My brain is reading them as fast as they can, and the way my body turns inward on itself sends shivers down my spine.
Oh God, I drunk-texted my new coach? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Matt: Shay, you’re a badass and so fuckong beautiful. I’d livr to take you out sometime.
Matt: We coulf go to the aquariub.
Matt: Or to The Penalty Box for a drinl.
Matt: I’m here now, just come here.
Matt: Why wait when I already know we’re soulmates?
Thank God I stopped there. Although I should have stopped at the first message.
Granted, they were from over a year ago, so it’s not so bad, but it doesn’t make the embarrassment any less excruciating. It’s way too late for me to unsend them. I just hope she didn’t see them before, and I pray to God she never opens our messages.
Dammit. She might’ve won this round after all.
CHAPTER 7
SHAY
My therapist is once again doing her best to keep herfriendlythoughts inside of her head, but we’ve been seeing each other for long enough that I can tell when the professional version of her and the friend version of her are battling one another, even through the screen.
I just got done listing off the recent craziness in my life including the new job offer I got with the Nighthawks, about the freak-out I had in the equipment room while I rage-sang “Hollaback Girl” before one of my players held me, how I was still crying and my voice was croaky when I told Andy that I was done, and how I went home after and stayed in bed, aside from taking Kyle outside.
I can practically predict her responses, hearing them in her voice in my head.
The professional version would sound like this:I’m glad to hear you’re facing your fears and getting back in the rink. However, I think next time you’re confronted with panic like that, you ground yourself first, remember why you’re there and what you’re capable of, calm down, and then decide If you’re going to take the job or not.
The friend version would go something like this:Firstly, I’m proud of you for going in there. Secondly, was the player cute? Thirdly, call Andy back because you’re going back to that arena. You were born for this, Shay.
The real-life response?
“Shay, I don’t know what to say.” She pauses.
“That wasn’t either of my options …” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
Rubbing my eyes harder than I should, I sigh, then chuckle. “I imagined your responses in my head, and that was neither of them.”
Amusement drifts across her lips. “And they are?”
I tell her the made-up versions, and she listens intently before responding, “Which version do you prefer?”
“They’re the same but in different formats, minus the cute part.” I laugh, tipping my head back and realizing how ridiculous this whole side quest has gotten. “I don’t know how I feel about everything.”
“You do know. Process it and tell me,” she pushes me.
I groan, feeling the lump in my chest grow bigger at the emotion she’s making me face head-on. “I felt …” I replay my walk toward the ice, the panic that took over me, and the way I felt so incredibly out of control. I hadn’t felt that intensely in a long time.
But then I remember the first moment I saw the ice, the glittering sheen, the possibilities of a blank sheet waiting to be carved up. It was so beautiful, like reuniting with an old friend. I wanted to hug it, to flatten my body on it and feel the cold overtake me.
It went south after that and fast. The first sound of a skate blade and metallic clicking sent me so far over the edge thatI was worried I’d never come back and be stuck there alone forever. But then my isolation ended when Matt found me.
He held me close until the frustration I had for myself turned into curiosity for my savior. He restarted my nervous system at the center, surrounding me with calm and stability until I regulated.
