Page 2 of Breakaway Hearts
“It’s fine, honestly,” I insist. “Yeah, I’m still getting over Sienna, and I’m sure it’s impacting my game more than it should. I’m sorry about that. But you don’t have to treat me like some wounded animal every time something bad happens on the ice. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Most of my teammates nod at that, turning away and resuming their prior conversations, mercifully letting me off the hook. But Noah, who knows me better than most of them, doesn’t let it drop quite so easily. He lowers his voice, stepping a bit closer as his expression turns serious.
“Seriously, if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”
“I know. Thank you,” I say. And I genuinely mean it. These guys are practically family, and I know they’ll support me through anything. Thick or thin. Wins and losses.
Noah claps me on the back, nodding. Then he grins, lightening the mood as he gestures toward my bag.
“Oh, and I’ll make you a deal. If you throw that green mouth guard away so I never have to see that ugly excuse for protection again, drinks are on me tonight.”
I chuckle in spite of myself. All of my teammates are very familiar with my superstition about always needing to wear something green on game days, but I can agree with my friend that the mouth guard was a bust.
“You’re on,” I tell him.
Digging into my bag, I find the cursed thing and lob it toward the garbage can near the locker room doors. It spins around the rim and falls in. I let out a low whistle, and a few of my teammates cheer.
Steph Curry could never.
* * *
Noah and Theo are just getting ready to leave the arena by the time I get out of the showers. I wave them off and say I’ll meet them at our usual post-game bar, and they nod and head out.
Sawyer is already gone. He’s got sole custody of his little boy, Jake, so it’s a rare occasion when we’re able to get him to come out with us. Usually, he needs to race home to relieve whatever babysitter he’s got on duty.
Grant also disappeared like a ghost as soon as he finished his post-game interviews. Not surprising, since he usually prefers to mull in misery back at his condo instead of commiserating with the rest of us.
I yank on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and am buttoning my shirt just as my phone dings. A text from Callie lights up the screen, and I grin at the sight of my best friend’s name.
CALLIE: Sin bin call was bullshit if you ask me.
ME: Start bribing the refs for me, please.
CALLIE: With what money?
ME: Uhhh…
She sends back a sticker of a polar bear laugh-crying, and I snort.
Callie always knows the best ways to make me laugh, something that comes with the territory of an almost-decade-long friendship.
We met during the summer before college, before I became a professional hockey player, and we immediately bonded over our shared sense of humor and our love of the outdoors.
She’s been there for me for everything.
My happiest victories.
My deepest losses.
I trust her with everything, which is why she knows better than anyone else that I’ve been having a rough time lately. She knows more about it than my team, even Noah, especially since she was there the day Sienna broke things off.
Well, she was there in the immediate aftermath, anyway. I had forgotten I was supposed to film a fundraising video for Callie’s school, and she came over to my house to shoot it, accidentally walking in on me when I was fresh out of the shower.
Shit. I shake my head quickly. Best not to remember that Callie saw me completely naked that day. It didn’t take long for us to erase whatever awkwardness that created, but it’s still a little weird to think about that fact.
Whatever. It’s fine. She’s my friend and always will be. An accidental penis-sighting won’t stop that.
ME: We’re going out for drinks tonight. Wanna come?