“At least I’m trying though. We started couples therapy last week. I showed up. You? You had something good, and you ran.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Oh, not telling her you loved her? That’s running, man.”
Damn it. I should never have told him about that.
I slump back in my seat, and the car goes quiet except for the wipers sweeping over the windshield. I stare at the blur of headlights in the rain as we merge onto Storrow.
He’s right. He’s absolutely right.
“My scans are clean.” The words come out before I can change my mind. “But I still can’t shake these wicked headaches. The light, the noise—it’s like my brain is trying to vibrate out of my skull. Sometimes, I lose words mid-sentence, or my hands shake, and I have to pretend I’m fine.” I exhale, rolling my head over to look at my best friend. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep hiding it.”
We pull up outside my building, the quiet so loud between us.
“Coach, hell, even Bosko, I can understand. But you weren’t going to say anything to me?”
“I don’t want the team to bench me. I want to be the one who decides when it’s done.” My jaw tightens. “But there’s too much to lose now, if I haven’t fucked it up enough.”
“It’s not like I’m going to snitch on you, but fuck, man. You can’t hide that. Hockey is one thing. We all live for this game. But you can’t chance killing yourself because you’re too proud?—”
“Scared,” I correct. “Scared shitless,” I scoff.
“That’s why you didn’t fight tonight?”
“Yeah.”
He drums his fingers over the steering wheel for another long minute. “Promise me you’re going to figure it out.”
“I’m trying.” I bump my fist against his shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.” I jump out to grab my bag from the back seat, every movement stiff.
“Murphy.” Alex twists in his seat, his face shadowed in the dashboard glow. “Don’t waste this. Some of us don’t get second chances.”
The soft crack in his voice wedges its way into my chest. He’s not lecturing now; it’s a plea.
“You and Molly gonna be okay?”
He runs his hand over his face. “I don’t know.”
I grip the door, keeping my balance. “Alex.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. Not just for the ride. For… caring.”
He nods once. “That’s what friends do, Murphy. They show up. Now go rest. Call me if you need anything.”
Upstairs, my penthouse doesn’t feel right when I push through the door. I think I hate it now. It’s too big, too… clean. I miss the sound of her laughing in the kitchen, her dancing around my living room to ABBA. Her stack of books is still by the ottoman, spines creased. She was still at the beginning of the book on top of the stack. I wonder if she’ll want it back.
I change into sweats, turn on some mindless TV, and scour the freezer for the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I drop onto the couch and let my head gently fall back against the cushions. The ice cream pint sweats in my hand. The cold bites my palm, but it’s not enough to numb the ache behind my eyes.
My phone sits on the coffee table, screen dark. I stare at it like it might blink first.
Picking it up, I scroll through my camera roll.
Her smile.
The one she gave me that morning in my bed, sleepy and soft, like she’d never been happier. God, I miss that smile.
