MAX
The sound of blades cutting ice, muscle memory, and adrenaline should have kept me in the game, but a fog sat between me and everything else.
My stick connected, my body checked, but I wasn’t really there.
I could hear the slap of the puck, the crowd, our coach yelling from the bench – but it all sounded muffled.
Even though I made a clean pass up the boards, I didn’t feel the joy of seeing it land on my winger’s tape. No rush, no spark. Just… nothing.
I caught myself going back to that day. Over and over. I should’ve said less. Or more. Or something that would’ve changed the way she looked at me before I walked out that door. But that was it, right? The replays didn’t matter. The score stayed the same.
* * *
The place was packed. It was Friday night after the game – the kind of bar where the music was loud enough to keep the energy high but not so loud that you couldn’t talk.
Will was in his element, telling a story with a drink in his hand and his voice booming over the noise.
Seth was leaning in and laughing so hard that he hit the table.
Lewis, who always wore that easy grin off the ice, tipped his chair back on two legs, as if he didn’t know gravity applied to him.
Me? I sat there with a beer, untouched in front of me, and watched their mouths move more than I listened. The words didn’t quite register. I heard a phrase every now and then: “ref totally blind”, “Lewis’s toe-drag highlight” and “Will’s tragic dance moves” but nothing stuck.
When they laughed, I tried to smile and nod in the right places. The kind of autopilot you use when you got nothing to give but didn’t want anyone asking why.
“Buddy,” Will said all of a sudden, turning to me. “You’re quiet tonight. What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
Seth leaned over and raised his eyebrows. “Tired? You didn’t exactly log thirty minutes out there.”
That got a chuckle from Lewis, who almost lost the fight with his chair legs. Normally I would have fired back something to Seth, but I wasn’t in the mood. I just let out a short laugh that felt more like air escaping than anything else.
Will didn’t drop it, though. He squinted at me, too perceptive for his own good. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said too quickly. I grabbed my beer and forced myself to drink it. It sat heavy in my stomach.
After that, the conversation went on without me.
Seth jumped in to argue about who had scored the best goal of the season.
Lewis said it was his wraparound, and Will said it was obviously his breakaway ‘masterpiece’.
I tried again to join in and let myself get pulled in, but all I could hear was the faint echo of her voice in my head.
Emma would have loved this chaos. She would have laughed at Will’s antics, made fun of Seth for being so dramatic, and gotten Lewis to tell her an embarrassing story about his first year as a rookie. And I would have just sat back and watched her fit in so well with my people.
Instead, I was here, surrounded by friends and laughter, yet feeling more alone than ever.
Will clinked his glass against mine, dragging me back. “To the playoffs.”
“To the playoffs.” My voice sounded far away, even to me.
* * *
I opened a cupboard to look for coffee and found her tea instead.
The box was half-empty and pushed to the side, as if she had just left it there for later.
I took it out and turned it over in my hands.
Earl Grey. Every time I teased her about being “so British,” she would roll her eyes and then make me try it, saying I would learn to love it. I never did.
I stood there, staring at the box, hoping it would somehow tell me how to stop feeling empty. The kettle clicked off behind me. I didn’t even remember turning it on.