Unfortunately, he catches it.
Practice somehow gets worse after that.
By the timewe finally hit the locker room, I’m exhausted from fighting my own head.
The room buzzes around me—gear hitting the floor, showers running, teammates talking.
Meanwhile, I sit at my stall staring blankly at my skates while untying them.
Connor drops onto the bench beside me. “You gonna tell us what’s wrong, or should we start guessing?”
“Maybe he committed tax fraud,” Jake offers.
Ford leans against the next stall. “You’ve looked miserable all day.”
“That’s because he is miserable,” Connor says.
Cole points at me from across the room. “You’ve got theemotional energy of a man watching his wife leave on the Titanic.”
I close my eyes briefly.
That silence alone tells them everything.
The locker room slowly quiets.
Connor’s expression shifts first. “Oh.”
Ford straightens slightly.
Jake lowers his towel.
Finally, Connor asks carefully, “What happened?”
I stare down at my gloves for a second before answering quietly. “She got a job offer.”
The words feel wrong in my mouth. Like saying them out loud somehow makes everything more real.
“Florida?” Ford asks.
I nod once.
“Promotion,” I mutter. “Relocation.”
Nobody jokes now.
Nobody chirps.
Because they all know exactly what Peyton means to me.
“She’d be stupid not to take it,” I say finally.
The second the words leave my mouth, something ugly twists in my chest.
Because I hate them. Hate how true they sound.
Connor stares at me like I’ve personally offended him. “You don’t actually believe that.”
I shrug tightly. “She had a whole life before me.”
