Chapter 23 #3
A long nap, some lunch, and a few stupid internet videos later, I left the house again, but not for therapy or rehab.
Though ice time did kind of feel like unofficial therapy.
I’d been staying conditioned as much as I could both on and off the ice, and though the club had explicitly said I was not barred from being around the team—something that happened during suspensions—I hadn’t been able to bring myself to join them.
I still felt weird about everything. About leaving them high and dry.
About everyone knowing I was in the assistance program.
The thought of facing them, never mind joining them on the ice, made my stomach turn.
But Peyton had already seen me at my worst, so I felt okay about being around him right now.
And he was willing to skate with me—he’d offered several times—so why the hell not?
Though there was no game tonight, the team had practiced this morning, so this would be a light session, but that was fine.
Walking into the facility, I was still wrung out from therapy.
It had been a good session, though. A hard one, but a good one.
It had left me raw in ways that didn’t feel great, but I knew would help me heal.
It was a little like having surgery to correct an injury—it sucked in the moment, and it wouldn’t fix everything overnight, but it would make things better with time.
“I don’t even know if I have the energy to skate today,” I’d told Shannon at the end of our session.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” she’d said. “But from what you’ve been telling me, I suspect you’ll feel better after you’ve done some skating.”
We’d see, wouldn’t we?
Right now I had that feeling like the last thing in the world I wanted to do was skate or even work out. It felt a whole lot like arriving at a physical therapy appointment, knowing damn well that even if it was good for me, it was going to suck from start to finish.
But this wasn’t physical therapy, and I knew from experience that once I hit the ice, I’d shake that off.
When I stepped into the locker room, it was almost deserted.
Almost.
Peyton looked up from lacing his skates, and those blue eyes almost had me stumbling even before that brilliant smile came to life. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“It’s, um…” I dropped onto the bench by my stall. “I miss hockey, if that tells you anything.”
He chuckled, unaware of how gorgeous he was. “You’re a hockey player. If you’re not on the ice, you miss hockey. Full stop.”
I laughed. “Okay, yeah. You got me.” Sobering a little, I looked down as I untied my sneakers.
“It’s been harder than when I’ve been out with an injury though, you know?
Because, like, when I’m hurt, I can feel it.
I can’t skate. I can’t play. Fine. This time?
” I shook my head as I toed off one shoe.
“I get that,” he said softly, all the teasing gone. “I’m always climbing the walls during the off season.”
“Right? Especially when the playoffs are still going. So there’s still guys playing hockey while I’m not.”
“Exactly!” He laughed again. “Like when a certain team eliminated mine in the second round two years ago.”
I lifted my gaze, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see him shooting me a playful but pointed look. “What?” I shrugged innocently. “It’s not my fault you guys couldn’t get anything past Ziggy.”
“Ugh. Fucking brick wall.” He huffed with mock annoyance as he got up from the bench. “Not gonna lie, though—I’m much happier playing on his team than against it.”
“Tell me about it.” I stood and peeled off my hoody and T-shirt. “When we signed him, I was so damn relieved.”
“They’re extending him, right?” Peyton sounded genuinely concerned. “We’re not going to let him become a free agent, are we?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t think there’s anyone on the roster Gary wouldn’t trade in order to free up cap space to pay Ziggy whatever salary he wants.”
“Smart man.”
“I know, right?” I was about to say our GM was a damn wizard, having not only snatched Ziggy during an absolute steal of a trade four years ago, but signing Peyton this past summer.
I… didn’t want the air to get awkward between us, though, and if I started fanboying him—well.
Some things were just better left unsaid, at least for now.
“So.” Peyton picked up his stick and gloves. “Down for some one-on-one?”
I laughed. “Well, it isn’t like we have enough for a full scrimmage, so…”
I regretted that as soon as I said it, because he raised his eyebrows in that way that told me exactly what was coming next.
“I can talk to the guys,” he said. “I’m sure they’d be happy to join us. Not today, but…”
Avoiding his gaze, I shook my head. “I’d… just some one-on-one will be good for—well, for me. You’ve been practicing with…” Fuck. Why was I rambling? I cleared my throat. “The other guys—not yet. Maybe down the line a little.”
Please don’t push, please don’t push, please don’t push…
He didn’t push.
“Okay.” He nodded and collected his gloves and visor off the bench. “I’ll meet you out on the sheet.”
And then he was gone.
Alone in the locker room, I exhaled, relieved he’d let the subject be.
Truthfully, I did want to skate with my other teammates.
I wanted to be back on the ice with the whole team, caught up in chirping and practicing and running those annoying drills that our coaches dreamed up.
Sometimes the way I missed my teammates seemed to cut almost as deep as the way I missed Leif.
These men were my family, and being isolated from them sucked hard.
But the shame of collapsing so hard that I drowned in a bottle…
The humiliation of failing them as not only their teammate but as their captain…
No. I wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet. Not until I was firmly on my own two feet and they could be confident I wouldn’t let them down again.
Well, that was another goal to set my sights on. Get my shit together so I could be with my teammates again. So I could be with my family again.
Resolved to do exactly that, I put on my gear and headed out to the ice to skate with Peyton.