He glances at me and smirks. “You’re dying to know, aren’t you?”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“It’s fine.”
“Was it a bad break up?”
“I’d say it wasn’t the breakup, it was the context.”
“What do you mean?”
“She broke it off right after my accident. Said that her entire podcast was based on being a ‘girlfriend of an athlete’ so...”
My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“We were drifting apart long before that,” Nat admits. “But I was comfortable and didn’t want to have a hard conversation. And she…”
“She liked being a hockey player’s girlfriend, so it didn’t matter.”
How infuriating.
I generally don’t wish ill on people, but I hope all of Layla’s podcast equipment short-circuits and then catches on fire.
“I’ve come to peace with the way it shook out. Recovery was brutal,” Nat admits. “Between all the surgeries and the physical therapy, I wouldn’t have wanted to drag a loved one through all that darkness. It was a really low time for me.”
“That’s when the people who love you should show up the most,” I grind out. “Through the low times. That’s how you know who’s standing by your side and who’s not.” I scoff in disgust.“You are asaint, Nat. I would have blasted her online and dragged her through the mud.”
“I was no saint, Riles. Trust me. I’m talking like this in hindsight, but in the moment I was really angry. Though I will say, I used that anger as fuel to get better.”
“Did you want to get better… so you could get her back?”
He shakes his head. “Looking back, we weren’t compatible and we both knew it. Now, I can honestly say I wish her the best.”
My nostrils flare.
I stare straight ahead.
Nat might have made peace with that awful woman, but I do not feel the same.
If Nat’s ex-girlfriend ever crosses my path, she’s going to regret it.
Chapter Sixteen
NATHAN
The next day, I wake before the crack of dawn, drag myself out of bed and hit the shower.
Hair wet and coffee brewing in the background, I pick up my laptop and load the Lucky Strikers game footage.
“Alright,” I mumble to the darkness and rub my bleary eyes, “let’s get this show on the road.”
The keyboard makes a clacking sound as my finger connects with the ‘play’ button.
“It’s the Lucky Strikers against the Iron Bay Polars…”the announcer booms in my earbuds while the crowd in the video cheers.
I throttle a yawn and lean forward with my pen handy.
Yesterday, I promised Riley that I wouldn’t give up on hockey. But it seems more likely that hockey plans to give up on me. The team’s response to my fall on the ice made one thing clear—if I don’t changesomething, I might lose my spot in the Lucky Strikers training camp.
