3. Shay
SHAY
“Shay!” Andy’s voice wraps me in a hug, my shoulders immediately softening. “There you are.”
Standing from the table I got for us, I embrace him. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” When he pulls back from the hug, he smiles. “We’re starting with you.”
A sigh, louder than I intended, leaves my parted lips as I plop back down in the wooden chair. “Nothing new to report.”
He starts scanning the menu as if he’s not going to get the biscuits and gravy like he always does when we meet here. “Nothing at all? Really? I find that hard to believe.”
Typically, when we meet up, I avoid digging anywhere beneath the surface. But deep inside, it’s desperate to come to light, to be spoken into truth.
He’s always been nothing but honest with me, and I’ve been hiding such genuine parts of myself because I’m scared it’s going to be too much.
“It’s true. Same weekly physical therapy appointments. Same bimonthly neurology appointments. Same biweekly therapy appointments. That’s all I do now.”
My words leave me a little more somber than I want to portray, and when I glance up from the menu at him, his eyebrows are upturned, his glistening light-blue eyes full of concern.
“I’m doing just fine. Don’t stress. Please …” My words fall by the wayside as I see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.
He clicks his tongue. “Well, now I’m definitely going to stress.”
A beat of silence passes between us, and a hand feels like it’s slowly wrapping around my throat.
Is he disappointed in me? That I haven’t done more? That I’m just attending appointments and not striving to escape my cave?
“Look, I—”
He cuts me off, “I’m proud of you.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head, another excuse forming on my tongue.
“Shay, I’m serious. Look how far you’ve come.” He tries to console me, and my skin starts crawling.
I love Andy so much. He’s been a mentor, a friend, a confidant, and he’s become practically family over the years. I feel more vulnerable with him around, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that right now because I feel like I’m sitting here, completely naked.
“I haven’t been to the rink,” I confess, the embarrassment eating me alive. “It’s pathetic.”
His eyes close, eyebrows pinching sharply before he meets my stare again. “Shay … it’s not pathetic. What you went through was traumatic as hell. I’d probably be in the same boat as you. Anyone would be.”
I scoff and huff. “I doubt it. You need to be on the ice to breathe. I’ve been doing just fine without it.”
“Have you?” His voice is but a whisper, cutting straight through my chest.
“Yes,” I answer immediately, not a millisecond of thought behind it. “Maybe.” Eventually, my lie wavers. “No.”
His lips fold inward. “I know. But that’s okay.”
“Is it?” I laugh humorlessly, the backs of my eyes burning. “Ugh, this is not what this lunch is supposed to be.”
And then he asks a question that tears my walls down. “Why? We’re friends. Why isn’t this lunch allowed to be about how you’re feeling? Would you say the same if I were confessing some struggles I’d been having?”
“No, of course not.” I throw my hands up like that’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“Then you’re not going to treat my friend like that either,” he says easily.
I know I’m overthinking everything. It’s my new normal. But, God, it’s a tough habit to break. Especially when it comes to my own issues. I’m my toughest critic.
“Fine,” I concede, warmth taking over my chest and nearly bringing tears to my eyes—the good kind for once.
A waitress comes over, and we place our lunch orders before he dives right back into the conversation.
“Why haven’t you gone to the rink?” he asks me.
I glare at him. “You can probably imagine why.”
He shrugs. “Yes, but I’m surprised you haven’t gone since the last time we talked. You were excited to see the rival game.”
I sigh quietly. “I know. And I got ready to go. I got in my car.” My tongue swells, cutting off my airway, but I force myself forward. “I couldn’t get out of it.”
“Oh, sweets.” Andy frowns. “I’ll go with you next time. That’s all you need—a friend to help you through it.”
“I have friends,” I counter, as if he isn’t aware of that already.
He purses his lips. “You mean the ones who would be playing? I don’t think they’re going to be able to help you much.”
“You don’t know that,” I banter, trying not to let my laugh slip. “I have so many friends; all of them couldn’t even fit in the arena.”
“Wow,” Andy gasps. “That’s a lot of damn friends. You don’t even need me anymore then.”
My laugh escapes. “Oh, shut it. I need you so much more than you know.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes dart to the side, something stealing his attention. A soft smile tips the corners of his lips up. “I think you have a visitor.”
“What?” I cringe, asking the next question as I turn my head. “Who?”
A young girl, maybe ten years old, is standing a few feet away from us, and she has stars in her big brown eyes. “A-are you Shay Rooney?”
Suddenly, the floor falls out from under me, and my heart jumps into my throat. Usually, when that question finds me in public, ones about my accident follow. But unless the ages of journalists and interviewers have drastically lowered, I don’t think she’s here for a statement.
“Yeah. I am.” I swallow the nerves forming the world’s biggest lump in my throat. “What’s your name?”
“Andie,” she answers, shocking me.
My head whips back to my Andy. “No way, Andie. This is my friend, Andy.” I gesture toward my mentor.
Her jaw drops. “Whoa. Cool!” She moves on without skipping a beat. “I’m a goalie too. I want to be as good as you when I get older.”
My heart fucking rips open, and Andie jumps right inside.
“Y-you want to be … like me?” I ask, my eyes burning and beginning to blur.
I don’t know why her sentiment is taking me by such surprise. But it’s obliterating me.
“Yeah. You’re the best!” She nods proudly. “Can we get a picture?”
“Of course. Anything you want,” I murmur, still in a stupor at the moment that just happened.
“You’re my hero, Shay Rooney.” She says my full name in a cadence one would use with a celebrity.
When she leaps forward for a hug, I open my arms just in time for her to wrap herself around me, her warmth hitting me like a missile. This little girl may call me her hero, but she’s mine.
Only now do I notice the woman standing a few feet back, watching the little girl with absolute astonishment. I’m guessing by the striking resemblance, this woman is little Andie’s mom.
With a nod, I wave her over, and she snaps photos of us still hugging before little Andie poses for the photo shoot. We take a few with me sitting before I stand up and take a couple more.
“Thank you so much!” Little Andie beams, looking at me like I hung the goddamn moon, and something inside of me bursts.
I don’t want to miss out on moments like this while I hide away from the world. I don’t want to completely leave the hockey atmosphere. It’s my life. I can’t abandon the little Andies because I’m scared.
“Thank you so much,” her mom coos. “Seriously, you have no idea what this means to her.”
“Trust me. You have no idea how much this has meant to me,” I retort. “I’ll be watching out for your domination as a goalie, Andie.”
“You will?” She smiles big and bright.
I nod with certainty. “I will.”
“Come on, sweetie. We’ve got to get you to Grandma’s house.” Her mom ushers a resistant Andie away. “Thank you so much for your time.”
“Of course. Goodbye, guys.” I wave as they head to the doors.
Spinning back to the table and sitting down, I find our salads have arrived. Oh, perfect.
Andy walks over from who knows where, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I have the best news and an even better offer.”
Oh God.
“What’s up?” I ask nervously.
He sits down and leans forward. “I’d like to extend an invite to you to become the Nighthawks newest goalie coach.”
I didn’t hear him right. “What?”
He repeats himself. “Come be a goalie coach for the Nighthawks with me.”
Oh my God. I did hear him right.
“What? No, I can’t do that.” I scoff, my face scrunched together. “I have no coaching experience. I’m too scared of the damn ice to even set a foot on it. That can’t possibly be a good combination for a professional hockey coach.”
He glares at me and sighs. “And what would make you a great candidate?” he challenges.
“Someone punctual—”
“You’ve never been late to a thing in your life,” he cuts me off. “Now, how about you name a few reasons why you’d be a great goalie coach. Because I have a ton.”
I part my lips, fighting to form a thousand other excuses, but all I can think about is my interaction with little Andie. Would she be proud of me if I backed down from this? Would I still be a player worthy of her admiration? I surely don’t feel like one.
“Look, just shadow first. See what it’s like.
We’ll get you by the ice. You never have to step foot on it.
And you can give me your answer after that.
” Andy drives a hard bargain. “They’re going to pay you well.
You’d get free physical therapy with the staff.
And you’d get to be involved with the sport in a new way. ”
In a way I never wanted to be. I’m supposed to be on the ice, not scared of taking a single step on it. Panic starts eating me alive the longer I consider the opportunity.
Annoyingly, I remember Lorea’s homework—Do something this week that scares you.
Well, this fucking terrifies me. How about that?
“Don’t answer me yet. Shadow me for a few days, as close or as far away as you’d like. See what you think. Then give me an answer.”
He keeps talking right when I part my lips to speak, probably because he thinks I’m going to say no with a bunch of excuses. And he would be correct. But I don’t want him to be.
Which is why I’m going to do something that makes my skin crawl. Eventually, I have to face my fears, especially if I want to enter the hockey world again.
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Just try it one time and—wait, what? You said okay.” His voice is monotone and full of shock. “Yes, Shay! Yes! I know you’re going to love it. Trust me.”
A nervous laugh rips through my lungs and shakes my shoulders. “Well, one way to find out.”