The silence was worse now. Louder, if that made any sense. Full of all the things I hadn't said.
I pulled out my phone, opened the browser, and stared at the search bar for a long time. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type in the same search I'd done a hundred times before. “Rook Wolves highlights.” But Dr. Lin's voice was still in my head, asking me to try. Just for a week. Just to see if I could.
I closed the browser. Put the phone face down on the coffee table. Turned on the TV to fill the silence, but I couldn't focus on what was playing. Couldn't focus on anything except the ache in my chest and the weight of all the things I'd never said.
I was still sitting there when the sun came up, staring at the wall and wondering how long I could keep this up before I finally broke.
CHAPTER FOUR
rook and roll
ROOK
Iwas standing in the middle of Coach Grant Sutherland's living room holding up a button-down shirt that I was ninety percent sure made me look like I was about to give a PowerPoint presentation on quarterly earnings, and Jace Hartley was laughing so hard he'd collapsed onto the couch.
“That's the one,” Jace managed between gasps. “Definitely wear that. Nothing says 'I've been searching for you for over a decade' like business casual.”
“Shut up.” I threw the shirt at him and it landed on his face, which only made him laugh harder. “You said to bring options.”
“I said bring options, not your entire wardrobe from a donor dinner.” Jace pulled the shirt off his face and tossed it onto the growing pile of rejected clothing on the coffee table. “Rook, you're going to a rock show in a dive bar, not a shareholders meeting.”
Coach looked up from where he was sitting in the armchair with his reading glasses on and a book in his lap, the picture of domestic calm despite the chaos happening three feet away from him. He'd been mostly quiet through the first twenty minutes of this disaster, occasionally glancing up to assess whatever I was holding and then going back to his book without comment. But now he was watching with that particular expression that meant he was about to say absolutely ridiculous and it was going to land harder than anything Jace had thrown at me.
“The gray sweater made you look like a divorced dad picking his kid up from soccer practice,” Coach said calmly, turning a page. “The black blazer was too formal. The blue shirt looked like you were applying for a mortgage. And that thing you just threw at Jace should be burned.”
Jace pointed at Coach in agreement. “See? Even my boyfriend and our coach thinks you're a fashion disaster.”
“I hate both of you.” I sat down on the arm of the couch and stared at the pile of clothes I'd brought over, feeling increasingly ridiculous about this entire situation. “I don't know why I thought this was a good idea.”
“Because you're panicking,” Jace said, and his voice went softer, losing the teasing edge. “Which is fair. This is a big deal.”
It was a big deal. Too big, maybe, which was why I'd shown up at their door an hour ago with a duffel bag full of clothes and a request that I'd tried to make sound casual but had probably come out closer to desperate. Jace had taken one look at my face and immediately ushered me inside, and Coach had glanced up from his book with that quiet understanding that made it clear he knew exactly what kind of crisis I was having.
Jace was the only person on the team who knew about Soren. I'd told him about a year ago, late one night after a game when we'd both been too wired to sleep and had ended up at some all-night diner talking about everything except hockey.
Jace had listened without judgment. We'd bonded over it in that specific way people did when they realized they weren't alone in their particular brand of heartbreak.
So when I'd called him this morning and told him the PI had found Soren, that he was playing a show tonight and I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to wear or do or say, Jace had immediately told me to come over. And now here I was, having a wardrobe crisis in their living room while Coach provided color commentary and Jace tried to save me from myself.
“I'm happy you found him,” Jace said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I really am. But are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to go tonight. You could wait, reach out some other way, give yourself more time to figure out what you want to say.”
“I've had over a decade to figure out what I want to say.” I rubbed my hands over my face and tried to breathe through the anxiety that had been sitting on my chest since yesterday. “And I still don't know. But if I don't go tonight, I'm just going to keep putting it off until I talk myself out of it completely.”
“What do you expect to happen when you see him?” Coach asked, and it wasn't a challenge, just a genuine question from someone who knew what it felt like to fight for something that mattered.
“I don't know.” I looked down at my hands, at the calluses from years of holding a hockey stick, and tried to find words for the mess in my head. “I just need to see him. Need to know that he's real and not just a picture on my phone. After that, I'll figure out the rest.”
Coach closed his book and set it on the side table, giving me his full attention for the first time since I'd arrived. “Don't go in there expecting the boy you lost. You're going to meet the man who's there now, and he might not be who you remember.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “But I still have to go.”
“Then let's make sure you don't look like a idiot when you do.” Jace stood up and started digging through the pile of clothes again, tossing aside the button-downs and sweaters with ruthless efficiency. “Where's that dark green henley you wore to Dmitri's birthday thing? That one looked good on you.”
“I didn't bring it.”
“Of course you didn't.” Jace threw his hands up in exasperation. “Okay, new plan. You're wearing jeans, not slacks, because again, rock show, not a corporate retreat. And we're going with this.” He pulled a plain black t-shirt out of the pile and held it up. “Simple, doesn't try too hard, shows off the fact that you spend half your life in the gym without being obnoxious about it.”
“It's just a black t-shirt.”
