I’ve been so focused on being Jack Murphy that I’ve forgotten I’m just Jack. The guy with a brain that can break. A career that can and will end.
And then what?
That rink project with Summit is supposed to be my way out. My future.
And Izzy.
God, Izzy.
That’s what actually matters. The only thing that’s ever mattered in all of this mess, and I still managed to screw it up.
My teammates pack up their gear and shower. Someone mentions that their family’s coming on Friday for the holidays. Another shares that his girlfriend is flying in from San Francisco. Their voices all blur together until Bosko’s cuts through.
“What are you going to do about Izzy?” He stuffs Princess Beanie, the shaggy purple teddy bear Lily gave him, back into his duffel. She made him pinkie swear at the start of the season to always have the bear in his locker so he won’t forget her when he’s on the ice. And he’s such a good dad, he does it.
“What about her?”
“She was really good for you. You’re just going to give up?”
“Not sure I deserve her.”
There’s a long pause. Then Bosko shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tight. “You finally found someone who can put up with you, wants to cheer you on, and that’s it?” Bosko leans forward. “Never knew you to be a quitter.”
“I’m not.”
“Murphy, you just got your bell rung because you’re too stubborn to deal with your shit. Fix it before you do something even stupider, and it’s too late.”
Silence wraps around me as everyone files out, leaving me behind with only the buzz of the overhead lights and the smell of sweat and ice. I sit there, staring at the floor until movement catches my eye. Alex stands in front of me, swinging the keys to his Land Rover around his index finger.
“Come on.”
“What?”
“I’m driving you home, bud.”
“I’m fine. I can?—”
“Murph, you just hit the boards headfirst because you’re too fucked up over a girl to skate straight. You’re not driving. Let’s go.”
I want to argue, but instead, I grab my bag and follow him out to the private parking garage.
We drive in silence for the first five minutes. Alex’s jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying tostrangle it. The city streaks past us, everything blurry as the windows fog and a cool, icy drizzle falls.
“You know, we’ve been friends for a while, but do you know what the worst part is?” he asks suddenly, tapping the brakes a little too fast at the red light. I grip the door handle, shooting him an annoyed glare.
“What?”
“Watching you throw yourself into the boards because you’re too chickenshit to deal with your feelings.” His voice cracks, just once. “Meanwhile, I’d give anything to fix mine.”
I blink, my brain still stubbornly too sluggish to catch up.
“Molly thinks I don’t care enough about…” He gestures at the windshield, like the word is somewhere out there in the dark. “Everything. Maybe she’s right.”
Alex and Molly always seemed solid. Hell, I was the best man at their wedding three years ago.
“She says I’m married to hockey. That I care more about wins than her, than the idea of a family.” His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I keep telling her, after this season. Just one more run for the Cup, and I’ll be ready to try.”
He exhales hard, and I can almost hear it—the sound of something breaking. It’s the same sound I made in Izzy’s living room when I realized we were done. The same sound I made watching her drive off in my brother’s truck at the club.
