I nod, forcing myself to focus. But it’s so fucking hard.
Every time I’m away from Heather and April, part of my brain is with them, wondering if they’re safe and hoping the security is enough.
Two days later, I have one of the worst practices of my career.
I’m off on every save. My positioning is sloppy. My reaction time is too slow. Dunaway pulls me aside twice, and both times I insist I’m fine.
Everyone on the ice with me can tell that’s a lie.
By the end of practice, Dunaway has had enough.
“Parker, you’re done. Hit the showers.”
I don’t argue, because there’s nothing I can say in my defense. I just head for the locker room and avoid making eye contact with anyone along the way.
I strip off my gear piece by piece like I’ve done a million times before, but my brain is already thinking ahead to the drive home. Seeing Heather will set my mind at ease, at least.
The guys trickle in over the next twenty minutes, and I’m grateful that most of them keep their distance while I shower and change.
The locker room gradually empties, and I’m just pulling on my shirt when I hear footsteps approaching.
“Do you have a minute?” Noah asks.
He’s standing a few feet away when I look up. The locker room is empty now except for the two of us.
“Sure.”
He takes a seat on the bench across from me. “Margo has been talking to Heather. She’s worried—not just for Heather, but the whole situation. It sounds like things are a little crazy over there.”
My back stiffens, and I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling defensive. I know Margo and Noah only want what’s best for Heather and April, just like I know they’re both in my corner too. Whatever Noah is getting at, I have no doubt that it’s coming from a good place with good intentions.
“Heather is doing okay,” I say. “She’s strong. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for.”
“That kind of strength seems to run in the family.” Noah leans forward. “And I’m glad she’s doing okay, but how are you holding up?”
I exhale a long breath, wishing there was some quick, easy way out of this conversation. There isn’t, so I just have to get through it.
“I know I did a bad job at practice today,” I start, because that much is undeniable. “Worst I’ve had in… I don’t know. Years, probably. Maybe ever.”
Noah doesn’t try to argue that point.
“And that’s not me. That’s not who I am. I’m the guy who shows up ready, who never lets anything interfere with the game. I’m supposed to be focused and locked in, twenty-four-seven.”
“You’ve always been like a machine out there,” Noah says, nodding. “And I mean that in the best way possible.”
“Yeah, well.” I let out a bitter laugh. “It turns out I was a machine on the ice because I felt like a machine on the inside. I’d turned off my emotions. I didn’t allow any outside distractions, and I didn’t have anyone to worry about except myself.”
“And now?”
“And now I feel like I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t know how to handle this.” I gesture vaguely, trying to encompass everything I’m feeling. “This constant pull on my heart, my attention, and my thoughts at the same time is driving me crazy. I’m supposed to be thinking about positioning and angles and save percentages, but instead I’m thinking about Heather. About whether she’s okay. Whether April is safe, and whether I’ve done enough to protect them.”
Noah nods slowly, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I used to be able to compartmentalize everything. Hockey was hockey. Life was life. I kept them separate, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t just turn off the part of me that cares about Heather and April when I step on the ice.”
“Would you want to?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
