My phone buzzed in my hand.
Jax: Congratulations, Sidney, I’m proud of you.
My heart slammed in my chest that he knew how much I’d want to hear from him today. I felt shattered now that I had. Gently tracing the words over the screen, I typed back.
Me: We did it. We reached for big dreams and somehow, we’ve made it.
I felt tears drip down my cheek, and rawness scratched at my skin, knowing what I’d given up. Straightening, I wiped my eyes and went to find Mia. Tonight, we would celebrate. Or, at the very least, I’d get drunk enough to forget.
THIRTY-SIX
ONE MONTH AFTER
SIDNEY
I walked into my apartment after a few drinks with my new coworkers and sighed at the state of the place. I’d moved here a week ago, and there were still boxes covering the floor, needing to be unpacked.
I hadn’t had the energy to put anything away. Don’t get me wrong, my team was phenomenal, but when I got home, all I wanted to do was call Jax and tell him about my day. I wanted to tell him about my officemate, who liked to listen to ’80s rap, and that I was starting to learn the songs, or describe how awesome my office was, with a small window that looked over the park where I’d found the perfect sweets shop. They made the best chocolate croissants that always made me think of him.
Since I couldn’t do any of that, I crashed on the couch and flicked through Netflix while living off takeout. Not my finest moments. When I was feeling desperate, I scrolled through his Instagram feed, looking for glimpses of him. Turned out I had masochistic tendencies because every post hurt.
Mia’s voice came through our video call a mile a minute. She was excited because she was already first in her class. Like I ever doubted her.
She was happy, and my shoulders relaxed as relief washed through me. She’d never opened up about what had happened between her, Alex, and River, but her smiles hadn’t reached her eyes in months. Before I left for my new job, I could hear her crying at night, but she’d always deny it in the morning.
Misery may love company, but I was happy my friend was breaking through it. Which was more than I could say about myself. It had been two months, and the ache wasn’t dissipating. I just wanted to call him even more. Late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I let myself think about how things could’ve turned out differently had I been a little braver.
I pictured myself flying out to surprise him at one of his games. How his broad smile would take over his face and his dimples would be on full display. I let myself imagine the warmth of his arms and tried to remember his woodsy smell.
It was becoming a special form of self-torture.
JAX
River crashed down on our couch beside me. “Just fucking call her, man.”
I groaned. “You know I can’t do that.” Putting my elbows on my knees, I held my head in my hands.
“No, I know you won’t do that.”
It was hypocritical of him to call me out like this—he and Alex were barely talking to each other.
“You’re one to talk,” I snapped. “Why don’t you just call your girl?”
He knew exactly who I was talking about. I was so involved with what was happening between Sid and me that I’d completely missed what was happening between Alex, River, and Mia.
He deadpanned, “Because she didn’t choose me, asshole.” His voice came out hard, and his body stiffened.
I smiled. “Are you sure about that?”
River glared at me. Good. At least he’d stop trying to give me advice.
THIRTY-SEVEN
TWO MONTHS LATER
JAX
“How do you feel about being called this year’s most anticipated rookie, Ryder?” the reporter from Sportsnet asked. Jared was clean-cut, with a strong jaw and a lazy grin, no doubt a holdover from his past years of playing pro. I’d watched him on TV since I was a kid and dreamed about this exact fucking moment. Countless other athletes had sat at this same table, answering millions of questions to a room full of eager reporters just waiting for the next sound bite over the years. I’d pictured myself up here more times than I could count.
This should’ve been a dream come true, but the question grated on my skin, not because it was at least the one hundredth time they’d asked it since they’d started calling me that a week ago. Of fucking course it wasn’t—that would be too easy. No, I hated the question because every time I answered was a lie.
I smiled at the reporter, keeping my collected mask in place. “Nothing could make me happier, Jared. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He gave me a genuine smile and continued the standard questions. This press meeting wasn’t really about me. I’d just been thrown up here as filler until our new coach was announced. If you asked me, all this secrecy was bullshit. It was hockey, not a fucking soap opera, but apparently, the league was taking things in a more dramatic fashion because they were announcing the Bruins’ new coach on live fucking TV, and I was the lucky bastard being used to fill airtime until he showed up.
I answered on autopilot, no one sensing that the mask I wore of a young, excited hockey player was complete bullshit.
“I know you worked hard for this, Ryder. Sacrificed a lot like all players do. Why don’t you tell us a little about that.”
Fuck, his words stung. The muscles ticked in my jaw with the effort to keep my carefree facade in place. I was just named the most anticipated player of the season; no rookie wouldn’t be high off that. Except Jared was right. I had made a sacrifice to get here, and every day, I wondered if it was worth it because in moments like this, I swore it fucking wasn’t.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to answer. “You know, same thing as everyone else. Late nights, early practices. Learned to push through the pain years ago.”
The lie tasted like acid and burned down my throat, where it landed heavily in my stomach. I rubbed my palms over my face, hoping I just looked tired after practice and not fucking heartbroken. I needed them to move on with their questions to something more technical related, or I was going to fucking lose it up here.
The same woman who’d announced my entrance walked up to the podium and tapped the mic twice. She wore a black tailored jacket and matching pencil skirt. She was objectively hot. Not that it mattered. Fucking Alex had encouraged me to bury myself in pussy like he’d been doing, but I had no fucking interest. The only person I wanted didn’t want me back, and no one mattered but her.
The woman tapped the mic again, and the room went completely silent. She smiled. “I’m excited to announce the new coach has arrived and will be coming out to meet you in the next few moments.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement, the reporters too busy talking with each other, speculating who it could be, to pay attention to me. I should care who our coach was—we’d be spending a lot of time together—but truth was I couldn’t give a shit, and I wasn’t sure when I would again.
The man in question walked through the door behind me, bigger than life. I vaguely recognized him as the coach for the Seahawks. He looked like a decent enough guy as he came up to me and grasped my hand, giving it a firm shake. “Good to meet you, kid.”
My answer caught in my throat as I met his eyes. They were a familiar hazel brown rimmed with crisp green-apple centers. The world tipped on its axis, everything feeling wrong and out of place as my brain tried to process that he had identical eyes to Sidney.