He was obviously in no mood to hear anything else, so I deleted what I’d typed and sent something else.
NICO: Good luck. I’m here anytime.
Since then, I’d stared at the texts so many times that the words barely registered anymore. With spectacular lack of success, my brain tried to rearrange them into something better.
Miss you already, maybe.
Can’t wait to see you.That would have worked.
Or best of all,We’re not over.
When nothing changed on the screen, I dropped the phone beside me and closed my eyes. The apartment was too quiet. Usually, I liked the silence, but now it was suffocating me.
I got up because staying in bed made things worse. My chest was empty, and my temples throbbed like someone was driving nails into them. I went through my usual routine: making coffee, showering, and staring at myself in the mirror, wondering why I had to look so very bad.
Get it together. He didn’t say it was over.
He also didn’t say it wasn’t.
The coffee tasted burnt. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I opened the fridge and found nothing but a sad row of leftovers. I slammed the door shut and checked my phone again. Blank.
Fuck me. I can’t live like this.
I opened our messages and typed, “Hey, how are you holding up?” My insides vibrated as my thumbs hovered over the screen. At the last minute, I didn’t tap send. Pack had asked for space,and I agreed. If I reached out now and he didn’t answer, I might go under. So I erased the text.
A sudden buzz sent the phone flying out of my hand, and I barely caught it.
Could it be Pack?
Sadly, it was only a reminder about the ice time I’d booked for the guys to skate. Hoping it would make me feel better to see them, I threw on some sweats, grabbed my gear bag, and headed out.
At the rink, Jace was taping his stick while Theo and Noah laced their skates. Kai was sitting in his stall, talking staccato-style to McKay about some new game mechanic.
“Rosco,” Jace called. “You alive?”
“Define alive.” I sounded normal, which felt like another lie.
The ice felt strange. Usually, the first push was pleasure, but today it seemed like hard work. Every stride dragged. We took it easy, skating laps and practicing stops and starts. My body moved the same way it had for twenty-three years of hockey, so that wasn’t the problem. The issue was my distracted mind, constantly pulling me back to Pack’s house.
Too fast. Need space. After playoffs.
I caught an edge near the boards and almost fell. The pain was sharp enough to make me hiss, and when I stopped, the guys were already circling back.
“You awake, Rosco?” Theo asked. “Looks like you’re skating in your sleep.”
“Just tired. Long week.”
Noah coasted backward and tilted his head. “You look like shit. Are you eating?”
“Yeah.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sometimes.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
