He winces, a frown pulling on his lips. “Shit.” He blows out a breath, slowly nodding his head as he secures the velcro on his chest protector. “Do you think you scared her?”
“I think so.” I suck in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it as I bend forward and tie my laces. “I don’t think she was expecting it. Hell… I wasn’t either.”
Theo straps on his elbow pads and grabs his jersey, shrugging it on while I move onto the next piece of my gear. I’m finally dressed from the waist down, so it’s at least a start.
A lot of the guys are already dressed, their chatter carrying with them as they funnel out of the locker room.
“You don’t really have the best track record,” Theo starts, shrugging his shoulders as he grabs his helmet. “I can see why she’d be a little afraid of it.”
“I’m not going to hurt her,” I say without hesitation, shrugging my shoulders and tossing my hands out in front of me, like it’s a given. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. I just—I don’t know how to get her to believe me.”
Theo chews on the inside of his cheek for a second, his eyes drifting off as if he’s deep in thought. “You just have to give her the time and the space. Don’t disappear. Don’t take off like you normally do. Just be consistent. Committed.”
I swallow hard, strapping my last elbow pad. “What if she’s just looking for a way out?”
“You mean if she’s trying to pull an old fashioned Matty Ford move?” He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “You’re panicking, bud. If she wanted a way out, she’d just walk now.”
His words settle around me like a cloak of security. He’s right. There’s no reason why she would need the time if there was no point to it in the end. There’s nothing tethering the two of us together. There’s no reason for her to hang around if it’s not something she truly needs to process.
Theo pulls on his helmet as one of the coaches blows his whistle in the distance. “Come on. You can spiral after we get off the ice.”
I pull on my jersey, quickly standing up as I slip my helmet onto my head, my hands in my gloves, and grab my stick. Theo waits for me, even though he knows there’s a chance we’ll both end up having to practice without pucks if we’re late.
The guys are still skating around, warming up their legs while the coaches are standing in a circle in the center of the rink. The cold air hits my lungs as soon as our blades bite into the ice.
No one acknowledges Theo and me being two minutes later than everyone else. No one says anything and practice commences as normal. My lungs are tight and my movements are a bit stiff. It’s like I can’t get my legs under me, no matter how hard I try.
I’m not even thinking about Jade at this point, although I think it’s just the lingering uncertainty after last night. It has me all kinds of fucked up.
We end up in a half ice scrimmage toward the end of practice and I miss a pass that I shouldn’t have missed. My stick wasn’t on the ice and my head was too far up my ass at this point.
“They'll make you a healthy scratch tomorrow night,” Theo mutters as he skates past me. “Get your head in the game, dude.”
I suck in a breath, nodding as I shake my head at myself. He’s right. I can’t afford to lose any playing time. I need to lock in and do what I need to do. If I’m going to stand strong and steady with Jade, I need to be able to do the same with my team.
Accountability and reliability is everything—on and off the ice.
Something inside me clicks and I put my head down and get to work. It’s like a flip of a switch and I’m back in it, battling for the puck. By the time practice is over, I’m soaked in sweat, breathless, and a bit lighter.
There’s something about losing myself in the game that has a way of grounding me.
“Matteo,” Coach Ford calls to me as I’m grabbing my water bottle to follow the rest of the guys back into the dressing room. “A second?”
Shit. He’s going to tell me I’m benched for tomorrow’s game.
“Yeah, sure Coach,” I say, bobbing my head as I follow him onto the bench. Everyone else is back in the dressing room and the Zamboni drives onto the ice. “What’s going on?”
“You seemed a bit distracted for the first half of practice.” He pauses for a second, his expression softening. “Everything okay? You and your dad sorted out your differences, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, a subtle relief washing over me. He seems more concerned rather than disappointed, so perhaps my chances of being benched are slim. “We talked about everything and we’re good now.”
He studies me for a beat. “Alright, well, if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m always here. So are your parents. We’re all here for you, Matteo. We’ve all got your back.”
Emotion wells in my throat. It’s not often that Uncle Caleb lets his emotions show. It’s not that he isn’t supportive, he’s just reserved. It’s a vast difference from my dad, who has no issue telling you how he feels.
“Actually, can I ask you something?”
Uncle Caleb nods his head. “Yeah, of course.”
