The first time she called me, I had stubbed my toe so hard that the next day, I had to see the team doctor to make sure it wasn’t broken.I’d been coming out of the shower and saw her name flashing on the screen.Not wanting to miss the call, I dashed to the bed and hit the wooden legs of a small table.
I’d answered the phone in time, but in the highest-pitched voice that has ever come out of me.I had to ask her for a moment to compose myself.She’d laughed for minutes.
I may have been in incredible pain, but I love the sound of her laugh, so it was kind of worth it.
The calls are never long.Not late-night intimate conversations that turn into us both falling asleep on the line, but small, real ones.We have conversations that matter.Her voice on the line for five minutes during her break.Seven minutes while she waited in the school pickup line.Ten minutes on her day off just to say she’d survived the grocery store.
Every time the phone lights up with her name, something warm and stupid flickers under my ribs.Once my morning text is sent to her, I place my cell face down on the table and look up at Max.
What were you saying, you whiny bastard?I honestly don’t know how Sabrina puts up with your ass.
A slice of toast hits me in the face.
***
We have a morning skate in Winnipeg before the afternoon plane to Calgary.Lots of energy, lots of chirping.And apparently, lots of teammates sensing something is up.
Halfway through practice, as I’m stretching out my hip flexors and legs again, Mason skates by and stops at my shoulder.
What’s up with you?You’re weird lately,he says.
I blink up at him, not stopping what I’m doing.This non-compliment has me smile-frowning.Thanks?
I mean it in a supportive way.Not that anything is wrong.You’ve just looked…peaceful lately.Not letting any of the losses get to you.
Peaceful,I repeat, liking that I’m giving off that energy.
He frowns.It’s unsettling.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I get up on my skates.I’m literally practicing.Staying in my lane.
Exactly.And you’re not overthinking your angles.Or muttering to yourself.It’s freakin’ strange, dude.Is this new Zen because of that woman we met in the tunnel?Eddie?
I try to block my flinch, but Mason sees it instantly.
Oh my God,he breathes, slowing to a glide.It is!I was just spouting shit.But seriously?
I keep my eyes on the puck.Focus on your shift, Mason.
Come on, man,he whines.You have to share details.I told you about Victoria as soon as we became a thing.
You asshole, you left out the very big detail that you two werefaking datingbefore shit got real.Now, get out of my crease,I mutter.
Minor detail before major love.He skates off, cackling.
Two minutes later, Max drifts behind the net.
Crane.Word?
No.I have an inkling about what he wants to talk about, and I am done hearing about it.I am the same old me.Yes, maybe more focused.And sure, a tiny bit more chill.But this shouldn’t be groundbreaking conversation.
Too bad.He leans on his stick.You’re doing the thing.
What thing?
The soft-focus stare.The I-might-smile-for-no-reason thing.
The hell is he talking about?I wasn’t—
