24. Jack
Jack
I’ve spent a good part of my life on the ice, but that still doesn’t prepare me for the near-arctic breeze cutting through my pea coat. I turn up my collar and knock against the salmon-pink door again.
It’s too loud. Everything is too loud today.
Izzy’s Christmas wreath is draped in a rainbow of velvet bows. Her window boxes are stuffed with greens and silver ornaments, and there’s a hand-painted snowman behind me near the stairs. The world could be ending, but she’ll always find the time to make everything magical.
She can find time for almost anything, it seems, but to text me back after running out of my penthouse two days ago.
I hear a muffled groan before the sound of shuffling feet. The door cracks open, Izzy squinting against the bright, white December sun.
The sight of her hits me harder than any check against the boards. Izzy’s nose is a raw red, her eyes glassy with fever, and she’s swallowed whole by a heavy patchwork quilt.
“Go away.”
I wait a beat, blowing out a deep breath that dances around me in the cold. “It’s fucking freezing. Please let me in, Izzy.”
She mumbles something, then opens the door wider, clutching on to it for dear life.
“You’re sick,” I say, once I step inside. “What can I do?”
“No.” She shuts the door behind me. It sounds like she swallowed half the beach with how rough her voice is. “I’m fine.”
There’s an impressive graveyard of tissues piled in a small trash can in the living room, random mugs and bowls covering every flat surface. A humidifier chugs along beside the couch, and the air smells like Vicks.
“You’re lying.”
Izzy pops her hip out. Doesn’t matter that she looks like she’s about to keel over, she’s still as stubborn as ever. “Congratulations. You cracked the case.”
I scoff, reaching out. I just want to hold her. But she backs up a step.
Another exhale, this time to soothe the stabbing pain behind my eyes. Last night’s game with Nashville was a rough win. I tweaked something in my shoulder, was tossed into the penalty box more than I would have liked, and the cut over the bridge of my nose stings.
That’s nothing compared to how I feel standing here in Izzy’s living room, close enough to touch her, but still too far away.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to say I’m sorry,” I rush out, the words feeling clumsy. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out like that the other day. And I’m sorry. I messed up. You haven’t answered your phone, and I was worried. Went to the store, but Zoe told me you called out.”
“You think I’m mad you let me leave?”
“I don’t know why you’re mad at all, honestly. We had a great night. You were fine when I left for practice, and then I came back, and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I want to understand. Help me understand.”
Izzy shivers, and she tugs the quilt tighter around her body. Her black bangs frame her face, but the rest is tossed up into a messy bun. “Now’s not the time. I want to go back to sleep.”
I shouldn’t push, but I can’t leave either. “Tell me why you’re upset. Talk to me. We can figure this out.” My chest tightens, an edge of panic there in my voice. I can handle a losing streak, but I can’t handle the way she’s looking at me—like I’m already gone.
“It’s about everything.” Her voice wobbles, and the pressure in the room shifts.
“You sucked me up into your life, and suddenly, I’m an extension of you, and I’m losing myself.
The store is doing well, but what if it’s only because of you?
It all feels so out of control, and I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.
And it’s just… before you, I knew who I was. And now…”
“I was only trying to help,” I cut in. “I thought… I thought you’d be proud to be seen with me.”
She stares at me, her gaze unfocused. “I told you I loved you,” Izzy whispers.
The words hit me like a puck to my chest.
I remember the rink. Remember the way the world stopped when she said it, and the way I’d stayed frozen.
“And you didn’t say it back, Jack. And then you show up today like this is just another thing to manage.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? We had a deal. Three dates, and it all ends by New Year’s. You never said you wanted anything different.” Her voice cracks. “But we already crossed that line, Jack. You know we did, and that’s the problem. Because I’m all the way in, and I still don’t know if you are.”
I rake a hand through my hair. I don’t know how to explain that my silence wasn’t a no, it was a how can I?
Maybe it’s the chill from outside, but everything feels too raw. Like a deep cold has settled into my bones, and I can’t shake it off. Even my fingertips…
Christ, I just want to hold her.
“How would I know?” she whispers. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I’m saying it now, Izzy.” I rub the back of my hand against my mouth, keeping my eyes locked on hers. I need her to see me—me, not the fucking circus that’s Jack Murphy. “This is real. I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.” She shakes her head and shuffles backward another step. Might as well be another twenty feet, because she feels more and more out of reach. “January’s two weeks away. And then what?”
“It’ll be February.”
Fuck. I need to shut my mouth.
I can’t look at her, not when my joke falls flat. As it should have. She deserves better. If I look at her, I have to answer, and I don’t have an answer that doesn’t end with me losing my career or losing my mind.
Instead, I gather mugs from the coffee table. I need to move my hands. I stack them and carry them all to the sink. “Sit down. I’ll clean up.”
“What’s going to happen?” Izzy asks again. “Tell me.”
I keep my back to her and turn the faucet on, the water drowning out the ringing in my ears. I can’t tell her what’s going to happen because I’m terrified I’m one hit away from not knowing my own name.
“So that’s why you’re here?” Her laugh is brittle. “Because I left, and you’re worried about what? Summit backing out? You still need me to play the part—”
“That’s not why—”
“It is! Why else are you here?”
I spin around, the sink still running behind me. “Come on, I’m worried about you, Iz. I had no idea you were even sick. Let me help. Just—sit. Please.”
“No, if you’re going to leave, just do it now. I hate when it’s a surprise.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are,” she chokes out. “It was convenient. I made you look good. Made things easier. And I was a reliable fuck with no real strings, right? I’m telling you I can’t do that anymore, so we’re done.”
That insult lands, and anger builds in my stomach. A reliable fuck? “You agreed to the deal.”
“Jack, this isn’t about the dumb deal anymore.
” Izzy picks up a mug, then realizes it’s empty and sets it back down with a frown.
She clears her throat, wincing. “Maybe no one else notices, or maybe they don’t want to, because if they admit something’s wrong, they have to accept the truth of what that means for you. ”
She steps closer to me in the kitchen.
“But I see it. Since that night in the hospital. I fucking called you out on it after Thanksgiving, and you still pretend like everything is fine.”
I don’t move. I can’t breathe.
“If you don’t speak up, you could do permanent damage to your body, or worse, die. Why are you hiding?”
“Isla.”
“The fact that you’re keeping it a secret tells me everything.” She wraps the blanket tighter, tears in her eyes. “You don’t trust me enough to let me all the way in. And I hate that.”
“That’s not fair.” I finally turn and slam the faucet handle down.
I brace my hands wide on the counter. The silence that follows is deafening.
“What the hell am I supposed to do? Tell Coach and get benched? Risk them buying out my contract? Retire? I’m still a great hockey player.
I’m telling you, we’re going to make a run for the Cup this season. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
“Except I’m going to be the one who’s left here waiting, wondering when you’re going to get hurt next and if it’ll be the last time.
” She clutches the blanket with one hand, then wipes at her eyes with the other.
“And if you don’t care about me, think of your family, because they love you.
I wish my family loved me as much as they love you. ”
“I can’t just walk away from hockey.”
“I’m not asking you to choose.”
“It sure as fuck sounds like you are.” I hate the way that sounds. “Sorry.” I rake my hands back into my hair. “You’re everything to me.” I close the distance, standing toe to toe with her.
“Then say it. Say you love me and that you’ll stay, and that you’re not still with me to feel better about yourself.”
I open my mouth. I want to say it. I want to promise I’ll quit, that I’ll tell Coach, that I’ll be safe. But the game is the only thing I’ve ever known. If I give that up, who is she even looking at?
So I say nothing.
The blanket slips from her shoulders. She grabs a tissue from the kitchen table, blows her nose, and drops it on the floor with the rest of the wreckage.
“Get out,” she says. “Please. Jack… please go.”
“We can fix this. I sure as hell don’t want to lose you.”
Izzy walks to her front door and opens it, the icy December air swirling around us. “This was never meant to last, so let’s just end it now. I’ll tell anyone who asks you’re busy focusing on your homestand, and you can still have your meeting with Summit.”
I walk through it because I don’t know how to stay. The door slams behind me, then I’m met with the heavy thud of the deadbolt.
I press my forehead against the wood, closing my eyes against the stabbing pain in my temples.
“Izzy, let me in. We’ll talk later, figure this out, but let me take care of you. Please.”
“It’s just a cold,” she whispers from the other side. But I can hear her crying.
I came here to save us, but I’m standing on the wrong side of the door, and for the first time in my life, I don’t have a play to make.