What have I done? The question echoes in my head. I’ve pushed away the one person who made me feel like maybe, there could be a life beyond hockey. A life worth living.
But it’s better this way, I tell myself. Better for her to be free to pursue her dreams without being tied to my sinking ship. Better for her to get out now before she gets in any deeper.
Sydney emerges from the bathroom, toiletry bag in hand. She doesn’t look at me as she tucks it into her overnight bag, already half-packed on the chair by the window.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask, desperate to break the suffocating silence.
“I’ve got it,” she says, still not meeting my gaze. “It’s not like I brought much.”
But she brought everything that matters. Laughter, warmth, good conversation. And I’m letting it all walk out the door.
She zips up her bag with finality, then stands there for a moment, looking around the room like she’s memorizing it.
Finally, her eyes land on me. “We’ll needto issue a joint statement. I'll cancel the family gym membership. I trust you'll cancel our Saturday night dinner reservation.”
“Sure,” I say, numb. I rise to my feet, my body moving without conscious thought. “I’ll walk you out.”
“That’s not necessary,” she says quickly. Too quickly.
“Please,” I say, hating the desperation in my voice. “Let me at least do that.”
She hesitates, then nods once. “Fine.”
The walk downstairs is silent, our footsteps loud on the wooden steps. I’m acutely aware of the space between us.
And then we’re at the front door, the moment of departure here. Sydney stands on the threshold, bag in hand, looking more shut down and checked out than I’ve ever seen her.
“Goodbye, Brooks.”
“Goodbye, Syd.” The words feel inadequate, pathetic in the face of everything I want to say but can’t. “Good luck with the interview. You’re going to blow them away.”
She nods, a quick jerk of her head, then she twists off the ring and hands it to me before turning to go.
Her resignation hurts worse than anger would have. I manage to say, “Drive safe.”
“Always do.”
And then she’s gone, walking down the porch steps without looking back. I stand in the doorway, watching as she gets into her car, starts the engine, backs out of the driveway. Only when her taillights disappear around the bend do I finally close the door, the quiet click of the latch sealing my decision.
I bury my face in my hands and let the truth wash over me in waves: I just let the best thing that’s ever happened to me walk out the door. And I did it on purpose.
The right thing has never felt so wrong.
28
Not So Happy Halloween
SYDNEY
The Stagger Inn is Halloween-central tonight, a horror show of sexy nurses grinding against zombie firefighters while “Monster Mash” blares from speakers. I tug at my red yarn wig, which feels like fire ants colonizing my scalp, and try not to make eye contact with the group of early twenty-somethings pointing and giggling at my Raggedy Ann disaster. Great. Even in a room full of monsters, I’m still the biggest freak.
“There she is! My favorite demented doll!” Zoe’s voice cuts through the automated cackling witch sitting on the bar. She slinks toward me in a skintight black leather catsuit that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, complete with ears, whiskers drawn on with eyeliner, and a tail that swishes behind her as she walks.
“I hate you right now.” I pull at the blue checkered dress Mom cobbled together from a tablecloth years ago. “You could have reminded me it was Halloween.”
“I texted you!” She hands me something that looks radioactive in a plastic cauldron-shaped cup. “Three times. Not my fault you’ve been hibernating, Syd Who Hid.”
I wince at the nickname she’s given me since my exit from Brooks’ life two days ago. “I’ve been busy. Preparing for LA.”
