat. Then tears slip hot against the cold, tracking down my jaw and disappearing into my collar.
I drag in a sharp breath, trying to swallow it back.The ache fills every hollow space until I am shaking with the effort of holding it in. It’s not sobbing, not the way most people think of it. Just simple, soul-deep grief. The kind that doesn’t make sense on paper because she isn’t mine to lose, yet I lost her anyway.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to shove the emotion back into the places I keep buried. The cold bites my skin, but it’s not enough to numb what’s clawing its way through me. A sound escapes, low and rough, echoing into the empty lot as my shoulders heave. The tears keep coming, silent and relentless, each one proof of how long I’ve been pretending to stay upright while everything inside me collapses.
I don’t know how long I sit there, hunched over with my hands covering my face, letting the cold and the ache fight for space. Eventually, my spine drags me upright again. I swipe at my face with the back of my hand. The air feels thinner when I inhale. The world feels farther away when I exhale.
In the quiet that follows, with no brothers, no drills, no cameras, no pretending, the truth settles with a finality that steals the rest of my breath.
I don't know how to be okay without her.
