Chapter 40
Grant
Something is wrong.
I can feel it in my gut as I skate out onto the ice for warm-ups and look up to the row of empty seats behind the glass.
Heather’s seat. April’s seat.
They’re not there.
I tell myself it’s fine. Maybe they’re running late. Maybe April had homework or Heather got held up at work. There are a thousand reasonable explanations for why they’re not here yet.
But that doesn’t stop me from scanning the stands again during my stretches, looking for that familiar smile or April’s enthusiastic waving.
Nothing.
“You good, Parker?” Theo skates past, tapping my pads with his stick.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“You sure? You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re trying to calculate quantum physics in your head.”
“I’m always thinking.”
I fall back into my routine and tap the goal post once, twice, three times, but my mind isn’t on the game. It’s on this morning, when Heather looked so happy and relaxed at breakfast. Everything seemed perfect when she kissed me before leaving with April. So why aren’t they here?
The buzzer sounds for the end of warm-ups, and I skate toward the bench with the rest of the team.
As we file into the tunnel, I catch sight of Margo in the hallway.
She has her tablet in one hand, a phone cradled against her shoulder, and she’s nodding along to whatever someone is saying while simultaneously typing something.
I almost consider trying to catch her attention to ask her if she knows where Heather and April might be, but there’s no time as I’m swept into the locker room alongside my teammates.
The locker room is the usual controlled chaos before a game. A few guys are making equipment adjustments while Coach Dunaway runs through our last-minute strategy. I go through my own pre-game routine, mechanically checking my pads, adjusting my mask, and visualizing key saves.
But I still have this feeling in the back of my mind that something is wrong, and I can’t fucking shake it.
When we head back out for the national anthem, I look for them again.
Their seats are still empty.
My phone is in my locker, so I can’t even check my messages. I can’t call. I can’t do anything except stand here and pretend everything is normal when every instinct I have is insisting that it’s not.
The puck drops, and I force myself to focus. This is my job. This is what I do. I can worry about Heather and April after the game.
Except I can’t stop the thoughts from creeping in between plays.
What if something happened? What if April got sick? What if there was an accident?
I make a save on autopilot, barely processing the shot before it’s already in my glove.
“Nice one!” Sawyer taps my pads as he skates past.
The first period passes in a blur. We’re up by one, which should make me feel good, but all I can think about is that empty space behind the glass where they should be.
They’re always here. They should be here now.
During the intermission, I don’t even bother going to the locker room right away. Instead, I skate toward the bench where I can see Margo down near the glass, reviewing footage on her tablet.
She looks up as I approach, a little surprised to see me skating over mid-game.
“Grant? Is everything okay?” She glances to where the rest of my teammates are heading for the tunnel, clearly aware we don’t have much time.
“Have you heard from Heather?”
“What?” She looks confused for a second. “Not since this morning. Why?”
“She’s not here. They’re not here.”
Margo’s eyes dart up to the stands, scanning for a moment before coming back to me. Her brows draw together as she purses her lips to one side. “Huh. That’s weird. She said they were coming, right?”
“Yeah. She said they’d be here.”
“Maybe she had something come up? April might’ve had homework or…” She pauses, thinking. “I don’t know, there could be a bunch of reasons.”
“But she said…” I trail off, since all I can really do is repeat myself.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Margo says, although I can see a hint of uncertainty cross her face.
“She probably just got held up. Listen, I need to get a few more posts up, and you need to get to the locker room before Dunaway has a meltdown.” She gives me a quick, reassuring smile.
“But I’ll try to text her, okay? I’m sure it’s nothing. ”
“Yeah.” I take a step back and nod, like I’m not completely losing my shit on the inside. “Thanks.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I skate toward the tunnel, but the fucking knot in my stomach won’t go away.
She’s probably right. There could be a million reasons why Heather isn’t here yet. She could be stuck in traffic or dealing with some last-minute bullshit from work. April could’ve forgotten something at home that they had to go back for.
Those are all perfectly reasonable explanations.
“Parker! Move your ass!” Dunaway’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize I’m still standing in the tunnel while the rest of the team has already headed to the locker room.
I force myself to move, to walk through the door and join my teammates. The guys are doing their normal intermission routine and the energy is good because we’re winning. I should be focused on maintaining that lead more than anything.
Instead, I’m at my locker and checking my phone for a missed call or a text or anything that might give me a little peace of mind.
Nothing.
“Okay, listen up,” Dunaway starts, and I make myself pay attention. Or at least look like I’m paying attention. “Good first period, but we’re getting sloppy in our own zone. Too many turnovers, too many second chances…”
His words fade into background noise as I start going over each one of the million things that could still be keeping Heather away from this arena. And since I’m not exactly a glass-half-full kind of guy, most of those mental images are fucking terrifying.
“Parker.”
I look up to find Dunaway staring at me expectantly.
“You with us?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m with you.”
He studies me for a moment, and I can see that he’s irritated, but he just nods and continues with his speech, and then we head back out to the ice.
The second period is worse than the first.
I make the saves I need to make, but barely. My positioning is off. My reaction time is a fraction of a second too slow. I’m tracking the puck, but I’m not truly seeing it. My body is going through the motions while my mind is somewhere else entirely.
“Jesus, Parker!” Sawyer yells after I give up a rebound that nearly turns into a goal. “What the hell was that?”
I don’t have an answer for him.
A whistle blows for an offside call, giving me half a second to breathe. I tap my stick against the post—once, twice, three times—but the ritual that usually clears my head isn’t doing me any good tonight.
I glance toward the bench and catch sight of Margo in her usual spot near the media area. She’s still on her phone, still typing on her tablet, still looking completely normal and unbothered.
Maybe I am overreacting. Maybe Heather just decided to stay home tonight and forgot to tell me. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Except she wouldn’t forget. She knows how much it means to me having them here. And if she knew she wasn’t going to make it, she would’ve sent me a text, at the very least.
A shot comes my way and I deflect it. Then another, and I knock it away with my pad. The opposing team is pressing hard now, no doubt picking up on the fact that I’m off my game.
“Tighten up out there!” Dunaway yells from the bench.
I’m trying. Dammit, I’m trying.
But my eyes drift back to those empty seats where Heather and April should be every time I have a moment to myself.
By the time the buzzer finally sounds to end the second period, the score is tied. We’ve given up our lead, and I know it’s at least partially my fault.
In the locker room, Dunaway doesn’t call me out directly, but I can feel the weight of his stare along with the concern from my teammates.
“We need to wake up out there,” he says, his voice sharp. “Third period, we come out strong. We take control. Parker—” He looks at me. “I need you sharp. Whatever’s going on in your head, you need to let it go until you hear that final buzzer. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Coach.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I can push through. I’ve played through worse—through injuries, through exhaustion, through grief.
I can play through this gnawing worry in my gut, but that doesn’t mean it’s going away.
The third period crawls by. Every second feels like an hour. I make save after save, running on pure instinct and muscle memory. We score with five minutes left, and the energy in the arena changes as a few thousand Aces fans start to get excited again.
We’re going to win, and I should probably care more about that than I do.
The final buzzer sounds, and I let out a breath. I’m not even relieved that we won, just that it’s finally over.
I go through the post-game handshakes on autopilot, barely registering the congratulations from my teammates or the disappointed looks from the other team. All I can think about is getting off this ice and figuring out what the hell is going on.
“Good game, Parker,” Theo says as we skate toward the tunnel, but there’s a question in his voice. He knows something was off tonight.
“Yeah,” is all I manage.
In the locker room, I strip off my gear faster than I ever have before. Chest protector, leg pads, skates—everything gets thrown into my bag with none of my usual care or organization.
“Parker, are you okay?” Noah asks from across the room.
“I’m fine. Just need to make a call.”
I grab my phone from my locker, and my stomach drops when I see the screen.
Still nothing.
I pull up Heather’s number and hit call, pressing the phone to my ear as I continue stripping off my gear.
Straight to voicemail.
I try again.
Voicemail again.
My hands start to shake as I send a text.
ME: Where are you? Are you okay?
ME: Please call me.