43
I’m back on the ice where everything should make sense.
The familiar burn in my lungs from skating hard, the sound of pucks hitting boards, the rhythm of drills I’ve been doing since I was twelve years old.
But my head’s not in it.
Coach blows the whistle after a particularly sloppy power play drill, and I can feel his eyes on me as I skate to the bench.
“Carmack! How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Sorry, Coach. I’m here.”
“Are you? Because that was the laziest cross-ice pass I’ve seen since rookie camp.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
He’s right. I’m tired, sloppy, playing like someone who’s thinking about something else instead of focusing on the task at hand.
Which I am.
I’m thinking about Liv. About last night’s phone call. About the way I wanted to have phone sex but felt like I wasn’t ready for that. About how much I can’t wait for her to move up here.
“Dude,” Hurley says as we’re doing bag skates, “you miss your girl or what?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re skating like you’ve got cement blocks for feet.”
“Yeah, just not getting sleep.”
“I’m just saying, long distance is a bitch. Been there.”
“When were you long distance?” Colton asks, catching up to us at the blue line.
“Sophomore year of college. Girl back home while I was playing juniors in Ontario. Lasted about three months before she dumped me for some guy at her school.”
“That’s encouraging,” I say.
“Hey, I’m just keeping it real. Long distance is brutal. Especially when you’re both young and hot and have options.”
“Speak for yourself on the hot part,” Colton says.
“I am speaking for myself. I’m objectively attractive.”
“You’re objectively dumb too.”
“Either way, long distance killed that relationship dead. Just saying.”
“Not helping, Hurley,” Reed says, skating up to join our conversation.
“What? I’m giving him the truth. Better to know what he’s up against.”
“What he’s up against is missing someone he cares about. That’s normal.”
“Is it normal to play hockey like you’ve never seen a puck before?”
“Fuck off, Hurley,” I say, but without real heat.
“Just trying to help.”
“Help me by shutting up.”
“Can’t. It’s not in my nature.”
The rest of practice passes in a blur of drills and scrimmages, and by the time we’re back in the locker room, I’m exhausted but still wired.
Still thinking about her.
“West,” Reed says as I’m pulling off my gear. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.”
He nods toward the hallway, and I follow him out of the locker room and into the equipment room where we can talk without the guys listening in.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re not playing like you’re fine.”
“It’s just... adjustment period. Getting back into the routine.”
“Is it the girl?”
“Is what the girl?”
“The reason you’re distracted. Tired. Not sleeping.”
I lean against the wall and run a hand through my hair.
“Maybe.”
“Long distance?”
“Long distance.”
“That’s rough, man. How long since you’ve seen her?”
“Two weeks. But she’s working this huge project for the next two months, and I’m here, and it’s just...”
“Hard.”
“Really fucking hard.”
Reed nods like he understands exactly what I’m talking about.
“You know Chelsea and I did long distance for a while, right?”
“You did?”
“Yeah, man. I don’t know how much of my story you know, but after all the shit went down at work, she moved, and it sucked.
She established a whole life in another state, basically across the country.
She really wanted her independence, which I understood, but man, it was fucking hard.
I’ve been traded left and right, been a raging asshole, but when she got the job here, it was a blessing. ”
“How’d you make it work in the in-between?”
He shakes his head “We barely did. There were nights we wanted to call it off. Nights she couldn’t handle the distance. Times when it felt like we were just torturing ourselves for no reason.”
“What changed?”
“I realized I had a choice. I could let the distance kill us, or I could choose her. Every single day. No matter how hard it was.”
“What does that mean? Choose her?”
“It means you don’t just hope it works out. You make it work out. You buy the plane tickets. You drive the extra miles. You stay up late for phone calls even when you have practice the next morning. You choose her over convenience, over comfort, over the easier option.”
I chuckle. “It’s been killing me, man.”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried everything.
But West? If she’s it, if she’s the one you want to build something with, then you don’t let work or travel or distance or fear mess that up.
You fight for it.” He pats my shoulder. “Every sleepless night, every missed call, every time I wanted to give up—all of it was worth it.”
That conversation sticks with me through the rest of the day.
Through dinner alone in my too-quiet house, through mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, through lying in bed staring at the ceiling and missing her so much it physically hurts.
Choose her. Every day. No matter what.
I grab my laptop and start googling.
Flights to LAX. Hotels in Silver Lake. Things to do in LA on a weekend.
The Getty Center. Griffith Observatory. That bookstore she mentioned loving. The farmers market she goes to on Saturdays.
I could fly down Friday after practice, spend the weekend with her, fly back Sunday night.
It would be expensive. It would be exhausting. It would mean missing team bonding activities and probably pissing off Coach for leaving town during training camp.
But Reed’s right. If she’s it, and she is, then I choose her.
I choose the plane tickets and the logistics and the exhaustion.
I choose driving through LA traffic and sleeping in her tiny bed and doing whatever she wants to do.
I choose her. Every day. No matter what.
I buy a flight for Friday afternoon before I can talk myself out of it.
Then I text her: What are you doing this weekend?
She responds immediately: Working. Why?
Your boyfriend is coming to see you.
Three little dots appear and then disappear, so I type another message.
Your very real, very eager to see you boyfriend.
Don’t book your flight.
Why not? I was just about to.
West, don’t. I won’t even be in town.
I deflate. Is she serious?
What do you mean you won’t be in town?
I have work, so I won’t be home.
My gut sinks. Shit, really? I put my phone down and stare at my empty house. I wasn’t expecting to hear this. Thank God I didn’t book the flight.
I’m sorry. I want to see you too.
I pocket my phone and head down to my home gym to drown out the anxiety rolling through my body.