Chapter 38
PEYTON
I was mostly numb after I left Avery’s house. All the way to the arena, I was on autopilot, replaying everything we’d said and wondering if I could have—and should have—done something different.
But I’d had to say something. Maybe I’d timed it wrong or said the wrong thing or—I didn’t know. But it wasn’t something I could just pretend not to notice. I couldn’t just sit back and wait for him to realize this wasn’t love.
Not for him, anyway. It was love for me.
I’d already known I was in love with him, and nothing had driven that home more than realizing he was slipping away from me.
All I’d wanted to do was pump the brakes and make sure we both knew what we were doing, but all I’d succeeded in doing was losing him.
“Christ,” I whispered. “What the fuck did I just do?”
And what could I have done differently? It wasn’t like I’d told him I needed to end things. I’d told him the exact opposite! He’d ended everything.
I had no idea what could have or should have changed, only that this was all wrong. We could salvage this, couldn’t we? Cool off, talk it through, take it slow, figure out what we both really felt? This didn’t have to be the end.
I might’ve been able to believe that if the hurt in Avery’s expression wasn’t seared into my memory like an awful replay no one would stop showing.
I fucked this up.
I fucked it all up.
And I have no idea how to fix it.
Worse, I couldn’t just stay home and wallow or go back to Avery’s place and beg him to talk this through with me. No, I had to be at the morning skate, and I had a game tonight.
As I got off the freeway to get to the arena, my stomach wound itself into even tighter knots. That cold pizza and coffee from earlier threatened to lurch up my throat.
We’d come out to the team. They knew.
They’d had yesterday and last night to dream up all kinds of chirps about it, and there’d be no avoiding any of that once I walked into the locker room.
What was I supposed to do? Tell them, “Never mind, we actually broke up this morning?” It was the truth, but it would mean questions and concerned looks and…
Was it too late to tell Coach I was too sick for practice or for tonight’s game?
Yeah, it was, and I couldn’t do that anyway. The team was counting on me. We were already down one top six forward. Plus there would be no end of heckling from the guys if I was suddenly scratched the day after quite obviously spending half the day in bed with Avery.
“Fuck my life,” I muttered to the steering wheel.
There was no avoiding it. Any of it. Nothing to do but nut up and face the guys, and hope I didn’t break down sobbing or lose my temper or God only knew what else.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I still had about fifteen minutes before I needed to be in the locker room. I hemmed and hawed a little, then swallowed my pride and did the only thing I could think of.
Can we talk about this? I’m sorry. I don’t want this to be over.
The word “Read” appeared beneath the message, so at least he hadn’t blocked me.
He didn’t respond, though.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and pressed back against the driver seat. We could come back from this. Right? It wasn’t like one of us had committed some unforgivable sin.
You mean besides telling him he doesn’t know what he’s feeling and he’s not really in love with you?
God, I fucked up so bad…
And somehow I was going to face my team and play hockey? When all I wanted to do was break every traffic law imaginable getting back to Sewickley to plead with Avery to talk this through?
Not like I had much choice. Avery wasn’t interested in talking to me, and I had a job to do. Swearing under my breath, I got out of the car and headed inside, keeping my gaze down.
From halfway up the hall, I could hear the locker room’s predictable noise, which was mostly voices talking over the rustles and squeaks of gear.
I thought I caught a glimpse of some guys in the hallway between me and the locker room, but they disappeared inside before I really paid much attention.
What I did pay attention to was how the noise suddenly ticked down a few notches. Gear still moved and people still spoke, but the relaxed vibe and loud heckling was conspicuously gone.
When I walked into the locker room, I glanced around, and almost everyone was looking my way.
Everyone else was very interested in whatever gear they were putting on or adjusting.
Even the equipment managers were suddenly very focused on their clipboards or, in one case, a helmet visor being tightened.
I pretended not to notice as I continued toward my stall.
As I started changing, people started chattering again, but the vibe was still subdued. Even those who chirped each other were quiet and half-hearted.
Awesome. I managed to kill my relationship and make the locker room unbearably awkward. I’m on a fucking roll today.
The guys who’d seen me in the hallway must’ve clocked that something was off and passed it on to the rest of the team, because they all gave me a wide berth. No comments about Avery and me hooking up. No comments about us bailing on our informal practice at the last second. Not a word.
I could only imagine what I looked like if all of them—even those who didn’t always pick up on social cues—intuited that they should leave the subject alone.
Great. Nothing said I’m a goddamned mess like a whole room full of hockey players who were in possession of some juicy gossip but were conspicuously holding back their snark.
As we geared up, I noticed some of them sending texts and having hushed conversations as they showed each other screens.
If I had to guess, they were texting Avery to make sure he was okay. God, the guilt over that burrowed deep into my chest; he was struggling enough lately. I just had to pile this on him, too, didn’t I?
This day just kept getting better and better.
I managed to get through practice much the same way I’d made it from Sewickley to downtown Pittsburgh without dying—rote memory and autopilot. I held my own during our various drills, and though it wasn’t my best performance, I didn’t fuck up while the special teams practiced.
The guys didn’t keep their distance per se, but they were clearly nervous around me. Conversations were focused on hockey and nothing else.
It was Coach Tabakov who finally pulled me aside and faced the elephant in the locker room head-on. In the hallway, arms crossed over his jacket, he eyed me. “You’re not here today, Halls. What’s going on?”
I struggled to hold his gaze, and I finally gave up and stared at the concrete between our skates. “Just some… personal stuff.”
“Anything I should be aware of?”
Oh, he probably needed to know this one. Especially with Avery getting so close to being reactivated, the prudent thing to do would be to let Coach know that his top line center and right winger had broken up. And that they’d been together in the first place.
That maybe his top line center was bringing more problems to this team than anything, and maybe the no-move clause in that center’s contract needed to be revisited.
But I was anything but prudent right now. I was brittle and I was a coward, and I just shook my head. “No, Coach. It’s—I’ll have my head in the game tonight.”
I sensed the skepticism coming off him. When I looked up, though, I wasn’t ready for the concern that was also in his expression.
“Tell me honestly, Halls,” he said softly. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”
I have to be. If I don’t have my shit together tonight, then…
Then I don’t know what’ll happen.
I swallowed the lump trying to rise in my throat. “I’ll be fine tonight.”
His expression hardened, but only slightly. “I need to know if I can count on you.” He gestured toward the locker room. “If they can count on you.”
I nodded despite the roiling in my stomach. “By the time we suit up tonight, I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure if I was promising him, myself, or both.
But one way or another, it had to be true.
I should’ve been settling in for my pregame nap, but I already knew that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I wandered my apartment, trying to figure out what to do besides talking to Avery, since that was obviously not an option.
Finally, I realized I needed some outside guidance, so I sent out an SOS to the only person I could think of to ask for advice.
Thank God I had someone I could talk to about things like this, too.
I’d teased him that he owed me after I’d finally talked him out of getting back together with that douchewaffle he’d been on-again off-again with all last year.
The reality, though, was that he was a good friend.
He knew me well, and I trusted his intuition about a lot of things, even if he was—with one exception—terrible at picking men to date.
When Dan’s face appeared on my screen, I breathed an actual sigh of relief.
“Thanks for talking with me,” I said. “I really need a sounding board right now.”
“Yeah?” He was in a hotel room, judging by the dull landscape painting above the plain headboard. “What’s going on?”
“The short version?” I let my head fall back against the couch cushion. “Avery and I fixed our bullshit and we got together, and now I’m pretty sure I fucked it up.”
Dan blinked. “Oh. Uh. How did you fuck it up?”
I gave him the rundown of how Avery and I had ended up together in the first place.
“So you guys got together after you helped him into rehab,” he said.
I nodded.
“Wow.” Dan pushed out a breath. “That’s heavy.”
“I know. And now I think I fucked it all up, but… I have no idea how to fix it.” I almost choked on the words as I added, “Especially since he won’t talk to me.”
“It’s only been, what, a few hours, though, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe he needs a little time to cool off.” He laughed softly. “You know, like we both did after that one really awful fight we had?”
I breathed a laugh, too. “God, that was a shitshow.”