I exhale.
Was it a date?
It sure felt like one. No teammates, no pretense, no “this is just two people with nothing better to do.”
There was an intention. Or at least something close to that.
I rub my face with both hands and sit up, elbows on my knees, as I stare at the minimally decorated hotel room.
Get a grip.
I don’t do expressions or emotions well. On the ice, things are clear. You make a decision and you commit, then you live with the outcome. Off the ice… I think I’d rather run systems than ask Violet a simple question.
Did I have an amazing time?
Yes. Annoyingly so. I thought maybe I’d get it out of my system if I went to dinner with her. Maybe that wasn’t my intention when I first made the plans to go with her, but looking back, that’s the only explanation why I put myself out there.
Though that’s not what happened.
Violet made me laugh without trying. She didn’t fill the silence just to fill it. She was asking questions with the purpose of listening, not simply replying. A few times, I caught myself actually talking about myself and my past.
Like, actually putting myself out there. And not once did I try to pull it all back.
My phone is sitting on my nightstand, and I’m too afraid to check it for fear she hasn’t texted. The disappointment scares me more than it should.
Holding my breath like I’m about to step off a cliff, I tap the screen to wake up the phone.
Texts are littering my background photo of a hockey rink, but none of my notifications are from her. They’re from the nurse at the care facility, my coach, and my teammates.
I guess I could text her.
Last night was great. I’d like to see you again. Was that a date, by the way?
Not a chance in hell I’m saying any of those things. And I shouldn’t even be thinking about this stuff until after the game. I need my focus, to be locked in, so it’s best to just be a waffle and put those thoughts in one of the little compartments made for butter.
Why do I get the feeling that’s something Violet would say?
Is she rubbing off on me already?
I see a text from Paige asking if I want to hit the arcade after the game today. My knee-jerk reaction is to say no, but I’m here with my team, and we need to be bonding.
A small flame ignites in my chest; the thought is almost a bit much for me. So before I can back out, I start typing.
Skye:Sure. Mind if I bring a friend?
Fuck. That was stupid.
I don’t even know if Violet would want to go. Or if she can. She seems to be enjoying her time out exploring Milan, based on how she described her adventures to me. And when she told me about her attempt at ordering a coffee in Italian, I actually cackled. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.
Since before Keisha was diagnosed.
Paige:Oooooo! Care to share a few details?
I stay silent. Paige knows I won't give up any information. Talking about Violet would feel like peeling my skin off, and it would sting twice as bad if I did, only for Violet not to show.
Paige:Yeah, I didn’t figure. I’ll ask again after the game.
I can’t help but smirk at Paige’s text. She sure is relentless when it comes to getting into my brain. I give her credit for trying.
