Twenty Two #2
My throat tightens, and I blink hard, trying to fight the sting in my eyes. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry. I promise, when I’m in the pros, you can come to every game you want.”
I can hear the small, knowing chuckle in his voice. “Okay, Peanut.” He pauses, his tone softening. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”
I feel it then, the ache in my chest. The water rising, the curdling of my stomach. I swallow repetitively hoping the saliva will push it down. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, I know, Dad.”
”Okay, good. Because…” He falters, taking his time to choose his words. “Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’re still a rockstar. And I have no doubt that you’ll make it to the pros if it’s what you choose. But just—just know that. Okay?”
The tears come without warning, burning my eyes, but I swipe them away as quickly as I can.
“Okay, Dad.” My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t hear how unsure I am right now.
How inadequate. How small. “Hey. I’ve—I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay? ”
I slip my phone into my pocket, trying to make out the combination on my locker through my blurry tears.
“Okay,” he says. “Love you, Peanut.”
I sniff. “Love you too, Dad.”
Three monotonous beeps signal the end of the call, just as I pry my locker open. I pull out my earbud, sucking in a shaky breath as my eyes, then my lungs, begin to overflow.
“Peyton?”
I spin around. My pulse should spike when my eyes land on Darcy. When they journey down that flowy head of red hair, and dart to each freckle scattered on her cheeks. But it doesn’t.
Instead, it steadies.
Slower.
And slower.
Until I think it may stop.
She’s standing across the locker room, brows weaved in concern, hands gripping a stack of little paper cards. Quickly, I swipe at my cheeks, sucking in a shaky breath.
“Hey,” I say coolly. Or, I try at least, but let’s be honest, I’m not fooling anyone. Especially not her. She takes a step closer to me, head tilting to the side. “What are you doing here? Practice ended forever ago.”
Her gaze snaps to the cards in her hand, and she waves them in a gesture. “Compliment cards,” she explains. “I figured I better do some damage control after reigning terror the past few weeks.”
A soft chuckle slips out of me, and I wipe another tear. I know Darcy sees it. I watch her pupils trace it down my cheek just before it absorbs into my sleeve. But she doesn’t say anything. And I’m grateful for that.
“I don’t think you’ve been reigning terror,” I say, my voice stuffy from crying. Darcy deadpans, and I let out another laugh. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but only toward the people who deserve it. You were good today. Great, actually.”
And she was.
I hadn’t seen Darcy so engaged at a practice before.
Then again, maybe she’s been paying more attention than I realized.
She wasn’t just giving corrections today.
She was actually encouraging people. Indie’s face lit up when Darcy complimented her stickhandling.
And Harlowe practically glowed when she called her a “brick wall”, which would be a really solid insult if she wasn’t a goalie.
She even gave me a nod for my slapshot, which, honestly, was about the only thing I nailed today. I was too far in my head to get anything else right.
A soft smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses one leg over the bench, collapsing down on it. I don’t know if it’s an invitation, but I sit on the one across from her anyway.
“So…” She trails off. My gaze flicks around the room. To the ceiling. The floors. The showers. Anywhere but her eyes.
“So…”
“… Are you okay?”
I nod, probably more than is necessary, forcing out a stiff, awkward laugh.
“Yeah, no, I’m good. I’m…” I rake a hand through my sweat-drenched hair, exhaling a heavy breath.
I don’t know why I say what I do next. Maybe it’s because she trusted me with the truth at the resort.
Maybe it’s what happened before we left.
Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Either way, it slips out before I can stop it.
“When you were at Minnesota did you—did you ever feel like you were playing for someone else?”
Her eyes catch mine, and she shakes her head. My stomach sinks lower, and I simply nod in response.
“Do you feel like that?” she asks softly. “Like you’re playing for someone else?”
“No,” I answer quickly, but it feels like a lie.
And for some inexplicable reason, lying to Darcy doesn’t feel like an option.
So I elaborate. “Well, not entirely. Don’t get me wrong, I love hockey.
I mean…” I chuckle nervously, sucking the inside of my cheek between my teeth.
“There is nothing else in the world that I love more. But sometimes … It’s a lot of pressure. To be a certain kind of player.”
Darcy’s eyes stay locked on me. She doesn’t usually stare. I’ve noticed that, after a moment, her gaze tends to drop, like she’s trying to avoid being seen too clearly. She probably thinks if she doesn’t hold someone’s attention for too long, they won’t notice the things she’d rather keep hidden.
But there’s a flaw in that logic.
Because from the moment I first saw her, I haven’t wanted to look at anything else.
“Because of your dad?” she asks hesitantly.
I nod.
We just sit there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. But it doesn’t feel like it’s pulling us apart. In fact, though we haven’t moved, it feels like the space between us has shrunk. After a beat, she lets out a soft, “Huh.”
I glance up. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just weird.”