Because I wasn’t just fighting for points on a scoreboard—I was fighting for us. For something real. And right now, it felt like I was the only one showing up for that part of the game.
She had to know—I needed her to know—that I wasn’t going anywhere. Not when it got messy. Not when it got dark. I didn’t back down. Ever.
Even if it meant breaking through that wall she’d started to build again since yesterday’s shitstorm hit.
Even if it meant facing off with demons she wasn’t ready to name.
I’d fight every one of them for her.
But she had to let me.
I stepped out into the hallway, leaving the roar of the locker room behind me. The door clicked shut, but the noise still echoed in my skull—too much noise, too many distractions, and none of it mattered.
Only she did.
I pulled out my phone, fingers already dialing before my brain caught up. The line rang once, twice—then she answered.
“Nick?”
Her voice was off. Tight. Like she was trying too hard to sound normal. I didn’t hear the warmth I usually did. I heard distance. I heard… walls.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone even, careful. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired,” she said quickly, like she had the answer ready. “Maybe overwhelmed with the press. Aren't you supposed to be on the ice?"
Bullshit.
Not all of it—but the way she said it? That wasn’t just media stress. I could hear the caution, the way her words tiptoed around something bigger.
“You sure you’re okay?” I pressed, not ready to let it go. I needed her to give me more. Anything.
Another pause. “Yeah.” Just that. Then, “Just tired. Come home when you’re done.”
The way she said it… it hit different. Like she wanted me there, but didn’t believe it would help. Like she needed me to come home and simultaneously couldn’t handle it if I did.
That kind of helplessness pissed me off—not at her, but at whatever was making her feel like she had to carry this shit alone.
“Are you sure? Because I can?—”
“No.” Her voice was soft, but final. “I just need a little space right now.”
That word. Space.
It was like she’d sucker-punched me through the phone.
I stared down at the floor, jaw tight, breathing hard through my nose like that would keep the frustration from spilling out.
But I didn’t argue. I couldn’t—not when she was already this closed off.
“Okay,” I said after a beat, voice low and steady. “But if you need anything—you call me. Anything, Ken.”
“Of course.”
She hung up with a quiet goodbye, and I stood there like an idiot, phone still pressed to my ear long after the line went dead.
She was slipping again. I could feel it.
And I wasn’t about to let her drown without a fight.
