Chapter 38 #2
“It was. But we got through it. And we were long-distance—we could’ve ghosted each other and been done with it.” He offered a slight shrug. “You and Avery will have to be in the same room sooner or later.”
I winced at the memory of the painfully awkward locker room vibe this morning. “I’d kind of rather fix this before we’re stuck together around the team.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
“Any thoughts?” I asked. “Because I have no idea how to fix this.”
“Well…” He was quiet for a moment, gaze unfocused.
I didn’t press; sometimes he did that when he was trying to gather his thoughts.
Finally, he looked at me through the camera again.
“The reason you’re worried about him not really loving you?
I think that has less to do with him and more to do with you. Specifically, your past.”
I straightened. “What?”
“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way…” He inclined his head a little. “But it sounds like your man isn’t the only one with some baggage. Dude, I knew even before you told me about your mom that you and alcohol had a weird history.”
“You did?”
“Well, yeah. You’re not as subtle about it as you think.
” He must’ve seen the questions in my expression, because he continued, “You’re fine for a beer or two, but you get twitchy when people start drinking heavily.
I don’t think other people notice, but I do—it’s like you’re just kind of uncomfortable, you know?
Especially around people who get really fucked up.
And when someone gets smashed enough they need a responsible adult to keep them out of trouble, that responsible adult is always you. ”
Heat rose in my face. I wanted to snap back that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but…
he kind of had a point. Hanging out with hockey players meant a certain amount of drinking, and I was okay with that.
Once someone crossed into shitfaced territory, though—once they needed a babysitter—I exited party mode and became the guy who scraped people up, got them water, got them home.
I shifted on the couch. “You don’t think I should do that?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said softly. “You’re just the first to jump up and babysit the really drunk guys.
The more people around you drink, the less you do.
It’s not a flaw, Peyton. None of it is. But the more I saw you in action, the more it became pretty obvious you’re not real comfortable with all of it.
Because as soon as that shit starts happening, you stop having a good time. ”
I definitely couldn’t argue with that.
“I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you,” he went on. “But the shit with your mom—that’s trauma, man.”
I jumped. “It is?”
“Of course it is. And maybe that’s something you need to deal with. Like… with some help.”
“You think I need a therapist.”
Dan gave me that arched eyebrow and half-shrug that always meant, am I wrong?
And… no. He really wasn’t wrong.
“I’m not saying this to blame you,” he said. “But I think it might be something you should explain to Avery. So he understands where you’re coming from.”
I chewed my lip. “What if it’s too late, though? What if I’ve fucked this thing up with him?” I hated how pitiful and scared I sounded. “Like he won’t want anything to do with me, and things will get awkward when he comes back from rehab, and—”
“Hey, slow down,” Dan said gently. “It sounds to me like he’s a good dude, same as you, and that if you two sit down and talk about this—like really talk and not try to act like you’re too manly to discuss your feelings—you can figure it out.”
“Hey! I’ve never been too manly to discuss my feelings!”
He rolled his eyes. “No, but I remember some of the conversations we had when we were trying to work things out. It was trying to get blood from a stone from both of us.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“See? So go talk to him and see what you guys can work out.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Go talk to him? Like…”
“Like stand outside his window with a boombox like this is the 1980s or something—I don’t know.
But if he’s not responding to your texts or returning your calls, you might have to let him know you mean it.
Show up and see if he’ll talk to you.” He paused.
“I mean, obviously if he wants you to leave, then leave. But… you know what I mean.”
“I do, yeah.” I almost shuddered at the idea, if only because I was scared Avery would slam the door in my face. How angry was he over everything I’d said?
“Breathe, Peyton,” Dan said. “It’s probably worse in your head than it actually is.”
“One can hope,” I said with a humorless laugh. “Anyway, you’re right. I’ll see if he’ll talk to me, and either way, I’m going to look into getting a therapist.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “Let me know how it goes, yeah?”
“I will. Thanks for helping me sort it out.”
“Any time. You know that. And hit me up this summer and we’ll do something.” He paused, then laughed with a hint of sadness. “Something tells me we won’t be doing another Tour de Debauchery together.”
I chuckled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I hope not.”
“Same.” He smiled. “Good luck with him. He must be a great guy if he’s got you tied up in knots like this.”
“You mean like Will was such a great guy when he had you—”
“All right, all right. That’s enough out of you.”
I laughed, and I actually felt it this time.
We ended the call a moment later, and I sat back on the couch and stared up at my living room ceiling.
I felt better after talking to my ex, but I also felt a lot worse.
Panicked, almost. Like I needed to see Avery right this minute and talk this through, as if every second I waited was one more second he had to slip away from me forever.
I wanted to see him face to face like Dan had suggested, but I was still a coward. I also had to head back to the arena soon, but also… coward.
I needed to at least try something, though, so with my heart in my throat, I wrote out a text.
I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry. Can we talk?
I got no answer.