Chapter 2
Two
Taylor
Brynn throws a dishtowel at me from the couch that I’m rotting on. It’s nearly been a week, I don’t have any desire to move back into my apartment, and I’ve slowly taken over her guest room. She did help me go get my phone and some clothes, and my gear, but she hasn’t prodded since then.
It was just the icing on the cake when the news broke that we had traded Rosie to the Calgary Chill, and got Eloise Harper and a second-round pick in this year’s draft.
The only thing that could be worse is if I died.
I’m serious.
The Calgary Chill is one of our main rivals.
We play them pretty frequently, and as good of a player Eloise is— I loathe to admit how good she really is– she’s nearly skated through us a few times.
She was their backbone in their backline since she was drafted.
She’s a nightmare of a player and a defensive monster.
I’m sure that she’s got the most penalty minutes in the league the last few years.
She’s definitely high up there for fights too, after those Boston and Ottawa players.
She’s a bruiser. Fuck, I hate her so much.
I hate playing against her, and I’m going to hate playing with her even more.
This week feels like one from hell, and I can’t imagine what I’m supposed to do with myself.
Brynn hasn’t prodded much, just nodding along when I rant and rubbing my back when I sob, but I know that this isn’t what she was expecting when she got voted in as captain right at the start.
“You’re going to have to freshen up for training camp soon,” she says.
I shake my head. “I can’t; I’ve lost my partner,” I moan into the couch cushions.
“You know where she is,” she says exasperatedly.
I bite back a retort, trying not to bristle at her dismissiveness.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a defensive partner.
Losing Rosie means meeting someone new and learning how they play, having to synchronize with them so we’re breathing the same pattern.
We need to be lethal and learning a new person’s skating habits takes up a lot of energy, especially if we don’t connect, like I’m sure Eloise and I won’t.
Brynn’s always been a centre, and she’s always been the coaches’ favourite to put with new players.
She doesn’t have a set lineup. She’s too good at making others look good to click with them.
“Not on the ice,” I whine, “And they’re going to partner me with that monster, Eloise,” I hiss her name. The last time we played her, she nearly took my ACL out—I was on the LTIR list for a month to heal up my knee.
“She’s a tough player, but just think, she’s ours now. No need to worry about her injuring us,” Brynn says from behind me. “She’s going to play her heart out the same way you or I play our hearts out.”
“She’s going to kill us,” I whine, “I hate her.”
Brynn sighs, plopping a glass of water beside my head on the table. “You’re being melodramatic.”
“Rosie and I were magic on ice,” I say and as she sits down, she nods. “How am I going to get that magic back?”
“Practice.” She’s blunt.
I roll my eyes before turning over, my face buried in the soft cushions in the back of the sofa.
We’re silent for a few minutes. I can hear her fingers twiddling, the soft hitch in her breath as she tries to say something, but there’s nothing that can be said.
I’m trapped in this swirling negative thought pattern.
Everything is crumbling around me, and I’ll have to face it sooner rather than later.
“Your apartment is too white,” I mutter, turning back over. The sun has sunk further into the horizon than I thought it would have.
“You’re one to talk. I saw your wardrobe. You didn’t have a single colour in there unless it was part of our team merch.”
“It’s easier to match things.”
She tuts, “I mean, you got me there.”
“It wasn’t a gotcha moment,” I mutter, stretching my neck to look at her.
She looks at me, brown eyes wide and framed with the longest lashes ever.
I’m jealous of them. I wish I had the same.
“What am I going to do, Brynn?” I whisper.
“I’m a failure. My fiancé cheated on me, my defence partner has left me—”
“You have the rest of the team, and your ex is a dickhead. There’s no way that woman knew he was engaged from what you told me,” she takes a deep breath, “And with you moving out of that place, you’re more than welcome to stay with me.
I know what it’s like trying to find a place to live on our salaries, and this is way easier than trying to room with a rando, or God forbid, a rookie. ”
She teases, and my heart aches. “I was a rookie once.”
“You’re ancient now, all old and decrepit at the age of 27,” she teases.
“You’re nearly thirty,” I throw out, trying not to feel embarrassed at my age. A failure at 27. What am I supposed to do? “You’re more of a mommy than I am.”
She hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything. “You’re not a failure for going through something hard.”
“I feel like it.”
“Everything that’s happened has not been because of you.
Frank made that choice, and the GM made the decision to trade Rosie.
You’re just the unfortunate victim of those decisions,” she says.
“There’s no shame in taking time to lick your wounds, but you have to remember that you’re going to get through it. ”
I bite my lip. “You may not believe it,” she says, “but there are more single people at 27 than you’d expect.”
I snort, wiping furiously at my eyes; they’re itching with tears ready to be shed. “Can we watch the reality show you were telling me about? Knotty Sailors or Set Sail—whatever it is?” I beg, trying to push down the emotions that are bubbling up in my chest.
She sighs, nodding, turning on the TV. She’s got the whole thing DVR’d, so she doesn’t miss it during the season.
She throws on a random episode and makes me scooch over on the couch so that she can sit down beside me.
I’m suddenly plunging into the sunny, tanned paradise of a yacht on the Mediterranean.
It’s a companionable silence, with her waiting patiently for me to make the first move and talk to her during the ad breaks, but she still lets me curl into her.
I can’t imagine Frank letting me do this with him. We did cuddle, though. I’m sure of it.
Maybe not.
“You’re sure that I won’t be cramping your style if I move in?” I ask.
She nods. “Don’t you worry. We can be in our single era together.”
I raise an eyebrow. “There’s seriously no one?”
She shakes her head. “Everyone’s looking for masc lesbians, and I’m anything but.
” I snort. She sticks a socked foot out, and I have to stop myself from letting my eyes glide up her calf muscles and her thick thighs.
She’s a solid hockey player, thick muscle and an ass that won’t quit when she’s wearing heels and a dress.
She’s a goddess.
I take a sip of my water to try to calm the heat in my cheeks.
“And our schedule is absolute shit some weeks. No one really understands it.”
I nod. I don’t think Frank ever mentioned something about the schedule we had to follow during the season.
Maybe he brought ladies home during that time.
Oh—I should get tested then.
“Do you think Frank…?” I bite my lip. I can see the way her eyes follow my teeth as I chew on it. “Do you think he didn’t complain because he knew he could get away with cheating on me then?”
Her breath is caught in her chest before she slowly exhales. “I think that you should get tested just in case, but I don’t think he’d be that brazen to do it every time we were gone.”
I nod, suddenly feeling her arm around my shoulders and pulling me tightly to her. “When we do our physicals, they’ll run the test. So, we can do it there, or if you want a private clinic, we can do it there.”
“They’ll be—”
She cuts me off. “Unless you’re going to die, they won’t say anything to management. I’m sure of it,” she says, “Besides, you were still using condoms with him, right?”
My heart thuds in my chest, and I’m suddenly grateful for my fear of children.
My cheeks are boiling at the thought that she knew it too, but I’ve been vocal about it in the locker room.
We had a player go on maternity leave pretty soon after we got set up as a team.
She wasn’t expecting it, and her partner had basically given her an ultimatum— him and the baby or hockey.
She announced her retirement from the game after her mat leave ended.
Brynn claps her hand over my mouth, and I groan in disgust. “Look, he was a dick. From what you told me, he was never a good boyfriend, and he never really accepted that you were going to be a professional hockey player.”
I snort. “Well, I didn’t think that would have been a possibility either.“
“Liar, you always hoped you would.”
“But I never thought I would be one. Once the league started when I was in first year, it was like opening up a whole new Universe, but yeah, it was never something we thought we’d be doing.”
“You. Something that you’d be doing.”
I swallow back the hurt that comes with her statement and blink back the pricks of tears that fill my eyes. Fuck.
I can’t believe he’d do this to me, to us, to throw our eight years down the shitter.
“She was so thin, tiny, and feminine,” I whisper, feeling that sting that has been stabbing me every time I think about her. She was stunning, blonde, blue-eyed, big-boobed, and petite. No muscles, thin shoulders, delicate features.
Very much the opposite of me.
“You shouldn’t compare yourself to her,” Brynn rubs her hand on my shoulder, wrapped around me like an octopus. “She didn’t know, and he’s a prick.”
“But what if he was my last chance?” I think aloud. Brynn snorts, and I feel like I’m about to melt down. “I’m serious, Brynn; I’ve been out of the game for eight years. I don’t know what it’s like to go on a date, and what if the fact that I’m too muscular is too much for men? They won’t like it.”
“Then they’re not who you want to impress. Come on, Tay. You’re stunning. You’re perfectly proportioned.”
I let out a wet laugh, trying really hard not to sob. “You say that to all the girls.”
She’s stunned for a moment, and I’m trying really hard to stop myself from crying.
Laughing seems to be the best option. “Well, yeah, but still. If they don’t like you for who you are, then they’re at fault, not you.
You cannot change anything about how other people perceive you, so just do what you do best.”
“What’s that?” I ask, wiping the snot and tears from my face. I catch the wince she gives when she watches me.
“You ignore the haters.”
Something inside me cracks and makes me need to get out. I squirm out of her arms, and she reluctantly lets go of me. “I’m—I just need to breathe.”
“I’ll be here.” She watches me with bright brown eyes before letting me scurry into my new bedroom and curling up into the bed. Tears silently leak down my face as I look at my empty phone screen.
Before I know it, it’s dark, and I’m starving, which is good because I don’t think I’ve felt hunger at all these past two weeks. I roll out of bed, muscles and bones groaning as I force myself out of the position that I’ve been in for several hours without realizing it.
I follow the warm light to the kitchen and listen to Brynn cursing as pans clatter against the floor. I watch her, with her soft three-quarter white zip and curly brown hair in a messy bun, reach down. She glows in this light.
“Have a good rot?” she asks as she picks up the pots.
I nod, not sure if I’m willing to find my voice.
“Good. Are you ready to hear something that may bring up your mood?”
I blink expectantly at her, still not wanting to use my voice. There’s something about coming back from a good rot that makes me need to enjoy the self-imposed quiet a little longer.
“Tomorrow is the first day of training camp.”
My heart beats faster. “Goodie,” I croak out, and she rolls her eyes.
“You can be a little more excited about it. I know you want to get back out on the ice.”
“Lawson is going to make us skate till we puke.”
She snorts.
“You can’t blame him. He just gets excited about the season and wants to make sure we’re in tip-top shape. I have to win the Walter Cup before I retire, you know.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’re not retiring any time soon; don’t joke about that.”
Brynn watches me with a meticulously plucked eyebrow. I’m so jealous of her and her dark features. I’m stuck with a dishwater blonde that even highlights can’t fix. I have to draw on my eyebrows so people know I have them.
I can’t help but compare myself to that woman again; her perfect blonde flashes in my brain, and there’s a gut punch.
Fuck, I do need to get onto the ice.
Being on the ice is my reprieve from everything.
I can be confident. I know what I’m doing with work. I love my work.
I love checking people and scoring goals.
I hate who I am off the ice, away from my friends, my teammates.
Or maybe I hate who I became with Frank.
God, I don’t know.
I get flicked in the face and jolt back to Brynn’s concerned brown eyes watching me. I release a small sigh, trying not to let her realize how much my thoughts are spiralling. Maybe I need a therapist. I haven’t found one since coming to Vancouver.
I may also just need to hit people on ice. Maybe I can target Eloise without her realizing it.
“You know I’m going to needle you until you’re fine.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, and she smiles.
“Love you too, my dear. Anyway, the only thing you need to remember is to be nice to Eloise when she gets here. She’s obviously going to be your partner with Rosie off to Calgary.
” She levels me with a stare and there goes the idea of crashing into her any chance I get.
“We need to have a solid defensive duo in you two if we want to get to the playoffs.”
I nod, breaking her stare to look at my nails. They’re chipped and need to be redone.
“I can do that.”
Can I?
“I know you can,” she says proudly. “I’m making pasta. Sounds good?”
I nod.
I can. I can do that.
Right?