Evan spun around, his eyes widening when they landed on me. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Watching you hurt yourself,” I said, making my way down to the edge of the rink. “You are pushing yourself too hard.”
He chuckled. “You don’t know what happens when I don’t.”
I looked at him, meeting his eyes. This was a different man than the one I’d spent Sunday with. This man was unapproachable and guarded.
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?”
I froze. I hadn’t meant to pry, and for a moment I thought he might answer me, that he might let me in, but he shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he answered, retreating into himself again. “It’s nothing.”
“Evan, I watched you. You’re compensating for something.”
I took a step closer to the boards, my instincts telling me to approach him with something gentle and less in your face. “You’re protecting your right side.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” He barked.
“Is it your shoulder?”
The moment the words slipped from my lips, the annoyed look on his face changed, and I saw terror and panic wash over him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a sports medicine specialist, Evan. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You said it yourself. I am good at what I do, otherwise the team wouldn’t have hired me.”
I kept my voice gentle and non-threatening. I didn’t want him to feel attacked or afraid. I wanted him to know it was okay to come to me.
“I’ve been watching you. At first, I thought maybe it was fatigue, but it’s not. It’s pain, and you are making it worse. I saw the game from last season.”
Immediately, he turned away from me and grabbed another stick from the pile he’d placed on the ice, and skated out to the center of the rink.
“Just…go home, Bianca. It’s late.”
“Cut the shit,” I demanded, making my way out to the center of the ice. “How long has it been hurting?” I wasn’t backing down. Not until he admitted it to me.
“I said…I’m fine,” he said, getting in my face.
“You’re not. I saw you miss that shot, the same shot that you’ve barely ever missed. Whatever you’re hiding?—”
“I can’t!” he screamed, taking off across the ice.
When he turned around and looked at me, I could see the look in his eyes. He was exhausted and terrified, and it hit me like a punch to my chest.
“I can’t admit…if I stop, if I go on the injured list, if anyone knows I’m not…” He broke away, his jaw tense as he shoved away on the ice, moving away from me. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t see me this way.”
“Like what? Struggling? Human?” I whispered.
“Failing.” The word hung in the air, brutal and honest. “Losing the only thing that makes me worth a damn.”
The moment those words fell from his lips, something broke inside me. I knew the fear he was feeling. I’d seen it. Hell, I think I’d even felt it.
“Hockey isn’t the only thing that makes you worthy. Maybe, Evan, I want to see you like this. Maybe I am tired of only seeing the strong you,” I breathed.
Evan inhaled sharply. The sound echoed in the empty rink. For a moment, we both stood there, two people who weren’t supposed to look at one another or care about each other, and definitely weren’t supposed to feel anything at all because we’d both built walls so high that we forgot what it was like to allow people to see us.
I could feel myself slowly moving toward him, wanting to feel his lips and hands on me. I wanted to make things better for him. I wanted to take his pain away, but as soon as I got closeenough, Evan tore his gaze from mine, his stance changing, his shoulders sloped as if he’d been defeated.
