4. You Snuck Her Out The Window? #2
“We’re just messing around…It’s nothing serious,” Brennan counters, his eyes finally finding mine. “Look—I didn’t want to tell you. You’ve been doing well, and I didn’t want to set you off.”
Set me off? Did he seriously just say that?
What an insensitive prick.
“I’m not a fucking bomb, Brennan,” I yell, pacing around his room.
He sighs, stammering some bullshit excuse, but I just turn my back on him.
“I’m going for a run,” I announce, then quickly add, “I wouldn’t have cared, man. Just pissed that you hid it from me.” I turn, facing him to finish with, “And for fuck’s sake, have her use the front door next time!”
I slam Brennan’s door as I leave. With my back against the woodgrain, I force in a few deep breaths, but not before I catch Reid blurt, “You snuck her out the window?” He bites back a snort, “Dude, you can be such a fucking idiot sometimes.”
It’s quiet for one second. Two. And then…the two start howling with laughter.
I love Brennan Barnes like a brother; he’s one of my best friends, but he can be a real dumbass. Most days, he treats women like doormats, and June deserves so much better than him.
But, despite all that, I find myself joining in on their laughter.
For a split second—as I lace my sneakers and pull my coat on, quickly stretching—I pull out my phone and have an overwhelming urge to call Aubrey and tell her.
Ignoring the temptation, I tuck it away and jog off the porch.
I circle the block once.
Twice.
Three times.
I lose count eventually. For all I know, it could be a thousand fucking times.
If my leg could grow a mouth and tongue, it would be screaming at me to stop, to head back to the apartment, and take a long, hot shower. Then again, if it could do that, then maybe I wouldn’t be in so much pain to begin with.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore the heavy cotton t-shirt sticking to my body in all the wrong places as I push through the spasms.
I push myself harder. Faster. My pace gradually increases until I’m in a dead sprint.
My lungs wheeze in the crisp air, a burning sensation filling my lungs.
While my body is protesting, my mind, on the other hand, likes the tempo, the dull edge of pain radiating up my leg, the stabbing pains across my chest—it’s like a caress, an urge I can’t shake.
If I can only push past it, force myself through the discomfort, then I know what awaits—the runner’s high. The rush of adrenaline that will stop my mind from spiraling out of control, silencing the thoughts that haunt me, dulling the images of her that I can’t unsee.
I push harder, forcing my feet to pound the pavement in long, steady strides.
There’s just one problem: my leg can’t handle this tempo—not anymore.
I trip.
My body rolls ungracefully as I tumble over the pavement.
The sting of the asphalt rocks cutting into my skin makes me wince, but it’s not what takes my breath away, not what causes me to pull my knees to my chest and rock myself back and forth, uncaring of the neighbors that might look out their windows and see me curled into a ball along the road.
No.
It’s the memory replaying in my mind that has rendered my legs and body useless.
“You have to stop,” Doctor Shannon grits from across me.
I look away, unable to meet his gaze.
Aubrey pokes me in the side, pointing a finger in the doctor’s direction. I wish she’d lay off me. Just because I’m not looking at the doctor doesn’t mean that I can’t hear him perfectly fucking clear.
A heavy sigh escapes past my lips as I shrug off Aubrey’s lingering touch.
“It was just a light jog,” I urge, looking from Doctor Shannon to the nurse tucked away in the corner of the exam room. “You cleared me to run two weeks ago!”
But it seems as if no one has my back in this.
“Liam, no, it wasn’t,” Aubrey counters in a low tone beside me.
My head snaps in her direction.
Last time I checked, they didn’t ask her the question. I shake my head at her, but bite down on my tongue. I probably shouldn’t yell at her in front of the doctors.
I shouldn't be yelling at her at all, a voice deep inside me counters.
Why is my fuse so short nowadays?
“You were sprinting as fast as you could,” she adds, voice cracking with each word.
“I see you every morning out there. You’re pushing yourself too hard.
” Her head shakes as she looks toward the doctor.
“That’s why he’s going through so many pain pills—he’s at a breaking point, working himself too hard, and it’s causing him discomfort. ”
My heart cracks, splintering into a thousand shards that seem to stick me all at once.
I wish that’s all it was.
I do. I really do.
I wish it were just the pain I was trying to ease.
But it’s so much more than that.
It’s the thought of seats on the sideline. A Frozen Four Championship I’m watching on television, not on the ice.
An NHL contract I’ll never sign.
A dead-end future I don’t want.
That’s what the pills help numb—the voices in my head that remind me that I’ll never be the man I once was ever again.
I’m chasing silence, running—sprinting for the edge I’m desperate to dull.
“Liam,” Doctor Shannon starts in again, “I’ve told you this a dozen times, and it’s not any easier for me than it is for you—” I shake my head, fidgeting in my chair.
“But your career is over. I’m so incredibly sorry, but this type of injury is impossible to come back from.
” He shakes his head, and I swear I see tears beading in his eyes.
Like I’ve caused him physical pain. “If I could fix you, I would.” He shakes his head, “But I can’t, kid. And I’m sorry for that.”
I stand. In one sweeping motion, bursting out of the exam room doors.
I don’t want to listen to another fucking word that man has to say.
Aubrey calls after me, whispering apologies as I storm out of the office.
When we are outside, away from prying ears, I turn on her.
“What the fuck was that, Aubrey?” I scream, my face heating as I look her over.
She shrinks back a bit, like she’s suddenly scared of me.
She should be. Even I’m terrified of myself—of this version that I no longer know.
“You threw me to the fucking wolves in there,” I accuse, pinning the blame on her. I’m good at that nowadays, pointing a finger at anyone besides myself. “You didn’t need to tell them that. I have it fucking handled!” I spit. “I know my body’s limit!”
“Do you?” She counters, arms crossing over her chest as her bangs fall over her eyes.
My head inclines back, my feet stumbling backward like she’s struck a blow to me.
“Because it sure doesn’t feel like you do, Liam.”
A car horn blows.
I gasp, finding my feet within a second as I try to brush the debris off me.
“Hey, you alright?” one of the neighbors yells through the cracked window of their car.
I nod. Just once, and it must be enough reassurance because they drive off.
I don’t run back to the apartment.
No. I walk. Leisurely. Taking in the sights of fall all around me and breathing in the air, drawing it deep into my lungs.
For once, I don’t try to outrun the past—I think it’s finally starting to catch up with me.
Later that night, Reid walks into my room.
No knock. No announcement. Just throws the door open like he owns the place.
His eyes glance around, clearly evaluating my space. “Shit,” he starts, “I forgot how small your room is.”
I mockingly laugh at him.
“Yeah, well, not all of us have a trust fund paying for the primary bedroom,” I counter.
Reid and Brennan’s families are incredibly wealthy, so they can afford the two larger bedrooms. Leaving me the room that’s not much more than a spare closet, but I don’t mind, I pay a fraction of the rent because of it.
“Come on,” he presses, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
It’s Saturday night, and when I look at the clock, I see it’s 7 p.m.
“Shouldn’t you be headed off to some party?” I ask, putting down my textbook on Functional Anatomy. I’ve been trying to keep my mind off next week and the start of the season by studying and preparing myself both mentally and academically.
“Eh,” he sounds, making his way to my closet and shuffling through my belongings. “You know I try to lay low when the season starts.”
“I do?” I joke, and he gives me a mocking look. Standing from my desk, I ask, “What are you looking for?”
“Ah,” he announces, reaching for something in the back. “I knew you’d keep them.”
When he turns, I shake my head at what he holds.
My old skates.
I open my mouth, but he shoves them in his bag, throwing me a sweatshirt off my floor.
“We’re going to the arena.”
“You can. I’m not.”
I’ve had my fair share of ghosts of Liam’s past for one week. Next week I’ll face some more. But tonight, I’m not moving from this fucking room.
“Yes. You. Are.” He pronounces each word through clenched teeth.
“No. I’m. Not.” I shoot back, my arms crossing over my chest. He’s tried for the last year to get me back on the ice. When is he going to take ‘no’ for an answer?
Never, apparently, because he’s the most stubborn person I know.
“Look—” he replies sternly. “I’ve let you have your time.
I’ve let you mope around and hide away for the last year.
It killed me that I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I didn’t do more.
I’m so sorry that I was too distracted to see you struggling.
” I look away, not wanting to have this conversation with him.
“And I get therapy is good for you and all,” he blurts with controlled composure, a rare gesture from him. “But—”
Ah, and here it comes…his typical asshole remark.
“I know how us hockey guys are…” He pulls my winter coat from the hook on my wall. “And I know we respond better to a tough-ass hit than soft words about feelings.” He snaps his mouth closed. “Not that I’m discrediting that. But…can we at least try and do this my way?”
“No,” I say plainly.
“That wasn’t a question. Now, get your fucking ass up.” If it wasn’t my best friend saying those words, they’d be enough to start a fight. “The first game is in one week, and you think you’re honestly going to be able to go in there and watch from the sidelines?”