Lucas’s jaw drops, his head whipping towards me. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” I laugh. “So instead, I drove three hours back into the city and went straight to the nearest tattoo shop. I didn’t know what I wanted, so I let the artist do whatever.”
“And they had to focus on you, you felt seen after feeling invisible.”
I nod, “yeah.”
“Lucas told me about that. I didn’t want to bring it up because it felt like something just for the two of you, but I’m happy you’re pushing yourself.” Claire’s head leans on mine, “Are you going to try and sort things out with Johnny?”
Steph smiles sadly, “he really misses you.”
“I miss him too sometimes, but I don’t think we’re ever going to figure our shit out.”
twenty-six
DAVIS
Keep fucking going, I tell myself.
Wind rips past my ears, muffled by my helmet as I push myself harder and harder. The puck is just ahead, I can make it there before them, I can fucking do this.
But Blair beats me to it.
He makes it there before I do, and all I can think is that I’m failing at this just like I failed with Sasha.
These last couple of weeks have sucked without her, but I’m right back to where I was a couple of months ago. I don’t have the balls to talk to her, to figure out how I can make this right.
IfI can make it right.
Sasha Price may never speak to me again, and I don’t fucking blame her.
I don’t regret going after Claire that night, she needed me in that moment, but I do regret not giving Sasha some sort of explanation, or a promise that we’d figure things out. I just let her endthings.
Technically, I ended things, but we could have tried harder.
Ishould have tried harder.
Because even though I went twenty-two years without her in my life, these last fifty-six days have felt worse than any of those days combined.
Back then, I had no idea what I was missing, and now I do.
She kept the light on, she kept me from falling.
“Davis!” Coach yells from the bench, motioning me to come over. “You do know we’re going to the championships in a couple of days, right?”
“I know Coach.”
He assesses me for a second, “then why are you acting like you’ve never put on a pair of skates before?” His face goes red, the anger and frustration he feels towards my performance lately finally coming to a head. “I don’t know what you need to do to get your head on straight, but I need you to do it. Whatever’s going on between you and your girl can wait.”
“How do you know it’s got to do with Sasha?” I pause, “actually, don’t answer that.”
It doesn’t really matter how he knows.
He’s right, I need to focus. This is my last chance to catch any scout’s eye, my last chance to accomplish my dreams. I need this.
So I put my head down and push myself to the brink of exhaustion. Every breath hurts, every breath feels like a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
All of this —hockey, achieving my dreams— means nothing if she’s not there with me.
