My eyes burn as I read her message—something that happens often as of late. Every text between us reminds me of my dad’s condition, and each day, I’m terrified that it might be the last day he knows who I am. The last day he recognizes the boy playing hockey on his screen is his very own son.
I know that his symptoms will come in waves, some days worse than others. But that first moment when he looks me in the eyes and doesn’t seeme, it’s going to fucking hurt.
That time is coming, and I’m not ready for it, not in the slightest. I know when it does, there’s one person I’m going to need.
My coach. My friend. My …
CHAPTER 11
SHAY
Matt has done a flawless job of implementing my correction and keeping his body tucked tight to the bar, making me feel like I might possibly make a difference for this team, for the goalies. I didn’t realize how much I would enjoy this, but, God, it’s like I can finally feel the high of a win again, like I’m a part of a team.
More than anything, I didn’t realize how much I would miss the sense of family on the ice, even if I’m standing a few feet into the tunnel.
Slowly but surely, I’m working my way closer to the ice. One of these days, I’ll be planted right beside Andy. This team may never give me back my place on the ice, but they’ve given me hope that I can get better.
I can tell Matt’s in his head as the team skates off for the first intermission. His gaze is down, jaw set tighter than normal. He’s blaming himself for the goal that the Penguins scored, but that wasn't entirely on him. Our own guy was blocking his sight line of the puck, and the smart Penguins player used that to his advantage. It happens.
He’s not Superman; he doesn’t have X-ray vision. But that doesn’t mean he’s not beating himself up any less. I know Andysaid that we don’t talk to Matt between periods unless he really needs it, but I can’t help but want to. He needs to get out of his head, or it’s going to drag him down into next period.
Andy’s talking to Huang as I linger back, falling into step beside Matt. The other players pass beside us, ignoring us, aside from a couple shoulder taps to Matt, showing support.
Reaching out to my side ever so slightly, I tug at his jersey, and he immediately slows his pace, letting the rest of the players pass by before turning to me, lips tight and eyes cold.
There’s a game-day version of Matt that exists, one that blocks everything else in the world out. It’s like a wall goes up in front of his eyes, impenetrable and solid. It’s there now, keeping out the warmth I’m used to seeing in his gaze.
If he’s sensitive to input between periods, I don’t want to say anything that might send him spiraling any more or trigger it to begin with.
Checking if anyone is near us, I glance side to side even though we’re not doing anything wrong. I’m his coach. Speaking with him right now is very appropriate. But that doesn’t mean I can shake the feeling that being alone with him isvery inappropriate.
My voice is soft, like a feather gently floating down into his hands. “That goal wasn’t your fault, and you know it.”
He rolls his eyes, his jaw ticcing as he huffs, the broadness of his shoulders shrinking with his exhale.
“Shay.” He says my name with an exhale, rough and tired.
Oh no.
A flutter roars deep inside of me, a tingle shimmying down my spine from how my name just sounded, coming from his lips. Like ecstasy and danger, all in one. Like I want to hear it again, but next time, not standing in a hallway in an arena, but in private, in breathy gasps.
Oh my God, please stop.Am I ovulating or something? I must be.
That’s the only logical explanation for my body’s reaction to a simple utterance right now.
“You know that wasn’t your fault. Your sight line was completely blocked, and there wasn’t anything you could’ve done about it. Your defender cost you that goal. Simple.” I pause, making sure he's paying the most attention to my next line. “Youknowthat.”
With his jaw tight, he licks his lips, and even though he’s not saying it, I can tell he’s annoyed. But I don’t care. He needs to hear it even if he refuses to accept it.
I half expect him to tell me off and leave him be, but instead, he opens his mouth, voice low. “It doesn’t matter. I need to adjust, pivot. I need to read that move faster so I can be in the right place at the right time. There’s no room for placing blame right now?—”
“Unless it’s only on yourself?” I cut him off, crossing my arms, my eyebrows twitching.
He matches my stance, and for the first time during this conversation, I see a sliver of amusement show as a twinkle in his eye. “Exactly.Nowyou’re getting it.”
I scoff. “Taking the weight of the team on your shoulders isn’t going to make the stress of your personal life weigh any less. You’ll just drown beneath it all.”
His eyebrows furrow, like I said something too far and over the line. And then my heart breaks because there’s a new gleam in his eye, a wetness illuminating from the lights overhead.
