Journal Entry
Kyle
I shouldn’t be writing right now. My hands are still shaking, and there’s a part of me that thinks if I put any of this down on paper, it becomes too real to take back. But Dr. Shah keeps saying that pretending I’m fine is the thing that breaks me, not the feeling itself.
So, here I am. Trying to write like my chest isn’t still a mess of torn wires.
The rink feels like it’s still under my skin.
Cold in places that aren’t supposed to be cold.
Hollow in places that used to feel solid.
I don’t even know how long I stood out there, pretending I could skate through the numbness, pretending I could pull myself back into my body if I pushed hard enough.
But it wasn’t the rink. It wasn’t the cameras. It was her.
Alycia looked at me today for half a second, and whatever she tried to hide behind that perfect PR mask didn’t hide fast enough. I saw the flicker. The pain. The way her breath stuttered like she hadn’t meant to meet my eyes at all.
And then she shut the door.
Buried whatever we were under professionalism and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
That’s the moment that cracked me open. Not the headlines. Not the bullshit questions. Not the reporter calling us the league’s “favorite couple,” like we’re something cute they can package into a segment.
It was her pretending she felt nothing. It was her pretending we were nothing.
And the worst part is, I could see the truth bleeding through the cracks. She does feel something. She’s holding it back because she’s scared, hurting, and trying to survive the only way she knows how.
I should’ve respected that. I should’ve held myself together.
Instead, I skated off like the ice was burning through my skates and tore the locker room apart like a goddamn rookie who couldn’t control himself.
The destruction wasn’t about anger.
It was the only way my body knew how to express everything I’ve been choking down for days.
Fear. Shame. Loss.
Love so sharp it feels like it bruised something inside me.
Yeah. Love. I can’t outrun the word anymore. Not after today.
The second she laughed for that reporter—that soft, polished sound she uses when she’s selling a narrative instead of telling the truth—something in me shifted. Like the floor under me tilted six degrees and never leveled out again.
It hurt in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Not because she lied. But because I could hear the crack in it.
She’s breaking, and I can’t reach her.
I know she thinks distance is the safest choice. I know she thinks letting go is what protects us from fallout. But watching her stand there, pretending she doesn’t care, pretending I don’t matter, pretending the last few months haven’t rewritten every part of me…
Fuck. It gutted me.
By the time I got to the locker room, my chest was already splintering. Everything I’ve been holding back since the gala, since the statement, since the world tried to turn her into a villain and me into a headline all hit at once.
Cole and Michele found me when the pieces were already on the floor. I don’t even remember what she said, just her hands anchoring my shoulders, her voice telling me I was safe.
I haven’t felt safe in months. Not since Alycia walked away.
Maybe that’s why the breakdown felt so terrifying. Because I wasn’t just losing control. I was losing the only person who’s ever made me feel like myself in a way I didn’t have to earn.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if she’s ever going to let me close again. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me for being the reason she’s hurting or if she’ll decide the cost of loving me is too high.
But I do know this: I love her. I love her enough that this numbness feels like grief. I love her enough that pretending we’re nothing today felt like standing inside my own wreckage. I love her enough that the distance between us feels like a wound I can’t bind on my own.
And the truth that scares me most—the one I don’t want to say out loud but can feel in every part of my chest—is this: If she looked at me again the way she looked at me before all of this… I’d break all over again just to be near her.
~Kyle