But I couldn’t. Because Marco wasn’t ready.
So I just smiled and changed the subject.
That night’s game against Washington was a catastrophe.
Not for the team. We won 3–2. But for me personally? Terrible.
I was half a step slow all night. Missed passes I should have made. Lost battles I should have won. I was facilitating my own trade, one bad shift at a time.
In the hotel that night, I texted Marco.
Étienne
Played like shit
Marco
I watched. You weren’t that bad.
Étienne
I was terrible
Marco
You’ll do better on Friday.
I wanted to tell him I’d been awful because I was thinking about him instead of hockey. That missing him was affecting my performance. That I couldn’t concentrate when we were apart.
But saying that felt like admitting too much. Like revealing how dependent I’d become. I texted something more positive instead.
Étienne
Yeah. Friday will be better.
Then, before I could stop myself:
Étienne
I miss you.
Marco
Miss you too.
Étienne
How much?
Marco
Too much. Go to sleep. You need rest.
Étienne
Can’t sleep without you.
There was a long pause beforehis response.
