Walsh skates up right behind me, his hip hitting the boards. He’s been on line with me all period. “What’s wrong with you tonight?” he says, squeezing a water bottle over his sweaty face. The water drips down his neck, inside his shoulder pads. “Is it your knee?” he presses, following after me down the bench towards the locker room.
“My knee is fine.”
“Well, you’re playing like shit—”
I spin around, glaring in his face. “You wanna say that again, rookie?”
He doesn’t back down. His rookie innocence is wearing off now that we’re over half a season in. “I don’t want a guy on my line who can’t carry his weight,” he admits, pulling no fucking punches.
“I carry my weight just fine,” I reply.
“You’re a mess. You’ve got the next eighteen minutes to get your head on straight—”
“My head is on straight—”
“You’re distracted,” he counters, grabbing me by the jersey and holding me back. The fans pound on the plexiglass by our heads, but they can’t hear his words. “You’re looking around like you’re fucking lost out there. Half the time, it’s like you’re not even tracking the fucking puck. What the hell is wrong with you?” He gives me a shove, letting me go.
I groan. He’s fucking right. I know he is. I’m so distracted. I’m still looking for Tess. I just need to see her once. If she’s here, I know she’ll wait for me after the game. And if she’ll wait for me, I know I can say what I need to say. I can’t hold it in any longer.
I push past him along the bench, leading the way towards the locker room. The fans all around us still cheer, trying to get my attention. I tune it all out. White noise.
Walsh follows behind me as we make our way into the locker room. I don’t even make it to my stall before Sully is on me.
“Dude, what’s up with you tonight?” he says, sweat dripping down his face.
“I’m working on it,” I reply, stepping around him to slam my helmet down on the bench.
“This isn’t like you. I knew something was wrong during warm-up.”
Next to him, Karlsson glances over, munching on a granola bar. He’s worried too. I can see it on his face.
“Guys, I’m just having an off night,” I say, snatching for my water bottle. “Jeez, you’d think I was out there tryna play with a croquet mallet.”
“You don’t have off nights,” Karlsson says, his voice soft.
“Well, then I’m overdue for one, yeah?” I say, launching to my feet. “So maybe you can all just cut me some fucking slack.”
Not waiting for their replies, I push past Sully, marching across the locker room towards the PT room. My eyes scan quickly, locking on my target. “Doc,” I call, still fisting my water bottle like I’m trying to choke it.
She wasn’t here earlier, otherwise I would have gone straight to the source. And when she did arrive, she avoided me like the plague, sticking to the far end of the bench. I could feel her eyes watching me while I was out on the ice for every shift. My panic spiked higher with each pointed look she gave in the opposite direction. Yeah, she knows something.
She spins around now, her arms full of bananas. She takes one look at my face and her smile falls. Then she’s shaking her head, trying to slip past me. “Langley, just don’t, okay?”
“Hey—wait,” I say, grabbing her arm as she tries to pass.
She goes still, her gaze darting from my sweaty face down to where my hand holds her. “Take your hand off me, Ryan,” she says. “Or lose the hand.”
I drop my hand away and take a step back. “Is she here?”
“Ryan—”
“Something’s fucking wrong,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I can feel it in my bones. You keep watching me, but you won’t look at me. I’m starting to freak out here. She’s supposed to be here but she’s not…is she?”
She gazes up at me, her expression anguished. “Ryan, she’s not coming. I think she just needs some space. She’ll be staying with me tonight. Just give her space, okay?”
My heart fucking stops. “Wait—what the fuck happened?”
She groans, turning away. “Ryan—”
“I love her, Rachel. I’m in love with her, and I think she loves me too. I can’t breathe—can’t fucking think—because I need to tell her so badly.”