9. Matt #2
“I’m so fucking mad at the world for not having a cure for his Alzheimer’s disease.
All this money and research, and they can’t stop the deterioration?
It’s absurd. It’s not fair that I have to mourn him while he’s alive and when he dies.
No, it’s not even just twice. It’s a thousand times over.
It’s every time we talk on the phone and a piece of him isn’t there.
I mourn him in a million pieces, in a million ways, missing versions of him that are gone forever.
“How in the hell am I supposed to not think of that every second of the day? It’s getting harder to force out of my mind, even on the ice.
I don’t know how I’m going to manage it if he gets worse in the next few weeks.
More than ever, I selfishly need there to be a cure so he can be himself again, so I can focus one hundred percent on my game, and he can be there when we win, well aware of what's happening. "
I ramble and ramble about how unfair life is, about how I’m tired of my deck of cards, how bad I feel that my mom is practically doing this alone while I play a sport, a game.
Sometimes, it feels ridiculous to be here instead of with them.
Sometimes, I hate myself for getting on a plane that’s not taking me to them.
“Then there’s my new coach. A fucking powerhouse goalie who’s going through a hell all her own.
But, dammit, she’s going to make me a better player.
Her competitiveness, even if it’s only emerged again recently, is driving me over the edge.
I want to improve, I want to be my best, show her that her efforts have an impact on me.
Because they do, more than any coach’s efforts ever have.
I don't know yet if the way I’m feeling about her—”
Something clatters sharply against the floor, stopping me mid-sentence. My head whips around in the direction of the sound, my gaze bouncing around, searching for what fell.
I don’t see anything though. Granted, it could’ve fallen behind the stacks of totes or something. Weird. My eyes narrow, taking one last look around, anxious that someone may be listening, but I don’t see anything.
Slowly, I turn back around, unable to shake the uneasy feeling as I try to center myself and get my thoughts back in order. A muffled, high-pitched sneeze sounds behind me, and now I know for certain that I’m not alone.
“Who’s there?” I call out, annoyed, my voice slightly ragged.
I walk toward where I think they’re hiding out, and two hands rise in the air above the totes. I relax my shoulders, knowing that I wasn’t completely crazy.
“I’m sorry. I was in here when you came in.”
I recognize her voice instantly as she stands to her height, her pretty red hair and worried face coming into view.
Shay.
She rambles nervously, “You started talking, and there wasn’t exactly an opening for me to be like, Hey, sorry to interrupt your heartfelt speech about your dad and your career. Anyway, bye.” She lowers her hands with an awkward smile. “I’m sorry.”
My mind is racing. She just heard everything about my dad, and thank God something fell when it did so I didn’t start talking about the fact that I liked her. Jesus, that would’ve been embarrassing as hell.
But if it was going to be anyone in here to hear about my dad, I’m glad it’s her. She has her own secrets and demons she’s fighting. She understands discretion, and besides, I’ve been keeping hers under wraps, so she’ll do the same for mine, I’m sure.
“It’s okay.” I break the silence and watch her shoulders fall as I remember the lights being off when I came in here. “Do you always sit in the dark in the far corner of a room, or is that reserved for this one?”
The tension breaks in her face, and a smile flickers across her lips. “Just this one, for the most part. It’s a sensory thing—helps me disappear for a minute and process.”
“So, no fear of the dark then?” I tease her.
Her lips purse, and her eyes twinkle. “No. Not anymore.”
“Are you going to come out from your hiding spot?” I ask her, gesturing to the open space by me.
Her lips turn down in thought. “But I have a chair back here. I think I’ll just keep listening from here.”
This earns a genuine laugh from me, deep and uncontrolled. “Oh, yeah? Of course. Let me keep talking about my inner thoughts and secrets while you take notes.”
She squints. “You’re the only one who gets to eavesdrop?”
My cheeks tingle from the sheer force of my smile. “Yeah, duh.”
She steps around the totes and comes into view, wearing a sage-green suit that makes her eyes look unreal. The pants hug her legs, and I have to physically stop myself from letting them wander over every inch.
She clears her throat, and I quickly realize that I failed to not stare. But that’s fine because she’s having the same issue, her eyes locked on my bare chest.
“Enjoying the view?” I tease her, her gaze flicking up to mine.
She challenges back, “Are you?”
I huff, biting the inside of my cheek. “That’s a dangerous question.”
Hesitantly, she takes another step closer to me, only a couple feet between us. I match her effort, leaving a foot as she gleams up at me.
The air is electric, and if I was unsure before about the way I feel about her, I’m certainly not now. It’s a palpable sensation, a being all its own. But I can’t ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head, telling me how irresponsible this is.
“Really? Dangerous? How so?” Her voice is breathy, her pupils dilated.
I don’t know what’s gotten into her either.
My fingers twitch, desperate to tuck her hair behind her ear or run along her hairline, watching her shiver beneath my touch. But I refrain.
Instead, I lean forward, making it even harder for myself, as inches are all that’s left between our faces. My gaze drops to her lips, painted a pretty pink, and when I look back up, her eyes are on my mouth.
“Because I’m not sure you’re ready to hear that answer. And if I say it, I’m going to do something about it.”
Our breaths are intertwined, hearts beating erratically. I could kiss her right now if I wanted to cross that line. I know she wants it too. There’s something between us, whether we’re ready to admit that or not.
“I-I should get home.” She swallows hard, a war brewing in her eyes. “Kyle’s been home alone for the last few hours.”
My blood runs cold. Kyle? Who the fuck is Kyle?
My jaw clenches, lips forming a tight line. “Of course. Good night, Coach.”
Somehow, she manages to pull herself from our orbit, strolling out of the room with her heels clicking like gunshots to my chest. She’s seeing someone—that makes sense. Of course she is. She's incredible and beautiful.
It’s for the best anyway for our relationship to stay professional. She makes me a better athlete, and that’s what I need to focus on right now, my game and nothing else.
Fucking Kyle.