Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Len
Izzy plops down as the buzzer marking the end of the second period blares around us. She sighs. “Is it me or is my brother playing like shit?”
“I’m not walking into that one.” I worry over my lip, watching Zaiah skate off the ice, head hung low. I want to chase after him. I want to shake him a bit, give him a pep talk, and smack his ass.
Though, I kind of just like his ass, so maybe that part’s for personal reasons.
“He’s having a tough game,” Mrs. James says, standing. “Does anyone want anything?”
“I’ll come with you,” Zaiah’s dad offers, and they walk off together.
“Seriously, though.” Izzy groans, kicking at the chair in front of her.
I give the cowbell a slight ring-a-ling and then set it down. Nothing seems to be helping him, anyway. “I think it’s my fault.”
“What? Did you guys fight before the game or something? The last two games? Please tell me you didn’t break up. I’ll cry. I swear I will.”
I shake my head, laughing at her dramatics. “We didn’t break up.”
She hits me with her shoulder. “Well?”
“I don’t know if I should say. Zaiah didn’t want me to say anything.”
“You’re pregnant.”
My mouth gapes open. “Pregnant? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do I look pregnant?”
“No!” she exclaims. “I’m sorry. Mom always says I watch too much TV, and this felt like the right part in the script for a bomb to drop.”
I would laugh if I wasn’t currently choking on my own air. “Oh my God, Izzy. I swear. Life isn’t a script. If it was, everyone would have a happy ending.”
“If you were pregnant, it would be a happy ending.”
I give her the are you crazy? look. “I have goals and they aren’t kids right now. Why are we talking about this?”
“I meant that if he did…” she waves her hand around the proximity of my lower half, “impregnate you, that would mean you’d be a permanent fixture in my life, and I like the sound of that.”
“Aww.” I move to hug her, and she gives me a squeeze. “That’s really sweet, and we can be friends no matter what, but please don’t put out that energy. I’m a senior in college, Iz.”
She pats my back. “Noted.” Sitting back, she frowns out at the ice. “But you still have to tell me the other thing.”
My mind is torn. I do a quick pros and cons list, but I selfishly move forward because I don’t have a lot of people to talk to about this. Plus, I never liked the idea of keeping it a secret from his family. They would want to know. “So, a couple weeks ago, Zaiah and I made this amazing video—a highlight reel of sorts. Then we sat down and emailed pretty much every AHL team, asking them to take a look.”
“Really? Wow. Good for Zaiah.”
“Yeah, except…I think it’s put him in his head. Or at least the lack of response has. He checks the video all the time. We uploaded it to YouTube with a private link so you can see how many people have watched it, and he has absolutely zero views.”
“Ahh.” She sits back, dribbling her fingers on the armrest. “He’s pouting.”
I shrug. “Kind of, I guess? He’s definitely in his head about it. Please don’t say anything. He didn’t want you guys to know. I keep reminding him that tryouts are still months away. The teams are winding down their current season, so they’re probably not even looking at emails right now. The fact that there’s no response yet doesn’t mean anything.”
“Coming to Warner killed Zaiah’s confidence. He was the hotshot in his leagues. Warner promised him the world only to be overlooked, and now he’s got nothing.”
“Did he used to talk about playing professionally all the time?”
“All. The. Time.”
My stomach flips. Regret courses through me as I think about the article I secretly wrote and sent out that’s most likely now sitting in some magazine’s slush pile.
For the best, probably, but when I was doing research for Zaiah on how to make it to the NHL without being drafted, I got carried away and kept digging. People who don’t give up—people like my father—they’re a special breed. They hear no and instead of walking away, they dig their heels in.
The article idea wouldn’t leave me alone, and after Zaiah and I made the video, I started to work. Not the same piece I promised him for the college paper, but another one. “The Sport of Dreaming.” I wrote about the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I got quotes from current pro players in various sports. It all came together with shocking speed, and honestly, Zaiah going after his dreams motivated me. I sent it out to a bunch of magazines. My first piece, on an editor’s desk.
I wished I’d let Zaiah read it first, but he hasn’t wanted to talk about hockey or the video.
I rub my throbbing temples. I didn’t want the “crushing defeat” scenario to play out in front of me. Zaiah’s story should be different.
My eyes start to water, my throat closing.
“Hey.” Izzy grabs my shoulder. “Whatever happens, it won’t be your fault. Zaiah should try. I’m glad you had a hand in this. He’s changed with you. Completely changed.”
“Yeah, now he’s losing games. Go me.”
I wipe at an escaped tear and breathe out, hoping I can stop the waterworks before Zaiah’s parents come back. The last thing I want to do is explain to them why I’m crying.
“That’s on him,” she explains. “Losing happens in sports. He knows that. He’s been playing his whole life. Plus, he’s not the only player out there. He doesn’t have to carry his teammates on his back, and you don’t have to carry him either.”
I nod, taking a deep breath, willing the tears away. Several even breaths later, I have it under control.
She pats my arm. “Good?”
“Better.”
Mr. and Mrs. James return, so I sit back in my seat, nerves still frayed. When the players come back out on the ice, I pick up the cowbell and stand with Zaiah’s family because it doesn’t matter how he plays, we’ll be cheering him on no matter what.
Luckily, they eke out a win, and when the Swaggin’ Wagon drops me off, I’m not as tense as I could be as I make my way into the suite to wait for him.
I dress in my pajamas and put on The Secret Circle TV show so I can get mad that they canceled it again. Luckily, I’ve read the books, so I know how it ends, but the show was so good. Jerks.
Time passes, and the next thing I know, I’m roused by hands sliding under my thighs. My eyes fly open, and Zaiah is there, lifting me from the couch. “What time is it?” I ask sleepily.
“Late. I went out to get something to eat with some of the guys. I texted you, but you didn’t respond.”
“I must’ve fallen asleep.”
I wrap my arms around him, and when he goes to lay me on the bed, I hold on, giving him no choice but to follow after.
He scoots in, and I lay on my side. “Congratulations on the win.”
He shrugs. “None of it was my doing.”
I watch different emotions play over his face from the moonlight streaming in through the open curtains. “You’re a team.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Oh, so you take credit for the wins when you play well?”
“Of course not.”
I give him a look, and he sighs and rolls onto his back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I chew on my lip, reminding myself that I wanted it this way. He can choose what to talk about when it comes to hockey. I’d rather this than sitting in a booth being ignored.
Scooting closer, I lift his arm and sneak underneath it so I can lay my head on his chest. He closes it after me, rubbing my arm.
We lie there in silence, a heavy tension filling the room. Pressure screams off Zaiah like a banshee. I don’t know how long it takes me to fall asleep, but when I wake the next morning to an empty bed, my eyes itch and they’re hard to open, like they’re still clinging to sleep.
The sun streaming in through the open curtains doesn’t help. I get up to shut them, but it’s too late. Once I’m up, I’m up, and when I check the clock, I can see why. It’s nearly eleven a.m.
Begrudgingly, I head to my en suite to get ready, and when I finally walk out into the common area, Zaiah’s seated at the small kitchen table. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he says, distracted.
Instead of letting him stare at his orange juice some more, I pick his hand up, straddle his lap, and sit, smiling up at him.
He returns the grin, wrapping his arms around me. “Well, that is a good morning.”
“You seemed out of it.” I shrug. “What time did you wake up?”
“Didn’t sleep well. I’ve been up for a couple of hours.”
I trace my hands up his chest, then scoot forward to kiss him. These past months with Zaiah have been amazing. Worrying over living with someone I was dating was short-lived. We fell into a rhythm so easily. So much so that I’ve been anxious about what happens after we graduate. There hasn’t been a good time to discuss it with him.
“Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he says.
I pull away, wondering if he can read my mind. It’s not surprising he’d be thinking about it, too. Graduation feels like it’s hurtling toward us at the speed of the asteroid in Armageddon … And now I remember why I stopped watching apocalyptic movies.
The stress.
My stomach squeezes. “Yeah?”
I try to calm down, reminding myself that these conversations are normal. Izzy thought I could’ve been pregnant yesterday, so this isn’t weird. Zaiah and I are together.
“No one’s watched the video yet. I checked again this morning.”
Disappointment hits me hard and fast. I can’t disguise the frustration in my voice. “Oh.” I move off him, heading toward the Keurig to make my own coffee.
“I need to be realistic about my expectations.”
I swallow, trying to kick back the negative thoughts pinging through my brain. “It’s a great video, Zaiah. When someone has the time to look at it, they’re going to respond. The teams are still in their regular seasons. We have time.”
I’m a broken record at this point.
“If I don’t get drafted, chances are slim.”
“Fourteen percent of players in the NHL weren’t drafted, including the GOAT.” I smile to myself for that. Took that line right from my article, but it’s also the truth. Wayne Gretzky, who’s recognized as the greatest player of all time, was never drafted into the NHL.
Full stop.
“I think we should be realistic.”
“We are. You’re not giving it enough time.”
He breathes out, and the heaviness in the air swirls around us again. “I know you want to be positive for me, and I appreciate it, but I…know. It’s not going to happen, and I was wondering…”
He pauses, and I turn to look at him, waiting.
He wipes his hands down his face. “I was wondering if you could ask your dad for help. He has connections.”
My stomach drops. Irritation thunders through me like a tornado as my mouth opens, then closes again without saying a word.
“I know it’s asking a lot of him,” he explains. “And it might not do anything.”
My hand clenches. He’s not even thinking about this from my perspective. My shoulders fall as disappointment hits me as well. I don’t want my dad’s help, so why would I ask for him? “No,” I say tightly.
“What?”
“No, I’m not asking him.”
“I know you guys don’t have the best relationsh—”
“Then you don’t know anything, Zaiah,” I spit, anger whipping through me. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this. No. No, I’m not going to my dad.”
His voice rises. “No one’s going to look at the stupid video.”
His words are like a blow to the gut. We spent so much time on that video, and he was so excited at first. I crafted the email myself, and it’s compelling as hell. “Stupid video?”
The Keurig sputters behind me, and I nearly jump.
He sighs and stands, walking over to me. “What if I’m not good enough?”
“You are,” I say, my voice catching.
“Maybe your dad could give us the next steps? What if we’re going about it the wrong way?”
My hands clench into fists. “ I did the research. I know. If you’d done the research, you’d know.”
He backs away, eyes guarded. “You really won’t reach out to him?”
“I said no.” Why doesn’t he realize that every word he says about this is tearing me up?
His lips thin. “If my dad had ties to the publishing world, I’d jump in for you.”
Disbelief courses through me. “I wouldn’t want you to. I want to make it on my own merits.”
He takes a long time to respond, looking anywhere else but me. “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”
“I guess so.”
“Bye-bye hockey dreams,” he muses as he walks away.
“Oh, don’t fucking put that shit on me,” I snap, and Zaiah looks up, startled. “You’re good. Okay? You’re good enough to make it. I don’t know why you don’t listen. We’ll keep emailing. We’ll call the teams to make sure we’ve sent the emails to the right people. We’ll ask them over the phone to watch your video, but this woe is me attitude isn’t helping. I can’t do the work for you. And you’re letting it impact the way you play the game.”
“Oh really?”
“When you finally get the call, you still have to ace the tryouts, so don’t start playing like shit now, Zaiah. You’re playing like you’ve already lost when you’re only getting started. This is when you need to be at your absolute best. And the worst part is, you’re great. You just don’t see it. I don’t know how many times and in how many ways I can say it so that you’ll hear me.”
He doesn’t speak for a while. The smell of coffee lingers, but either I go nose blind to it or the aroma drifts away because by the time he responds, I can’t smell it anymore. “You’re right. I already feel defeated. I’m grasping at straws.” He swallows. “I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
He closes his eyes, tilting his head toward the ceiling. He stays that way a few moments, like he’s calling on some sort of higher power. When he looks at me again, his eyes are pleading. “Forgive me?”
“I want the best for you too, you know.”
“I know.” He walks forward, picking me up to hug me. I place my legs around him, and he lifts me onto the counter. “I know I’ve been miserable to live with lately.”
I take a deep breath. “Maybe we can find a mindset coach?”
His eyes shutter closed. “I’ll go to the gym. That always helps me think clearly.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He laces his fingers through my hair, bringing me close. “I’m really sorry, Lenore. Please forgive me. I won’t say anything like that again, and I’ll try to be positive.”
He’s desperate, I remind myself. There’s so much at stake here. “You’re forgiven. I believe in you, Zaiah. Wholeheartedly. But you also have to believe in yourself.”
He gives me a squeeze, pulling me off the counter before dropping a kiss to my forehead. “At least I’ve got you.”
To do list, I note in my head as I watch him gather his gym bag and leave. Look up sports mindset coaching.