15. Shay
SHAY
My phone rings, ripping me from my thoughts about my therapy session with Lorea last night. It’s my mom.
“Hello?” I answer, immediately second-guessing picking up.
Lorea called me out on my shit this last session, telling me that I’m avoiding my feelings for Matt because I don’t feel deserving of love, which is bullshit.
I know I deserve love. A but floats on the tip of my tongue, and I want to internally scream.
I’m not broken or ruined; deep down, I know that.
But it’s really damn hard some days to not question my worth when everyone else seems to.
“Hey, sweetie pie.” My mom is almost too cheery to tolerate this morning.
It’s barely five a.m., and I still have to finish packing my bag before I head to the airport.
I put it on speaker so I can keep packing. “All ready to go?”
Moms must have a sixth sense, I swear.
“I’m finishing up. About to head out. What’s up? You’re awake early.”
Her smile is clear in her tone. “I wanted to call you before you left so we could chat for a few before you’re zipping off to Montreal again. My little jet-setter.”
It’s sort of funny that when you’re growing up, you don’t want to be considered young or a little kid.
You want to be an adult and treated as such.
But once you reach a certain age, you realize that everyone is just a kid to someone else.
Some days, I’d give anything to go back to just being my mom’s baby.
No responsibility, no job, no stress, just free.
“Mom”—I laugh softly—“please don’t put that on a T-shirt.”
She recently got back into her crafting hobbies, including using her Cricut machine to make cute and silly T-shirts for everyone in our family.
She scoffs, as if I really offended her. “I would not put that on a shirt.” She pauses. “A cup maybe, but not a shirt.”
“Oh, right, because a shirt is the crazy part of that suggestion.” Tossing the last few things into my suitcase, I zip it shut and set it on the floor, pulling the handle up and locking it into place.
“You said you like my shirts.” She huffs, and my heart swells because I know damn well I packed one of those shirts to sleep in.
“I love them, Mom. I’m just teasing you,” I exhale, walking over to Kyle’s dog bed, where he’s lying and staring up at me with the whites showing beneath his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, Kyle. I will be back soon, and your sitter will be here in an hour to be with you the wholllle time.”
“Tell him Grandma and Grandpa might come visit tonight. That’ll make him feel better,” my mom chimes in, and his ears perk up at her voice.
Kyle’s favorite person in the world is me, but a close second is my mom and then my dad. I truly think Kyle sees them as his grandparents. It’s the cutest goddamn thing in the world.
“He heard you, so now you have to come over. I’ll let her know.” I drop to my knees and waddle onto the bed next to him. It’s a good thing I haven’t changed yet into my travel set, or it’d be covered in hair for the flight.
“We’ll be by. Don’t worry,” she says, as if I was worrying about her breaking her word.
She sighs, the only kind a parent does when they are about to say something they aren’t sure they should.
“I’m so proud of you for taking this job, honey.
It’s such a good step and opportunity for you.
You should be incredibly proud of yourself too. ”
My eyes burn, and I wiggle my nose and mouth, trying to stop the emotion in its tracks. “Thanks, Mom. I am.”
I haven’t checked all the boxes I want to yet. I still need to be able to get onto the ice and eventually get comfortable enough to stay on it. But I will. I can do it. Then there’s the other part of this job that’s complicated too … Matt.
“What’s on your mind? I can tell you’re holding back.” There’s that sixth sense again.
There’s no point in lying to her. She’ll sniff out the truth somehow. She always does.
“It’s a complicated situation, Mom, okay? So, don’t freak out on me when I tell you.”
And it’s too late because she’s already squealing and cutting me off.
“Is it about a boy?” she whispers like he’s going to somehow hear.
I chuckle, petting Kyle as his eyes drift closed. “Yeah. But like I said … it’s not simple.”
She gasps. She’s somehow already put the pieces together. “Because he plays for the team. Oh, this is juicy, like one of my soaps. Who is he? What’s his name? I’ve been studying the roster.”
God, I love her, but this is so not helping.
Groaning, I answer, “Matt.”
I can barely get his name out before she gasps again. “Oh, and he’s one of the goalies? Even better.”
“Mom!” I scoff. “This is not one of your shows. This is my life, and it’s messy, so stop enjoying it so much. Nothing is going to happen with him anyway.”
Taking a deep breath, she seems to calm her excitement down. “First off, you are right, and I’m sorry I got carried away. Secondly, do you not want something to happen?”
“It’s”—I sigh—“not that simple.”
“My question sure is that simple. What’s your answer? Take the what-ifs and variables out of the context. What’s your answer?” She challenges me again, forcing me to face my own feelings and not avoiding it altogether because of the external circumstances.
Kyle mlems, and my heart contracts.
“I-I … like him, so yes.”
“Then there you go, Shay. It’s easy. It’s only complicated because you’re making it feel that way,” she says, and my jaw falls.
“You’re insane. It’s complicated because it’s fucking complicated.” My voice grows louder, but I catch myself, realizing I’m being defensive. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She dismisses it without another thought.
“Look, if you feel strongly about him and I’m sure he feels the same way about you, explore that.
Anything else, all the other circumstances that make it feel impossible will find a way.
They always do. But you can’t just give up on the way you feel about him because you’re scared.
I want you to be happy, Shay. You deserve to be happy. ”
Tears roll down my cheeks, and I quickly wipe them away, but Kyle must sense me crying because he sits up and licks my cheeks. Damn sweet boy is going to make me cry all over again.
Could it really be that easy?
My phone vibrates, and I see the alarm pop up, reminding me to get my ass on the road. She and I will have to finish this conversation later.
“I’ve got to go, Mom, or I’m going to be late.” Kyle’s head pops up, and guilt claws at my chest. “Your people will be taking care of you while I'm gone, buddy. It’s okay.”
“All right, sweetie. Keep me updated on your travels please?”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her voice is a hug that I could desperately use as I end the call and hastily finish getting ready.
I throw my hair up into a ponytail, change into my Nighthawks sweat set, and go through a mental checklist to make sure I have everything ready to go. Kyle begrudgingly walks me to the door, staring down my suitcase along the way.
Crouching down once more, I cup his face and pet that super-soft spot on his muzzle that all dog owners know about before placing a gentle kiss on his nose. “I love you, buddy. I’ll be back soon.”
If he could talk, I know he’d say it back.
It’s us against the world—has been since the day we met—and it always will be because we made a secret pact that he’ll live forever so it’ll be fine.
The sliver, tiniest thought of how short his lifespan is, has my chest already aching, but I push it away, having absolutely no time for that cry session right now.
Standing to my feet, I head out and lock the door behind me, wishing I could just bring him along.
But he’s never been on a plane, and that sounds so damn stressful for my boy, who is all I can think of as I head down in the elevator and flag a taxi down out front.
Thankfully, this building is a hotspot for taxis, so I never struggle to get a ride.
The driver helps me with my bag before driving like a madman through traffic—an urgency I can appreciate. We make it there in about forty minutes, which isn’t horrible for New York City traffic this time of day.
I’ve got to be one of the first people to arrive at the jet, aside from the other coaches and a few straggling players, none of whom are Matt. I find my seat next to where Andy will be sitting and get distracted on my phone while waiting for everyone else to show up.
Don’t open it, Shay. Don’t go in there.
Ope, too late.
My thumb disobeyed my thoughts and immediately opened Instagram, and now it’s not my choice whether to close it or not. I’m stuck here. That’s how it feels anyway.
Scrolling through my page, I skip over almost all the content whether it’s about hockey, influencers, brands, artists, whatever, until I come across a video of a little duckling running through grass.
Someone’s filming it at an angle that looks like an action movie close up, the strands of grass seemingly as tall as trees.
It’s freaking adorable. I like the video and continue through to the end before I give in to the red dot on my message tab.
I have some messages from my old teammates, reels sent from my mom, and it’d be impossible to miss Matt’s name in the third row. Speaking of my teammates though, I haven’t seen a single text come through in the group chat for days now. What the hell?
Swiping out of the app, I check my texts to see if maybe I put it on Do Not Disturb and didn’t notice it or something. But that’s not it because notifications are turned on. I could’ve been kicked out from the group, I guess, but I feel like one of them would’ve let me know.
I quickly type out a message in the group and send it.
Anybody out there?
I try to ignore the pit growing in my stomach for possibly being unwanted. But the feeling is quickly squashed by Britt’s reply.
Britt: Hi hottie! We’re here! We just didn’t want to bombard you with messages since you’re such a busy, HOT coach ;)
Hallie: You’re doing so amazing! We’re so proud of you!
Shannon: Love you Roons!