“It has nothing to do with Ember. Honestly, I don’t know if I really like Ember or if it was just nice to think about something other than hockey for once.”
“So, it’s all because of hockey?”
Every road leads back to hockey. Because my dadwashockey. And if I brought anyone else into that, my mistakes wouldn’t be my mistakes. He would find someone to blame for my head not being in the game. Brinley… my mom… now Ember.
“Or is it all because of Dad?”
I chug the rest of my beer and throw the bottle in the trash.
“Dad has taken away enough from both of us. I feel like I’ve barely had a personal life in years.”
For as long as I can remember, it’s been drilled into me that you can’t be successful if you have people holding you back, but my team shows me all the time that he’s wrong. Brooks has a girlfriend, Zeke gets laid on the daily, and I need to stop finding excuses to not enjoy myself. Putting my personal life on the back burner is no longer an option.
And it ends tonight.
I’m hungover. Or possibly still drunk. I don’t think I’ve been hungover since high school. And after my dad found out about it, he made me run drills until I was throwing up in the bushes. After that, I had a cutoff when it came to drinking—one.
I don’t know how many drinks I had last night to make me feel like this, but my head is throbbing like a motherfucker. I groan, lifting my hands to massage my temples, hoping to relieve the pain. It doesn’t. I sigh, stretching out my arms until I feel something firm under my left one.
Suddenly, I’m sober.
When I thought about living for something other than hockey, starting last night, I didn’t mean to jump into bed with the first girl I encountered. I’m not the guy that almost kisses one girl and then jumps into bed with another. That’s not me. Or at least it wasn’t. I’m still trying to figure out these strange feelings I have around Ember, and sleeping with someone else won’t help my case.
I sit up, rubbing my hands over my eyes. My shirt is off, which doesn’t mean anything; I never sleep with a shirt on.
But it could also mean everything.
I take a breath, closing my eyes, as I turn to my left. I count internally before opening my eyes.
One.
Two.
Three.
My eyes fling open, and weight falls off my shoulders. I feel the pressure release from my chest as I see the person lying in bed next to me—Brinley. She’s sleeping on top of the covers, a blanket from my closet falling over her shoulders.
She’s still wearing her clothes from last night even though she has a quarter of my dresser for her clothes. She didn’t even take off her makeup, which isn’t like her.
I squeeze her shoulder before standing up and heading to the shower. It’s the longest shower I’ve taken in a while, and it’s not even because I’m jerking off. I don’t know if I have the energy this morning to do that.
Part of me hoped a long shower would rinse the hangover down the drain, but it didn’t. It woke me up but didn’t get rid of the pounding headache.
By the time I’m out of the shower and dressed, Brinley’s previously unconscious body is beginning to shift.
“Did you break your two-drink promise?” I wonder, sitting down on the end of the bed.
“No,” she whispers, sitting up. “I stopped at two.”
She runs a hand through her hair before pulling it up and out of her face.
“Were you crying?” Without the hair blocking her face, I can see the black streaks running down her cheeks.
“I’m fine,” she says, rolling out on the opposite side of the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Brin,” I catch up to her, grabbing her shoulder, “what happened?”
“Nothing, it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
