What sucks most of all is the wedge the breakup drove between me and my brother. I never told him why I ended thingswith his friend and teammate because something Johnny said when I told him we were done stuck with me.
You think Ryan doesn’t know what’s up? Every player messes around.
My heart beats hard and my breathing comes in tight, quick pulls of air just thinking about the ways he would manipulate me. I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on slowing my anxious breathing with meditation exercises, then squeeze my eyelids when I’m unable to focus.
“Screw this.” I flip the stuffy covers off.
There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. So much for my wins tonight. The pride I felt for being able to go to the game dwindles.
After throwing on a pair of sweats and a plain black hoodie, I pull my hair into a ponytail and grab my grandfather’s faded baseball cap. The hat alone brings a small comfort. I always snagged it from him whenever me and Ryan had sleepovers with our grandparents and wore it around their farm. He gifted it to me when I started college. I brush my fingertips over the embroidered Donnelly Dairy logo that’s gone soft and frayed with age.
Once it’s tugged down low, I pocket my keys, my phone, and keep a sharp cat-shaped safety keychain in my hand just in case. Heston Lake is a safe enough town, but I’m still a girl walking alone after dark. There have also been a few reports of break ins around campus.
When I’m too wound up, I have to move. The jittery sensation that vibrates in my muscles is too impossible to shake without going for a late night walk to clear the racing thoughts from my head. I hate it when my brain won’t just shut off.
In the moment I’m fine, then I end up overanalyzing if I said the right thing or acted weird.
This is the only way I’ve learned to cope so I don’t spend a sleepless night of tossing and turning laying in bed alone with my anxiety picking apart every memory on loop.
On my way out, I text Reagan to let her know where I am and turn on location sharing so she’ll be able to track me. We’ve always got each other’s back.
Most of campus is quiet after midnight with a few stragglers here and there. One of the fraternity houses is having a party. The thumping music fades behind me as I head off campus toward the square at the center of town.
I love walking this way. The buildings all have a historic charm that feels cozy, plus my favorite coffee shop sits between a local family-owned bookshop and a small art gallery.
Clocktower Brew House got its name for the old tower at the top of the building with a clock face. There are photos inside the coffee shop from the town’s records showing the different uses for the building through the years dating back almost to colonial times.
My head feels clearer already. As I reach the end of the block, a cat emerges from the shadows and meows at me. I grin. This is even better than my walk.
“Hi, kitty,” I whisper.
Approaching slowly so I don’t startle it, I crouch down with my hand outstretched. The cat sniffs me briefly before purring and rubbing against my hand. My mood perks up as I stroke its soft fur.
“No collar. Are you a stray?” I laugh at the sound it makes in response like we’re having an actual conversation. “You’re definitely well fed. Look at your belly.”
The cat flops to the pavement and rolls on its back, wriggling back and forth. I can’t resist taking out my phone to snap a few photos.
Animals? One hundred percent better than people in most cases.
“I could pet you all night. Everyone at Merrywood Farms would love you. I’ll show them your picture when I go in for work this week.”
I’ve always loved animals, but it was my grandfather who made me understand how therapeutic they can be. It’s why I’ve built my psychology and physical therapy degree around animal-assisted therapies. Part of that is thanks to Merrywood Farms, a wellness and rescue farm that offers a variety of animal activities.
The cat’s ears prick, then flick in the direction of the houses on the street connected to the square. I think I hear someone calling for it and shaking a food bowl. The cat twines around my leg before bounding off.
Feeling much better, I cut my walk short and head back towards campus.
FOUR
EASTON
After my Tuesday morning workout,I hustle across campus to make it in time for my post-gym treat. The team’s nutritionist stays on us about our intake during the season. I adhere to the recommendations closer than some of the other guys because I’m serious about this. It’s all part of playing my best, starting with how I fuel myself.
But sometimes a man just needs a donut.
Coach has been handing our asses to us on the ice to make up for the loss against Elmwood on Friday, despite securing a W for Saturday’s home game. Not one guy is slacking. We’re shaping up for the next games on the schedule this weekend. Skating with these guys makes me a better player because we all want to earn our next win.
The pastel-colored food truck comes into view. It only parks on campus for a short window on certain days every other month. I rub my stomach in anticipation.
