You care about him.
Not him. Her.
I’ve been caring about her for weeks and didn’t even know it. The way I watched for her on the ice. The way I noticed when she was tired, when she was hurting, when she was playing through something she shouldn’t have. The way I stepped in front of that hit against the Eagles without thinking.
The way my hands shook when she went down tonight.
I thought it was teammate loyalty. Camaraderie. The bond you build with someone who plays on your line.
It wasn’t.
It was her.
It’s always been her.
There was nowhere else for me to play.
I think about what that means.
She didn’t just want to play. Sheneededto play.
The way I need it. The way hockey is the only thing that makes sense when everything else falls apart.
She’s been surviving on borrowed time. And I’ve been playing the best hockey of my life beside her.
I think about her face when I walked out.
The tears she tried to hide. How she said my name like she was already losing me.
She wasn’t trying to hurt me.
I know that now. The anger is still there - a low burn in my chest - but underneath it, there’s something else.
Understanding.
She didn’t do this to me. She did it for herself. For the game. For the chance to feel what I get to feel every day without thinking about it.
I think about what I’d do if someone took hockey away from me. If I had to watch from the stands while other people played. If the only way back onto the ice was to lie.
I don’t know if I’d have the courage to do what she did.
The clock hits midnight.
I’m still staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow - today - we have two more games.
She’ll be there.
Lee Shaw. Leonora. Whoever she is.
She’ll be on the ice beside me, passing me the puck, reading my moves, doing the thing she loves more than anything.
And I’ll have to figure out how to play beside her without falling apart.
I don’t know if I can.
LEONORA
