Athletes are, by nature, superstitious. If something works, like Coach says, we keep it going until it doesn’t work anymore.
But for me, what’s been working is that I’m with Ashley. I sleep better. I smile more. I panic less. She’s always on my side, and I feel her support even when she’s not with me, like this week.
We’ve talked daily. Just like I promised her.
And I can’t wait to get home to see her tonight.
Her new social media videos have made me feel like I’m right there with her some nights. She’s funny and authentic and never tries to be somebody else. Her Wild West stories narrated in her southern drawl are hilarious and warm. I’m biased, of course, but she’s definitely really good at her job.
When I reach the locker room, before hitting the showers, I check my phone.
This is a new thing for me. In the past, I would wait to look at my phone because I’d be expecting dozens of messages from women wanting to hook up after the game. It overwhelmed me, I realize now, but it’s like I didn’t know how to pivot away from that mess I’d willingly gotten myself into. It wasn’t the women’s fault. It was entirely mine. I was afraid of commitment, so I felt safer having multiple women to flirt with and potentially meet up with.
But since Ashley moved to Montana, I’ve deleted all those women from my contacts. If they texted, I told them I was no longer available. And if they didn’t listen, I blocked them.
My phone is so much cleaner now, and looking at it doesn’t overwhelm me anymore. It’s filled with cute pictures of Louie and Ashley that Ash has sent me since I’ve been gone. They make me smile.
As I scroll through my phone now, I take a second to check Ashley’s socials.
Sure enough, she and Haley are sitting in the cabin, pumping their fists and pointing at the TV screen, which has the Arizona arena front and center.
“We won!” Haley shouts into the camera.
Ashley laughs, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. I could swear she smiles right at me when she says, “Hurry home to Montana so you can celebrate with yourtruefans.”
I shoot her off a quick text.On my way, darling.
As a team, we celebrate in the locker room before filing out to get on the flight home.
I’m about to step onto the team plane when Pete calls me.
“Got it,” he says as soon as I answer.
I freeze mid-step, and Max and Arch file past me. Max glances back, but I give him the thumbs-up, and he continues on into the plane.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask Peter, realizing my voice is actually shaking.
“Your instincts were on point, Storm. I’m texting you a copy of the report now.”
I clutch the phone. “So, the space heater…”
“Wasn’t in the kid’s bedroom. It was out in the living room by the old man’s feet. The living room curtains are what caught fire.”
Thank Christ.
I release the breath I was holding. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Pete.”
“Glad to help, especially a good family like yours. I always liked your daddy. Was an absolute crime what happened to him. You boys did okay for yourselves, though.”
“Yes, we did.”
“Your dad would be proud, son.”
I don’t cry even though the tears threaten behind my eyelids.
I don’t break down even though a part of me wants to. The part of me that’s so fucking tired of being stoic and strong and resolute. Sometimes, I just want to give in to the grief I feel on the daily about all the things my parents are missing by not being here. About all the moments I regret not expressing how much I appreciated and loved them when they were still alive.
Halfway up the steps to the team plane, I stand there on the phone with a virtual stranger, and I fight back the tears I never let flow.
