Yeager slams into me, pushing me up against the boards.
“Fuck off.” I elbow him as Coach Phillips blows the whistle.
“Stop horsing around. Get your heads in the goddamn scrimmage,” Coach bellows.
I skate to the line and drop into position, forcing my mind back to the play. East gains control of the puck and flips it toward me. I handle it easily, weaving down the ice before flicking it to Noah who has a clean shot on goal. He takes it and scores. The guys throw their arms in the air, cheering. I smack Noah on the back. “Nice shot.”
We all skate to the bench to guzzle some water and sports drinks. Coach makes some line changes and calls out instructions. Jerseys and skates whirl around me, both familiar and not.
For as long as I can remember, hockey, the ice, has been an outlet for me. It’s the one place that I can go to and everything in my head quiets. The worry I carry in the pit of my stomach dissipates. The unknowns of the future fade away.
Playing hockey has always been my respite from real life. But right now, no matter how much I try to zone in, my head’s not in it. My head’s not in it because my heart’s not in it and I don’t know what the hell to do with that. We’re four days into training and I feel unbalanced when I should feel focused.
“Yo.” East shoulder bumps me.
I glance at him and he raises his eyebrows.
“We got one hour left,” he says low, so no one can hear him. It’s as if he understands my mental turmoil, can sense my emotional anguish.
I give him a curt nod and skate back to the center of the ice, mentally berating myself to pull it together. But my head feels foggy, my vision unclear. My palms itch and worry for Chloe, losing herself in the streets of El Salvador, spikes. I miss a clean pass, my head caught up on my lost girl, restless energy pulsing through my limbs. Except there’s nowhere for it to go because I can’t focus the way I used to. My concern for Chloe, my need to learn everything about the adventure she’s having, my desire to just hear her voice, overshadows everything else, even my game.
The next hour drags as I make a series of fuckups that should have Coach Phillips benching my ass. When practice is over, I yank off my helmet and skate to the side.
Coach gives me a long, hard look but doesn’t comment on my piss poor performance. The team clears out and I stay on the ice, rethinking the shots I missed, the plays I fucked up. I skate up and down the ice several times, the cool air washing over my face, and wait for the sense of peace to flood my body the way it usually does. Instead, more images of Chloe fill my mind and I stop abruptly, wondering where the hell I go from here. Will this agony ever end?
She’s in El Salvador. I dropped the phone when Diane told me the news, sounding as happy about it as I felt. Even though I hate that she left, just disappeared from my life, without a real goodbye, a sense of pride swelled in my chest that she was chasing her dream. That she was still putting herself out there in a way that’s brave.
But God, I miss her. I miss the way her presence put me at ease. I miss the way her smile lit up a room, bright like sunshine. I miss the effortless way she stitched her life into mine.
“Hey,” Easton calls out, tapping the end of his fist against the glass.
I skate over to him and exit the ice. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.”
I shrug.
“I fucked shit up for you and Chlo, didn’t I?” he asks directly, making me rear back.
I didn’t tell Easton about what went down between Chloe and me at the wedding in New York. He doesn’t need to carry around misplaced guilt and I didn’t want to share shit with anyone because then I’d have to admit that I let Chloe go. Instead of sitting down and having the conversation we should have had, I hustled back to Boston for hockey and she chased a dream she’s put on hold for far too long.
“Nah, man. It wasn’t going to work out anyway.”
“Bullshit,” East spits, his eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t with me, you would have been with her, and whatever the hell happened between you guys would have been avoided.”
“Maybe,” I admit, gripping the back of my neck. “But for how long?”
Easton furrows his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.
“Hockey being my number one priority was always going to be an issue for us,” I admit. “And if I’m putting my career first, I can’t blame her for doing the same.” I drop my arm and bend to unlace my skates. “She’s in El Salvador.”
“What?”
I glance up. “For two weeks. She comes back next weekend. It’s a reporting gig. It’s something she always wanted and…” I trail off, not bothering with the rest. “I’m happy for her.”
“Bullshit.”
This time, my look is sharper. “No, I am. I’m proud as hell that she—”
“Yeah, fine. You’re proud of her and you’re happy for her that she went after what she wanted. But you’re moping around, fucking shit up on the ice, because your head is still tangled up on her. So don’t give me some shit that you’re happy about you being here and her being in Central America and you guys not being together.”
I swear and stomp off to the locker room. East stays on my heels, waiting patiently while I rinse off and toss on some sweats.
When I’m finished getting dressed, I turn to him, leaning up against the lockers with his arms crossed over his chest. “You ready to talk now?” he asks.
“I was honest with her from the beginning,” I say, defensive as hell. “I told her that hockey, the team, this season, all of that was going to be my priority.”
“Okay.”
“It’s ridiculous, East. I made one mistake. I didn’t show up to the wedding on time and—”
“You missed the entire wedding, Austin. And that’s on me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s on me. I should have told her that I was with you. I should have given her some insight as to what was going on. I guess bailing on her the way I did brought up a bunch of her past, a bunch of her shit with Steve, and she pulled away.” I swear again, locking onto East’s hard blue eyes. “I don’t blame her. And I don’t blame you. I blame myself. I should have handled it better.”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop taking the responsibility for everything, man. Just because you’re team captain doesn’t mean you always need to go down with the fucking ship. Truth is, we’re all to blame in this situation. Me, you, and Chloe. I hate that I came in between you guys, Austin. I’m really fucking sorry.”
I dip my head in acknowledgement at his words.
“But if you play like that”—he jabs a finger toward the ice—“you’re not helping the team, yourself, or Chlo. So if you want to be with her, if what you guys had was real and from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell looked it, then get her back. Win her back. Prove to her that you can make room for both hockey and her in your life.”
“How?” I ask. “She’s in El Salvador.”
He smirks. “For ten more days. After that…ball’s in your court, Aus.”
“We’ll see,” I say noncommittally, standing from the bench. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
“Come over. Claire’s making chicken piccata.”
I snort, knowing it’s East’s favorite. “You guys made up?” A ridiculous grin splits his face and I groan, holding up my hand. “Don’t say anything. The chicken piccata is telling enough.”
I follow Easton out of the arena and head to his and my sister’s place.
Over the next ten days, I throw myself into hockey and training. I accept every dinner invitation my family tosses my way and regularly pass by Panda’s place to play video games. I keep myself busy, engaged, and socially active.
None of it helps ease the ache in my chest. None of my efforts pull my thoughts away from Chloe.
If anything, I miss her even more.