"Captain Moretti." He said it without looking back. "That's what you call me from now on."
Then he was gone.
I stood there alone, surrounded by the ghost of everything we'd been three days ago. My hands shook. My throat closed up. The lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too harsh, exposing every sharp edge of what had just happened.
Just physical.
A mistake.
Done.
I had known it was a possibility. I had known from that first kiss at the rink that Luca’s fear might win. But knowing and experiencing were different things. The space behind my ribs felt hollowed out, scraped clean, aching with every breath.
He had chosen the contract. The closet. The lie.
He had chosen everything except me.
I grabbed my gear bag with numb fingers. The hallway was mostly empty now, just a few guys lingering by the trainers' room. Nobody looked at me twice. Why would they? Nothinghad changed for them. The world kept spinning, practices kept happening, games kept coming.
Only I was different. Only I knew what it felt like to be wanted one moment and discarded the next.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with hands that wouldn't steady.
Mom:How is my superstar? Dad says you’re leading rookies in scoring!
I stared at the message. I tried to imagine responding with anything coherent. I tried to imagine explaining that yes, hockey was fine, the team was great, I was living my dream—and also the man I was falling for just told me I was a mistake and he’d rather be alone than risk being seen with me.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I deleted three different responses. Finally I typed:
Me:Everything is great. Talk tomorrow?
The lie was familiar now. Bitter but easy. Maybe Luca had the right idea after all—just keep lying until the truth didn't matter anymore.
I shouldered my bag and headed for the parking lot. The November air hit like a wall, cold enough to steal my breath. Or maybe that was just the hollow feeling in my chest, the one that kept expanding with every step away from the arena.
My truck was parked in the back corner of the lot, away from the clusters of expensive cars the veterans drove. I had been proud of that distance once. Proud to be the rookie who didn't presume, who stayed humble.
Now it just felt isolating.
I threw my bag in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. I sat there with my hands on the wheel, engine off, breathing fog into the cold air. My phone lit up again.
Jamie:Bar tonight? Whole line is going.
Me:Can't. Early skate tomorrow.
Another lie. There was no early skate. But the thought of sitting in a crowded bar, pretending to laugh at jokes was impossible.
The phone buzzed three more times. I turned it face down without looking.
Through the windshield, I watched Luca’s car pull out of its reserved spot near the entrance. The sleek black sedan screamed captain, leader, success. It paused at the lot exit. For a second, I thought maybe he would turn around and come back. Tell me he had panicked, that he didn't mean it.
The car turned left and disappeared into traffic.
I started my truck and drove home.
My apartment looked exactly the same as when I had left that morning—still barely furnished, still missing curtains, still feeling temporary despite two months of living here. I dropped my bag by the door and stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly exhausted down to my bones.
The couch called to me. I ignored it and headed for the shower instead.
