61. LANE
LANE
I’m in the locker room waiting for my teammates and I keep seeing Cora’s face.
Her standing in my apartment like she was ready to get on her knees and beg me to try and figure us out.
When I told her I was tapping out, how love isn’t enough, it was like time was about to fold in on us.
The words tasted like glass coming out of my mouth, but I said them anyway—because what else was I supposed to do?
Pretend this isn’t exactly how my life always goes?
One mistake. A bad call. Everything is gone.
She looked like she was physically in pain, which basically matched me.
Her eyes were wide, hands clenched at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
And when she came to me, reaching for me, there was a split second where I considered hugging her.
Holding her to me. The way I've done a hundred times before.
But I couldn’t.
I’d managed to climb out of this hole and make myself relevant again. Like my dreams were in reach. She knew that. She’s one of the only people who knows the whole story. I didn’t think the careful and prepared Cora could ever do something like this.
I know I made the decision to drive her home. I didn’t even think of the bottle of liquor. I was just thinking about getting her home.
That’s what she does—clouds my judgement, shifts my priorities.
I hear people in the hallway and I do my best to stand tall. Coach let me know that it’s on me to tell my team. I can tell them what I want—this isn’t his story to tell.
They start filtering in, a few eyes stuck on me when they realize I’m not getting dressed for practice. Something in my face must give me away because it’s only a minute later before everyone is in there, including Coach, and they’re all sort of staring at me.
“Everything good?” Troy asks, looking at me and then back at Coach.
When Coach says nothing, that’s my cue.
“I’m out for the next two weeks. I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing that I can get my mouth to say. “I’m hoping we can keep this between us. This locker room only.”
The room is like a layer of confusion before someone asks, “For what? I don’t get it.”
I shake my head, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on me. Coach is still standing by the door with his arms crossed, letting me handle it.
I decided when Coach gave me the green light to talk to the team that I’d tell them the whole story. They deserve it. It’s what I’d want if I was one of them.
“Last night, I got pulled over when I was driving Cora home. There was an open bottle of tequila in the car. The cop didn’t give me a ticket but called Coach to come and get us.”
There’s a low whistle when I finish but no one moves. I glance at Leo and his eyes are massive, like he can’t believe it.
“Wait. No ticket. Were you drinking?” Troy asks, stepping closer to me.
“No, I wasn’t. Just driving Cora home.” Saying her name is like pouring lemon juice on an open wound.
I think that’s when it clocks for everyone. Cora.
“So, what’s the problem?” Troy continues to be the only one to speak, besides me. He looks at Coach and then back to me.
I take a deep breath and try to make it make sense for them. “I shouldn’t have been in a car with an open bottle. That’s the problem.”
A few guys glance at Coach, like maybe he’ll explain more.
“You swear you weren’t drinking?” Noah asks.
This time, Leo jumps in. “No. He wasn’t. I was there. I didn’t leave with them, but I didn’t see him take a drink the entire time.”
Coach’s eyes are like lasers and I don’t know if this makes this worse or better. He stretches his neck and crosses his arms against his chest.
“So, you’re just done for two weeks? That’s five games.” The guys start to think about what this means for the team.
I nod.
“Coach, this doesn’t make sense.” This time it’s Matty. Our pretty quiet and level headed goalie.
A part of me hurts deeper when I watch the guys try to understand.
How do I have people who are trying to stick up for me?
Or show up at least. When I cleaned out my locker in Ohio, there was barely any push back.
A few claps on the back and handshakes, but mostly they moved on, like I wasn’t a key part of the team.
Maybe they were right.
But here? I’ve made my mark. Even if everyone doesn’t like me, I’ve clearly moved the needle in the right direction.
Coach takes a deep breath and addresses the team. “This is my decision. I expect you all to be good men when you’re not at this rink.”
That fucking hurts.
“Lane is a good person. Sounds like he was taking care of your daughter,” Matty says and I can’t believe it.
The room turns to our goalie and everyone is afraid to move, including me.
“Watch it. Or you can join him,” Coach snaps.
Matty quietly follows with, “Sorry, Coach.”
“Now, if you want to show me what you’re made of without Lane—we have some work to do.” Coach claps his hands, ending the meeting and walking out to the ice.
The players start to file out, some of them telling me they’re sorry or offering a sad smile.
Troy stands in front of me. He looks at me the way captains do when they’re trying to figure out if you’re about to fall apart or if you’re still solid enough to stand on your own.
“Two weeks?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He exhales through his nose and glances toward the door where the rest of the team has disappeared onto the ice. The sound of skates cutting across the rink filters faintly through the walls.
“Hell of a time for that,” he mutters.
“I know.”
We both know exactly what two weeks means this time of year. He shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s deciding whether to leave it alone or not.
“Cora. Really?” he asks, looking around like the answer to our problems is somewhere on the walls.
“I should’ve known better.” I look down at my feet.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re right. You should’ve.”