Well, and Devin.
I’m aching to talk to her, even though I don’t have a clue what I’d say. I want to tell her I’m proud of what she’s built. That I understand now, finally, what it’s like when your body betrays you in ways you can’t control. That seeing her tonight, even for those few moments, felt like finding something I didn’t know I’d been searching for.
Not that it matters. The way she looked at me inside, she’d probably prefer it if I were in a grave than anywhere else.
“This way to the secret back way.” Niall jerks his head, and he guides me down the other end of the alley, toward a quieter street.
Still, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder once more at the busy street. One more sighting of Devin and I might be able to convince myself that life isn’t playing a cruel joke by bringing me to this town, but instead it’s giving me another shot at something great.
She doesn’t show, though, and I have no choice but to keep walking.
Chapter Three
Devin
I speed-walk through the airport, my carry-on bouncing against my hip as I dodge families with gaggles of kids, little dogs in carriers, and slow walkers who seem to be enjoying the view of the kiosks more than anything else. The smell of overpriced coffee and cinnamon rolls follows me past the food court.
Reaching my gate, I finally heave a sigh of relief. The flight isn’t boarding for twenty more minutes, but I can never relax until my butt is in my seat. That familiar pre-flight anxiety loosens its grip just a little.
Finding a chair close to the windows, I pull out my earbuds and pop them in. A light snow is coming down, tiny flakes catching the runway lights, making the morning look even darker than six-thirty should be. It’ll be even colder and snowier in Minnesota, but I’m ready for it. If I forgot to pack my snow boots or extra thermal underwear, they’ll be under my bed at my dad’s house.
Stuffing my hands into my hoodie, I surveythe people waiting around me. It’s more stress than excitement for the upcoming holidays, with plenty of red-faced parents at their wits’ end. A couple of boys about five years old run past, their light-up sneakers flashing, and I smile to myself. In a few hours, I’ll be reunited with Jemma and the rest of the family. While traveling three days before Christmas is less than ideal, being with my twin, my mom, my dad and his partner makes it all worthwhile.
Checking the time, I open my email on my phone, prepared to catch up on messages. There’s nothing, though. Of course. The inbox stares back empty except for automated holiday greetings.
Everything, not just my clinic, is closed. Pine Island Physical Therapy is locked up tight. There probably won’t be any emails or calls for the next week, though once the New Year’s gates open we’ll be up to our noses in post-holiday referrals.
Usually, I relish the break. Right now, though, it feels like a yawning abyss stretched before me, threatening to suck me in. It would be one thing if I could fully chill out—read a book, knit, listen to a podcast. I can’t even think of doing anything like that, though, because I’m too distracted by one thing.
By one person.
My finger hovers over the browser icon. I’ve been so good. Five whole years of not looking him up. But seeing him yesterday at the pizzeria, those crystal blue eyes...
Screw it. The temptation is too strong.
Opening the browser on my phone, I type in Oliver’s name before I can second guess it. My heart pounds as the search results load. I glance around like someone might catch me in the act. Just one little peek... Just enough to know what he’s doing in Portsmouth...
What comes up makes my mouth go dry.
Shattered wrist... last game of the season... Out for good...
The headlines blur together.Star Forward’s Career Ends inDevastating Fall.Paxton’s Final Game: A Tragic End to a Promising Career.
Oliver’s pro hockey career is over. That’s what he’s doing in New Hampshire.
Chewing on my bottom lip hard enough to taste copper, I read faster, scrolling through article after article as if rushing through them will alleviate the shame over being curious about him at all. Apparently, he hasn’t played in almost two years, a wrist injury in the last game of the season taking him out permanently. Multiple surgeries. Months of physical therapy. Since then, he’s been completely out of the public eye.
There’s not even a mention anywhere about him taking a coaching position at Portsmouth High School. No press release, no feel-good story about giving back to the community.
Is that intentional? Is he trying to disappear?
God, he must be devastated. Hockey was his oxygen, his religion, his reason for existing. When we were together, his hockey career was everything to him.
I keep reading the articles about Oliver’s injury when something jumps out in one of them. The article mentions an investigation into what caused the injury. Apparently, some of his fans didn’t believe it was an accident.
Sure enough, in the comments at the bottom of the article people are speculating about what happened. They know that there was an issue with the mechanism that holds the blade into his skate causing the blade to loosen. Throughout the game, the blade loosened little by little until he took a sharp turn on the outside edge of the blade and it caused him to take a nasty fall. That mechanism being loose is rare, but not unheard of. Ultimately, no foul play or tampering could be proven, and the investigation was dropped.
I purse my lips. What the hell? Why am I feeling sorry for him? That’s right—his hockey careerwaseverything to him; it came way above me. To the point where if I missed a gamebecause of a chronic fatigue flare, he belittled me for it. Called me weak. Dramatic.
