“Yeah.”
“This doesn’t mean?—”
“I know what it doesn’t mean. Close your eyes, Moxie.”
She does, and I hold her, listening to her breathing slow and deepen.
She falls asleep around 4 AM, exhausted from crying and worry and whatever we were doing before the phone rang.
I should leave. Should go back to my room, pack for the morning flight, maintain whatever boundaries we’re supposed to have.
But she’s holding onto my shirt even in sleep, and I can’t make myself move.
At 6 AM, I carefully extract myself. She mumbles something but doesn’t wake. I cover her with the hotel comforter, grab my room key, and head for the door.
The hallway is bright after the darkness of her room.
Rodriguez is there, ice bucket in hand, but his usual grin is replaced with concern.
“She okay?”
“Not even a little.”
He nods slowly. “Team flight’s at ten. Barrett moved the departure time so everyone could sleep off the loss.”
“We’ll be there.”
“We?” He doesn’t make it sound like a question, just an observation.
“I’m making sure she gets home.”
“That’s...” He pauses. “That’s good. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“No, she shouldn’t.”
Rodriguez shifts the ice bucket. “Nobody blames you for missing games. We see how hard this is.”
“We’re 0-3 without me.”
“We’re 0-3 without our full team. You’re getting healthy. That’s what matters.”
I look at him, sometimes I forget he’s not just the kid making TikToks.
“Thanks.”
“Get some sleep, Cap. Four hours until wheels up.”
I head back to my room, but I don’t sleep.
I pack, shower, and think about how she felt against me. First when she was touching me, wanting me, her hand on me through myshorts making me forget every reason we shouldn’t. Then later when she was breaking apart in my arms, holding onto me like I was the only solid thing left in her world.
October twenty-third.
Ten days until I can play again.
But right now, hockey feels very far away compared to the woman down the hall who’s about to lose everything.
13
