Chapter 15
Jamie
I almost fucked up this morning. I was so frustrated with the text I got from Callahan that I didn’t think.
I yelled at her. I told her to go away, when we all know that’s the last thing I want.
I just… I didn’t want her to see me that way.
So vulnerable and fucked up. I’ve only ever been strong, even when dad died.
I kept a brave face for my mom and pretended I was okay, even though deep down, I was dying inside.
Bottling up my emotions is pretty typical for me.
That’s why I enjoy the game so much. It gives me an outlet for all the pent-up rage and aggression.
The rink is loud this morning. Sounds of skates carving into ice and pucks slapping boards fills my ears, and I feel the most at home I’ve felt in weeks.
I may not be able to actually play, but just being here gives me a high.
This is where I’m meant to be. Even if these guys are pissing me the hell off. They don’t know how to play as a team.
They’re sloppy, uncoordinated, and honestly, a bit pathetic. They don’t want it bad enough.
I grip the whistle so hard my knuckles ache.
“Line up,” I bark.
The sound cuts clean through the noise. Heads snap up and conversations die mid-sentence. Good.
They scramble into place, sticks tapping nervously as they fall into line. I pace in front of them, jaw tight, knee stiff. The ache is there, it’s always there, but it’s background noise compared to the fire in my chest.
“You look comfortable,” I say. “Anyone want to tell me why?”
You can hear a pin drop in the absolute silence. No one wants to answer me, or rather, no one’s brave enough.
I stop in front of one of the defensemen, David Andersson. The kid’s talented, but like many of the boys, he lazy. He’s the kind of guy who expects everything to be handed to him because his dad has money.
“You,” I say. “What was your effort last shift?”
He blinks. “Uh—” I don’t let him finish. My mood is shit and unfortunately for these guys, they’re the only ones I can take my frustrations out on.
“Wrong answer,” I snap. “Skate.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second. The other guys watch as if this is a TV drama.
When Andersson doesn’t move, I say, “Now.”
He takes off, face flushed.
“Everyone else,” I add, turning back to the line. “You run until he’s done.”
Groans ripple through the arena. I hear someone mutter under their breath, but I can’t quite make out what they say.
I spin. “You got something to share?”
Their heads go down, and some of them shift uncomfortably. Then, they push off.
I try to focus on the guys skating back and forth, but I can’t shut it off. The image of Ellie pulling her hand away. The sound of glass shattering. The word captain echoing in my head like a taunt.
“Again,” I shout when the first guy finishes. “That was pathetic.” Jesus, I’m a dick.
I blow the whistle and throw pucks onto the ice. They’re not done yet. The only way to get them into shape is to play against one another. To put their all into every practice, no matter how they’re feeling. They may hate me now, but they’ll thank me later.
“Scrimmage. No breaks. If you fall behind, you stay behind.”
They play hard as their frustration bleeds into their movements. I know what I’m doing. I know I’m pushing them past the edge. But I also know they can take it, because I had to.
My knee flares as I make my way slowly across the ice, shouting plays and directions at the team. One of the assistant coaches catches my eye, concern flickering. It’s obvious that I’m limping, but I push through the pain. I will not show weakness. I refuse.
Blowing the whistle one more time, I say, “Last drill,” I say. I watch their sighs of relief as they begin to slow down. They’re exhausted now, relying on instinct and muscle memory.
After practice, the locker room is quiet. There’s none of the usual back and forth, no laughing and joking, just the sound of the showers and lockers slamming shut.
“Good practice,” I tell them. “See you tomorrow.”
A few groans fill my ears before I head to my office. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I can control my emotions, and maybe they’ll play like they mean it.
Once the locker room is clear, I walk in and take a seat on one of the benches, remembering what it felt like to sit and get myself psyched up for a game.
A helmet sits beside me, and I stare at it as if it’s going to blow any second.
My heart races and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.
My hands grip the bench tightly before grabbing the helmet and chucking it at the wall.
It smashes, the plastic falling to the ground.
My knee flashes with pain, my chest constricts, my ears ring, and the room around me spins as I fall to a pile on the floor.
I flinch when two hands grip my face, forcing me to look into two gorgeous, emerald, green eyes.
I didn’t even hear her come in, but Ellie kneels in front of me, her face full of concern.
I’m sure I look pathetic, but I can’t bring myself to care at this moment.
The warmth from her palms sends a shiver down my spine as she moves from my face, down my arms, landing on my hands.
She squeezes tightly, bringing me into the present.
“Breath, Jamie. It’s okay, just take a deep breath,” she coaxes. “You’re alright.”
Her sweet voice breaks through the ringing in my ears. I take a breath, just like she instructed me to do. She nods slowly, a small, worried smile on her lips.
“What happened?” she asks. I don’t know how she can be so nice to me after what happened this morning. I don’t deserve her kindness. I was a dick, and she should run the other direction.
Instead of answering her question, I ask, “why are you in the men’s locker room?”
“I heard a crash, so I came to check it out. Then I saw you.” I nod, my breathing beginning to steady and my heart slowing down. Somehow, just her presence has helped the anxiety die down.
Her eyes shift from my face, down my body, probably checking for any injuries. When she finds nothing, she lands back on my face.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. I clear my throat, trying to gain some of my dignity back. “Are you still thinking about this morning?”
Pictures of the shattered glass and Ellie’s bloody foot flash in my head, my stomach feeling queasy.
My eyes dart to the broken helmet on the floor.
Fuck, I need to learn to get my anger under control.
Two broken things in one day? Ellie must think I’m a neanderthal.
I never lash out. I’m calm and collected, I always have been.
Until recently. Ellie’s never seen this side of me, this side that’s filled with rage and devastation.
I wonder if she remembers the way I used to be.
There’s no point in lying to her. She’ll see right through me. I nod. Ellie frowns.
“Jamie, it’s going to work itself out. You’re going to play again. You just need to keep up with your physical therapy sessions and practice. It’ll take some time, but I know you can do it. You’re resilient, and I know you’re not going to give up now. You’ve come too far.”
My racing heart swells at the pride in her voice, like she’s proud of me. I don’t understand how she can be so optimistic all the time. Even when she struggles to believe in herself, she believes in me. Why does that make me happy?
Ellie’s eyes search mine, waiting for me to respond, but I don’t know what to say.
I don’t have the same faith in myself as she seems to have in me.
With the way my knee throbs, constantly reminding me of everything I’ve already lost and will probably continue to lose, it’s hard to believe it will get better.
Her small hands squeeze my forearm, and the longer she looks at me with those big green eyes looking so innocent and beautiful, the more I want to grab her face and kiss her.
I shouldn’t want to, I know she wants nothing to do with me.
Well, I know she didn’t, but now I’m not so sure.
Things have shifted between us within the few weeks we’ve been cooped up together.
We’ve talked more, she doesn’t run away when I walk into the same room as her, and she actually has full conversations with me.
I know that sounds like the bare minimum, but it’s a step in the right direction for us. Us. There is no us. It’s Ellie and it’s me. There hasn’t been an ‘us’ in a long time, and I know that’s my fault.
So why is the air between us so thick? Why does this moment feel like it’s pressing in on my lungs instead of easing them. I wish I could read her mind, because her face is saying absolutely nothing right now. She’s just looking at me like I’m about to explode and she’s waiting for the destruction.
Yet, her hand is still on my arm. I can feel every inch of it. It’s warm and grounding. The exact same way it used to feel, and that’s the problem because my body doesn’t know the fucking difference between now and all those years ago.
I don’t move, because if I do, I’m not sure she’ll stay put.
She’s like a scared animal. One wrong move, and she’ll sprint in the other direction.
I’m not ready for her to leave yet. My body is enjoying her closeness, her touch.
She’s so close I can see the tiny freckle under her left eye, the one she used to hate but I always loved.
Is she thinking the same thing I am? That if we lean forward just a fraction, our mouths will meet.
That it would feel so good to be entwined with one another, consequences be damned.
Or is she not thinking of that at all? Her eyes are sorrowful, and that worried expression is still etched into her perfect features.
Get it together, Patterson. You fucked it up. You lost your shot. This isn’t some clean slate moment. This is a minefield. We’re not two strangers circling each other. We’re history. We’re broken. Because of me.
My chest burns with the urge to close the distance and the knowledge that if I did, she might not reciprocate.
Yet, all I want to do is grab her face and remind her that this, whatever this is, has always been ours.
That it never really went away, not for me.
I may have made the wrong choices back then, and maybe if I’d have made different ones, we’d still be together today.
Even though I wasn’t thinking of her every single moment of every day, I did think of her.
I thought of every moment we’d spent together.
I thought of how we’d be if we’d stayed together.
If I didn’t decide hockey was more important than her.
But thinking about what I’d lost didn’t change anything.
I’m not the guy she knew anymore, and she’s not the girl who once loved me without hesitation.
Our lives are so different now. I’m sure this isn’t exactly where she’d pictured herself to be, and I know for a fact that this isn’t where I thought I’d be.
Things are different now, but maybe that’s a good thing.
I force myself to lean back, breaking the invisible thread snapping tight between us. The movement feels violent, like it tears something out of my chest. My fingers curl into my palms until my nails bite the skin.
Her hand drops and I feel the loss immediately.
I know kissing Ellie would ruin everything.
It would blur lines that are already thin.
She lives with me. She works with me. There’s no way this would work.
I need to keep my head on straight, focus on getting back to the Storm and back to my life.
The last thing I need is to start something that I can’t finish… again.
I know what I am right now. A mess. A guy spiraling because his body betrayed him and the one thing that ever made sense has been ripped away.
I don’t get to drag her into that. I don’t get to be selfish this time, no matter how much my chest aches when she looks at me with that soft, worried expression, like I still matter to her.
She exhales slowly and stands, putting even more space between us. I want to tell her to come back, to stay with me. But I know I can’t.
“Jamie…” she says quietly, and hearing my name like that nearly undoes me. Clearing my throat, I stand, towering over her. She looks up at me, all innocence and determination.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though my heart is still racing like I just took a hit I didn’t see coming. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”
She frowns, but I’m already shutting the door, piece by piece. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done.
Her jaw tightens. I know she doesn’t believe me. She’s not stupid. Obviously, I have some issues I’m working through, but I won’t put them on her. She doesn’t deserve that.
“Okay,” she says finally, though it’s clear she doesn’t mean it. She hesitates for a moment at the door, hand hovering on the handle like she’s considering whether to leave or not, and for one terrifying second, I think she might come back.
I don’t know what I’d do if she did. But then she leaves. The door shuts, and the silence crashes down hard enough to ring in my ears. I press my hands into my eyes, dragging in a shaky breath.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her. Not a gentle kiss.
Not a maybe. I wanted to devour her. To taste every fucking inch of her.
To make her forget why she hates me. I wanted to be inside her.
I wanted to feel her body against mine; I wanted to hear her moans as I teased and played with her.
I wanted her so badly, it was almost a need.
Like I need her to breathe. I’ve been breathing on my own for years now, and I never realized how much better it is to breathe the same air as Ellie.
But kissing Ellie wouldn’t be harmless. It wouldn’t be this moment where we both realize what we’ve been missing.
It would be the beginning of something I’m not sure either of us would survive.