This was it. I wound up and released.
The puck sailed high. Clean miss.
Do I even know how to play hockey anymore?
Painter scooped the rebound and was gone. By the time I hit the bench for a line change, my chest was heaving so hard I couldn’t even swear. The noise blurred. Coach Murphy was talking, but I didn’t hear what he was saying.
Jace nudged my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah.” It was an automatic answer. A lie.
I bent over and stared at the ice while my legs shook. Was I fucking up because I couldn’t do any better? Still struggling for air, I couldn’t even scoff. My head hadn’t been there all night.
I kept seeing Pack’s face at the bakery, his eyes warning me not to argue about talking after the playoffs. Since then, things had gotten worse. The Warriors were in their own playoff series, but that didn’t explain his careful texts and polite goodnights. There was a growing distance between us that he never explained.
The Lynx scored on a power play, pulling me out of my thoughts. They were up 4–2. A little later, with a minute left to play, our line was back on the ice. Since Murphy had pulled Kai, we had an extra attacker on the ice, and we pushed hard for a goal as the clock wound down.
Noah rang the puck off the crossbar. Theo shot off the rebound, but it bounced off a post and skidded away. We were all praying for a miracle that never came.
The final buzzer cut through the arena’s noise. Lynx sticks flew into the air as their bench jumped over the boards. I dropped to one knee, steadying myself with a hand on the ice. We’d lost the series, and even in the chaos, I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d lost something even more important.
We flew home from Montreal that night. Kai was devastated, staring straight ahead with his hood up, his face blank. We took turns telling him we won as a team and lost as one. He’d stopped thirty-one of the Lynxes’ thirty-five shots, and if the rest of ushad played as well, the flight home would’ve been completely different.
My phone buzzed right before landing. Pack. The Warriors would play their game seven against Pittsburgh in two days, so he was at home.
PACK: Sorry it took me so long to write but I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. I’m so damn sorry you guys lost. I really thought you’d pull it off. I watched the game with some of the boys, and we were all shocked. Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?
I stared at the screen longer than I should have.
Anything he could do?Yes, talk to me. Stop sounding like someone who’s afraid of saying the wrong things.
I typed, deleted, and typed again.
NICO: Hey, handsome. Thanks for watching. We’re almost home. Everyone’s pretty shook, but we’ll get through it. Right now, the best thing you can do is keep your head locked in and beat the hell out of Pittsburgh on Thursday. If one of us wins, we both do. I miss you like crazy.
My phone buzzed again while we taxied.
PACK: Miss you too, babe. Want to have a video call tomorrow? We don’t have morning skate, and I’m free all day. Text me when you wake up and we’ll figure it out.
Text him?Not “call me,” or “I’ll call you.” Just text. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
NICO: I’d love that. May want to talk a long time because I’m missing you hard tonight.
A few seconds passed.
PACK: We’ll talk as long as you want. Try to get some sleep.
There it was again, warm and sincere, but distant enough to leave space for doubt.
NICO: You too, babe.
I stared out at the terminal lights coming into view.
He’s not pulling away, but he isn’t pulling me closer, either.
In my apartment, I sat on the edge of the bed holding my phone. Pack cared. I knew that. The problem wasn’t trust, but momentum. We kept circling the same questions without answering them, and every time we waited, the distance hurt a little more.
Fuck this. I didn’t want another careful conversation or scheduled video call. If we were building something real, we needed to be in the same room. We had to find the balls to say what we actually meant.
