“Very weird, but amazing.” I pulled her in for a long tight hug. I didn’t want to let go. Selfishly, I wanted to move her into my house so she could always be there to tell me everything would be okay. She was so good at that.
She stepped back and cupped my face with her hands. “Chin-up. Brody’s a wise man; he’ll come around. You’ll probably have a huge rock on your finger next time I see you.”
I gave her a small smile. “Cross your fingers for me.”
“I’ll cross my fingers and my toes. Hell, I’ll cross my legs. I’m already knocked up, what does it matter now?” Lauren laughed.
“I’m not good with words like she is,” Alexa tilted her head toward Lauren and rolled her eyes. “But I love you. Hang in there. Call me if you need me. I’m only a few miles away.”
“Bragger.” Lauren narrowed her eyes at Alexa.
“I love both of you. Now go.” I opened the front door. “Lauren, have a safe flight tomorrow. Give Tommy a hug for me.”
“Will do, love.”
They left and I closed the door, turning and leaning against it. I was about to give in to the nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach again when my back pocket vibrated.
A text.
From Brody!
B: HEY. I’M DEFINITELY CONFUSED AND PRETTY PISSED. I NEED SOME SPACE TO THINK. I’M HEADING OUT OF TOWN WITH THE TEAM TONIGHT BUT WILL BE BACK IN A FEW DAYS. I’LL CALL YOU. IN THE MEANTIME, I’D APPRECIATE IF YOU DIDN’T HANG OUT AT THE PARK WITH ZACH.
Shit. The park. How did he know about that?
My stomach flipped and I suddenly felt worse than I did two minutes before.
I UNDERSTAND. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. PLEASE DON’T FORGET THAT.
I waited and waited, staring at my phone.
He never answered.
“What the fuck?” Viper skated up to me as the burgundy jerseys from the Colorado Avalanche all clumped together, high-fiving and celebrating their goal against me.
Without making eye contact with him, I lifted my helmet up and rested it on top of my head. The Colorado fans cheered and banged on the glass, some of them even flipping me off, as I set my stick on the net. It took every drop of strength within me not to flip them off in return. My eyes panned over to Coach Collins who was pacing the bench with his arms folded across the chest of his cheap-ass suit, glaring at me.
Calm down, Collins. It’s one fucking goal.
“You’re playing like shit tonight. Get it together,” Viper snarled at me when he realized I wasn’t going to answer him. Now I wanted to flip him off too. I took a swig from my Gatorade water bottle and pulled my helmet back on.
Four more times the Avalanche players piled in together and congratulated each other.
Four more times Collins glared at me.
After the game, I put my head down and tried to ignore the taunting fans as I skated off the ice.
“Fuck you, Murphy!”
“Don’t look like an MVP to me!”
We’d lost 5-2 and it was my fault. I get the whole “Win as a team, lose as a team” bullshit, but this was all on me. It was my job to block that little black puck from making its way across the line and sounding the alarm, but I failed tonight.
Five times I failed.
I hated that fucking alarm, especially when it came from my goal. That spinning red light and annoying horn signaled failure to me. I heard it more times tonight than all the other games this season combined.
Big deal.
It was one game.
One game that, at the end of the season, wouldn’t matter.
I’m lying.
That game did matter. They all mattered. More times than I could count, a team lost a play-off spot with one game. Sometimes one fucking goal in your whole entire season made the difference between being on the ice for play-offs and sitting at home and watching them on TV.
When I got to the locker room, Collins was already in there, standing by my locker.
“You okay?” he mumbled as I walked up.
“I’m fine,” I lied, not wanting to tell my coach that my world had collapsed in more ways than one over the last few days.
He nodded and scanned the bustling locker room. “Just an off night or what?”
“Yeah,” I snapped, looking him in the eye. “I had a rough night. Sorry.”
“You want to go up for interviews?”
“No. Not tonight.”
He patted me on the shoulder and walked off.
The last thing I needed was a bunch of bloodthirsty sports reporters asking me the same questions over and over, wanting to know why I’d missed so many shots. Who the hell even knew the answer to that?
I pulled my jersey over my head and started the process of taking my pads off. Louie glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before he turned the TV in the locker room on and flipped the channel to the postgame interview. It was no secret I’d played badly tonight. It was also no secret I was pissed off at myself about it. Normally, I was the jokester after the games, but tonight, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Well, except for one person, but I wasn’t ready to talk to her just yet.