Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NEVER WILL
TULLY
My face is a mess. My left eye is bruised purple and still partially shut, and my nose is swollen like I headbutted a goalpost. Close enough—Patrick Martin’s fist slammed into me pretty good.
No stitches on the lip, just a fat split that stings.
I’m sitting on the bench in front of my stall after our first period, loosening my skates slower than usual.
The words Patrick spewed before the gloves flew are still echoing: “Lola figured it out years ago, Whitman. Knew you were too much of a pussy to ever fight for her.”
I didn’t like him talking about her, period, but his words hit hard.
They rang true to how I’ve always felt about our breakup.
I was blindsided by our ending, and I never had the closure I needed.
I wanted to fight for us, but she just disappeared.
And it’s true—when my calls and texts went unanswered, I gave up.
I could’ve gone to her family home in Nantucket.
I could’ve tried to reach her sister. I could’ve done so much more.
Knox walks into the locker room and drops onto the bench next to me, shoulder-checking me. “Okay, now you really have me worried. What the fuck is up with you, man? Your nose still attached?”
I grunt. “Barely.”
Silas moves from his stall, helmet dangling from one hand. “Martin’s got a chin like a brick wall. You tagged him good, though. I think he’s gonna need stitches above his eyebrow.”
“Fucking wuss,” Finn says, his face turning red with his outburst. “Who gets stitches above their eyebrow?”
We all stare at him in surprise because the dude never shit-talks, and it only makes him flush more.
“Got that fucking right,” Roman says, pounding Finn on the back. “Think I’d try to cover this up? Gives me character.” He points at the small scar on his forehead and grins.
They’re all trying to lighten the mood, the way we all do when someone’s off. It’s not working as well as I’d like, but I appreciate the effort.
Knox keeps going, grinning. “Seriously, though. What’d Martin say to set you off? He call your sister ugly? Because we all know that isn’t true. Or was it your taste in beer? He does have a point there. That IPA you drink is criminal.”
Silas cuts in, voice high and dramatic: “And then, in a shocking twist, Whitman drops the gloves and smashes Martin’s pretty face like we’ve all been dying to do!
The crowd goes wild! The commentators lose their minds!
Cue slow-mo replay and sad but triumphant violin music as Whitman shows everyone who’s boss! ”
The room cracks up. I force a laugh, but it comes out rough. Finn impersonates Patrick’s bloody grin, and Knox pretends to be me throwing punches in slow motion—but it fades to background noise when our coach walks in.
The General barks his way through the guys: “Whitman, what the fuck was that? I expect that shit from these morons, but not you. Now get out there and show them how it’s done this time. If you’re gonna pull out your fists, at least beat the motherfuckers! Quit dickin’ around and play!”
He levels me with a glare and nods for me to say something.
“We’ve got this, guys. They beat us in the championships. We can’t let them win again tonight. Are we gonna show them we’ve got what it takes?” I yell.
A variety of yeahs and fuck yeahs reverberate in the room, and we hustle out when it’s time.
When we come back in after the game, the mood is somber. The bench is kicked by more than one guy, and I avoid looking anyone in the eye until it’s to simply say, “I’m sorry, guys. I played like shit out there. I’ll do better next game.”
“You’re not the only one. It went downhill from the beginning,” Roman says.
“Yeah, because I set the tone, and I’m sorry.”
Some of the guys don’t look at me, and a few others nod or squeeze my shoulder as they walk out. Soon, only Roman and I are left.
“Okay, talk to me,” he says, sitting on the bench across from me. “Our loss isn’t just on you, but you were all over the place out there. What’s going on? I’m worried about you. We all are.”
I rub my swollen nose. “I know.”
He puts his elbows on his knees, his eyes meeting mine, as he waits for more.
“I’ve seen Lola again.” My voice sounds loud in the locker room.
His reaction is immediate surprise.
“Two different times,” I say, softer this time. “Once in Windy Harbor, and again in Nantucket. Neither time planned.”
“Fuck. No wonder you’re a mess.”
I met Roman right on the heels of my breakup with Lola. I was a mess, drinking a lot, and when I was drunk, all I wanted to talk about was Lola. It’s been years now, but he’s probably heard more about Lola than anyone, including my family.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes—Goldie. Then Dad. Then the group chat takes off.
Dad
Son, are you okay? How bad are you hurt?
Camden
Goldie filled us in about you running into Lola again. Why didn’t you tell us? Maybe we could’ve helped you from spiraling.
Noah
Don’t need to keep that shit locked up inside, man.
I snort. Oh, that’s rich, coming from Noah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his shit. And he’s had many reasons to—his pregnant girlfriend broke up with him and then died three days after she had their baby. It doesn’t get much worse than that.
Goldie
I didn’t give details, just said you’d seen Lola in Nantucket.
Dylan
What the hell happened in Nantucket? And how’s your nose, by the way? That looked like a hard hit, but you gave it to that fucker good. Can’t stand that pompous ass. What did he say to you?
I just stare at the screen.
“Did you talk to her?” Roman asks, jarring me from my phone.
“We did more than talk. At least in Nantucket. I thought she was—” I shake my head. “Don’t know what I thought.”
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“I just have to get her out of my head. Or confront her. I don’t know which. But I’ve gotta be done with this.”
“Well, getting her out of your head hasn’t worked. Maybe it’s time you confronted her.”
I sit there, lost in thought. He gets up.
“You going out with us?” he asks.
“Nah. I’m gonna shower and go to bed. Bury this day for good.”
“All right. I’ll text you where we’re going, if you change your mind.”
When I get back to the hotel, it feels loud. I pull out my phone and respond to the family thread.
I let my temper get the best of me with Patrick fucking Martin, but I feel fine. Looks worse than it feels. And yeah, I saw Lola again in Nantucket. It’s left me rattled, but I’m gonna get it together. Love you guys. I’m going to bed.
And then I stare at my phone and pull up Lola’s number. Since I know she most likely won’t see this anyway, I just start typing, without worrying about what she’ll think or how she’ll interpret it.
Hi, Lola. It’s Tully. I’m not even sure if this is your number anymore, but here I am texting. Needed to get a few things off my chest. Maybe it helps knowing you won’t see this, I don’t know. Kinda wish you would. Our running joke from the first night we met was that you weren’t a puck bunny.
Which is just ironic now because that’s exactly how you’ve made me feel—like I’m nothing more than a fuckboy to you. Someone you can use when you want to feel good and then dispose of when you’re done.
I thought we were so much more than that.
I realized after the first time you left that you didn’t love me the way I loved you.
But I think I romanticized it in my head.
I told myself there were reasons you left that I didn’t know about, you were scared, your parents forced you to break up with me, you were threatened by my hockey career… on and on the list goes.
I’ve come up with lots of excuses for you.
But the excuses have run out. The blame isn’t solely on you.
I blame myself as much as I blame you. I walked right back into you, wanting so badly to believe that this was a sign for us, that you were ready this time, and you were already walking away from me before we even kissed.
In Nantucket, when you wanted to just stay in the present, that should have been a red flag all over again. Let’s not talk about anything that happened between us, just “Hello, fuckboy, it’s been a while, and I need a good lay.”
Since this seems to be the year that we run into each other, I’ll just put this out into the universe: If you see me, turn and walk away. I’ve gotten used to that sight anyway, and it’s for the best that we don’t even play nice anymore. This fuckboy is closed for business.
I hit send and toss my phone on the bed.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes, and I pick it up and freeze when I see Lola’s name on the screen.
I almost drop it.
Lola
I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel this way, Tully. The truth is, I’ve always loved you. I’ll never stop. Our time together five years ago is sacred to me, and what we shared in Nantucket is as well. I’ve missed you every day since I left. Both times.
Lola
You are so much more to me than sex. I realize now that I made everything even more confusing by sleeping with you in Nantucket and then leaving.
I didn’t assume you’d ever want me back, not after the way I ended things.
I really thought we were both setting real life aside in Nantucket, but it was foolish to think it wouldn’t backfire to just be in the moment.
We’ve never just been a moment, have we?
Lola
I understand why you’d hate me. Know that all the anger and hatred you’re feeling for me now is something I feel about myself on a daily basis. I don’t deserve your kindness.
Lola
There is no one in this world who deserves happiness more than you, Tully. You’re the best person, and knowing that I’ve brought nothing but pain to your life is something that will always haunt me.
Lola
I will walk the other way when I see you. Not because I don’t want to see you with my whole heart, but because you’re worthy of someone so much better than me.
I read it twice. Three times. The words blur.
My chest feels like someone’s sitting on it.
After five years of radio silence. After I texted apologies, explanations, stupid drunk I miss you messages that went unanswered.
After Nantucket when she walked out, and I thought that was finally it—she’s responding.
I can’t fucking believe it.
My thumbs shake as I type back.
Jesus, Lola. I can’t breathe.
There’s so much to say, but first: Why now? Why answer after all this time when you never did before?
Dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Lola
I knew I was weak and blocked you. Until tonight, if you can believe that. And that was probably because I’ve had so many vodka cranberries.
Lola
I saw the fight. Are you okay?
My pulse hammers in my ears.
She was watching. She will always love me. She misses me?
What is this mindfuck I’m living?
I’m fine. You watched the game?
Lola
I watch all your games
I feel like I’m in an alternate reality right now. How drunk are you?
Lola
I had four vodka cranberries. Five? Not sure.
I snort and then wince because it hurts.
Oh yeah, you’re gonna feel that in the morning.
Lola
Worth it. I’m glad I unblocked you.
I sigh. She probably won’t be so glad about that in the morning either. But I don’t want to stop talking to her.
You miss me?
Lola
Every day.
God. What is happening?
You never stopped loving me?
Lola
Never. And I never will.
What happened, Lola? Why did you leave me?
I wait for a response, but it’s quiet…not even little dots moving. But instead of it making me madder, I have this seed of terrified hope taking root in my chest.
She still loves me.
It’s not enough to go on, especially since she still hasn’t texted back, but I don’t feel like I’m bleeding out anymore.
What is she not telling me?
I wait a few more minutes, set the phone on the charger, and turn off my light. I’ll text her again tomorrow.
It’s time for me to get some answers.