I walk back into my apartment and drop on the couch. The silence causes my ears to buzz, the light over the table suddenly far too bright. Everything is too much and not enough.
I startle as my phone starts ringing on the arm of the couch next to me. I’m not sure how long I sat there, just staring out the window.
“Hi, Dad,” I say. “Everything okay?” We already had our normal weekly call, and my dad only calls outside of those when I’ve done something that needs to be managed immediately.
Which has never happened on a day when I don’t have a game. Usually, it’s when I have back-to-back games, and he feels a decision I made was egregious enough that it needs to be stopped before the next game. Fortunately, those have been decreasing in frequency. But I suppose we are almost to the playoffs, and things are getting real.
“You should hard-match the second pair against their top line tomorrow.”
Of course. Just wanted to make sure I’d thought of everything.
“Yes,” I reply. “I discussed that with our team, but we decided it wasn’t necessary for this game.”
“You should reconsider.”
“Our lines can handle Braun. We don’t need to hard-match him. Plus, without home ice advantage, I’m not sure we’ll be able to match him without changing on the fly.”
“You have a better chance of winning if you keep your first pair on him. And you need this win, Finley.”
“I know, Dad.” We have to win all three of our final games to make the playoffs, and if we don’t… well, I may be looking for a new job. Though if this guilt keeps eating away at my stomach, I’m going to need a new one anyway.
As if he can read my thoughts, Dad says, “If you don’t win, they’re going to cut you loose, Finley. They hired you out of desperation and kept you around this year out of some sense of loyalty. But if you don’t win, I don’t think they’re going to keep you around. You’ve got to be prepared, Finley. You won’t be at Denver forever, but if you don’t see the writing on the wall, you won’t have someplace to land.”
“I think we can win these.”
“Finley, you can’t justthink. You need to know. This impacts how people see you, and by default, me. This isn’t just your reputation relying on this. It’s mine as well.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Good. Then I’ll let you get back to watching film. Watch the Titans again. You’ll see that I’m right.”
We hang up, and I pull up the Titans film, reconsidering every decision my team made about how we play. That said, I don’t know if I should trust my decision-making right now.
As I sit alone in my apartment that night, watching hour after hour of game film, alone, I can’t seem to ease the hollow feeling that has taken up residence in my chest.
Chapter 37
Beckett
“Jesus,Beckett,”Robsaysas he climbs onto the first bus the next day. “I was shocked when they said someone had already loaded up. You’re headed to the arena this early?”
“Yeah. Want to make sure I’m good and warm before the game.” I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes. I know two and a half hours before the game is early to warm up, but I need to ramp up slow and steady. Plus, then I have space. I have quiet. I have control.
Rob nods, settling into his seat as I click play on the game film I’m watching on my phone.
The pang of longing hits me as soon as the players on the ice start to move. Every day since Finley told me we have to go back to a fully professional relationship has been torture. To be in the same room as her. To hear her pre-game speeches. To listen to her game analysis. To catch glimpses of her dark hair around each corner at the arena. It’s torture seeing her every day and pretending I don’t care about her. Forcing myself to act like sheisn’t even my friend, when it feels like she’s captured a part of my soul.
It’s excruciating.
And the worst part is, I can’t even be mad at her. Because I understand. What we did was reckless. Stupid.
And fucking amazing.
And now hockey, my one and only refuge from the storm of torment inside me, is a constant reminder of the woman I lost—the one I might never have truly had to begin with. So I’m forcing myself to focus more. No distractions. To burrow so deeply into my routines that no one and nothing can touch me.
It’s kind of working.
Already in my workout clothes, I head straight to the training room, intent on spending ample time on my mobility work. It’s all part of my new-and-improved plan. The room is blissfully quiet, the only sound my breathing timed with my movement.
