12. Savannah
SAVANNAH
T he coffee shop feels different when you're sitting alone.
I've been here for twenty minutes, Biology notes spread across the table, waiting for Colin to show up for our usual Friday morning study session. Except he's not coming. He texted this morning to cancel—again—because he wants to get extra gym time before practice.
That's three canceled study sessions this week. Three polite, professional text messages that feel like doors slamming shut.
My phone buzzes. Maybe he changed his mind.
Jess:
Stop staring at your phone and come back to the room. I have gossip.
Not Colin. Of course not Colin.
I pack up my untouched notes and head back to the dorm, where Jess is waiting with her laptop open and the expression she gets when she's discovered something juicy.
"Spill," I say, dropping onto my bed.
"Madison was at the hockey party last night."
"Okay?"
"She said Colin was there. Alone. Just standing in the corner drinking water and looking miserable."
"Good for him."
"Savannah, the boy looked like someone killed his dog. According to Madison, he left after twenty minutes."
I try to feel satisfied that Colin's miserable, but mostly I just feel hollow. Two weeks ago, we were holding hands and talking about actual dating. Now we're back to being strangers who happen to share a Biology class.
"Maybe he's just focused on hockey."
"Or maybe he's realizing he made a mistake."
"It doesn't matter either way."
But it does matter. It matters so much that I've been checking my phone every five minutes for three days, hoping for a text that isn't about PT schedules or practice times. It matters so much that I volunteered for extra trainer hours just to have an excuse to be around the team, around him.
It matters so much that I feel pathetic.
"You know what we should do?" Jess says. "We should go to that party tomorrow night. Show him what he's missing."
"I'm not going to a party to make Colin jealous."
"Why not?"
"Because I have more self-respect than that."
"Do you?"
I throw a pillow at her. "Yes, I do."
"Could've fooled me. You've been moping around here for days."
"I haven't been moping."
"You've been doing whatever the sad version of moping is."
She's not wrong. I've been going through the motions—attending classes, showing up for trainer duties, studying for exams—but it all feels mechanical. Like I'm performing the actions of my life without actually living it.
The worst part is how normal everything looks from the outside. I'm still the student trainer, still getting good grades, still helping other players with minor injuries and equipment issues. But inside, I feel like I'm back to being invisible.
Except this time, it's worse. Because I know what it feels like to be seen.
Saturday afternoon, I'm in the medical room organizing supplies when I hear voices in the hallway. Colin's voice, talking to someone older. An adult male voice that has the same cadence as Colin's but harder edges.
"—need to stay focused on what matters. You're here to play hockey, not to make friends."
"I know, Dad."
"Do you? Because from what I can see, you've been spending too much time on activities that don't contribute to your development as a player."
I freeze, my hands still on the box of medical tape I'm sorting. I should leave, give them privacy, but Colin's father is talking loudly enough that I can hear every word without trying.
"My grades are the best they've ever been."
"Your grades are fine. What concerns me is your priorities. This girl you've been spending time with?—"
"Her name is Savannah."
"I don't care what her name is. She's a distraction from your goals."
The word hits like a physical blow. Distraction. Is that really what I am?
"She's not a distraction. She's been helping me."
"Helping you with what? Biology homework? That's not going to get you drafted."
"She's been helping me stay healthy. The PT work she's done with my shoulder?—"
"Your shoulder is fine. The doctor cleared you weeks ago. These continued sessions are just an excuse to spend time with a girl who's filling your head with ideas about balance and academics."
I want to leave, but I'm frozen in place, listening to Colin's father dismantle everything I thought I meant to Colin.
"She's not filling my head with anything."
"Isn't she? A month ago, you were focused solely on hockey. Now you're talking about academics and balance and having other interests. That's not the mindset of someone who wants to be great."
"Maybe I want more than just hockey."
"Then you don't want it badly enough."
There's a long pause, and I can practically feel Colin's internal struggle through the wall.
"I want both."
"You can't have both. Not at this level. Every minute you spend on activities that aren't hockey is a minute your competition is getting ahead of you."
"Dad—"
"Colin, I'm not trying to be cruel. I'm trying to protect your future. This girl seems nice enough, but she's not going to help you achieve your dreams."
"What if she is part of my dreams?"
"Then your dreams aren't big enough."
The silence that follows feels endless. I stand in the medical room, holding medical tape and feeling like I'm witnessing the exact moment Colin's father wins this argument.
When Colin finally speaks, his voice is quiet. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to remember why you're here. Focus on hockey. Eliminate distractions. Show me that you're serious about your future."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll need to discuss whether college is the right path for you."
Footsteps indicate they're walking away, and I finally exhale. I sink into the chair behind Sarah's desk and try to process what I just heard.
Distraction. Filling his head with ideas. Not going to help him achieve his dreams.
Is that really how Colin's father sees me? Is that how Colin sees me?
The worst part is, I can see his father's point. Colin has been spending time on academics, on me, on things that aren't purely hockey-focused. And maybe that is affecting his development as a player. Maybe I have been distracting him from his goals.
Maybe loving him is the worst thing I could do for him.
The thought stops me cold. Loving him? Is that what this is?
I think about the way my heart speeds up when I see him. The way I've started planning my days around our study sessions and PT appointments. The way I felt when he almost kissed me, when he held my hand, when he said he wanted to make room for me in his life.
Yeah. I love him.
And according to his father, that love is going to ruin his future.
My phone buzzes with a text from Colin.
Colin:
Can we move Monday's PT session to 3 PM?
I stare at the message. Three days ago, I would have read warmth into it, hope that he wanted to spend time with me. Now I see it for what it is: a professional request about scheduling.
Me:
Your shoulder is fully healed. You don't need PT anymore.
Colin:
Are you sure?
Me:
Medically, yes. You should work with Sarah for any future concerns.
Colin:
OK.
Just "OK." Not "Can we talk?" or "Is everything alright?" Just acknowledgment that our professional relationship is over.
Which means our personal relationship is over too.
I put my phone away and finish organizing the medical supplies. When Sarah comes in an hour later, I'm still sitting at her desk, staring at nothing.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Colin's father thinks I'm a distraction."
"Did he tell you that?"
"I overheard him telling Colin that."
Sarah sits down across from me. "And what do you think?"
"I think maybe he's right."
"Why?"
"Because Colin was focused solely on hockey before he started spending time with me. Now he's interested in academics and balance and having a life outside of hockey."
"Those sound like good things."
"Not if they interfere with his hockey development."
"Do they?"
"I don't know. His father seems to think so."
"His father isn't the one living Colin's life."
"But his father knows hockey. He played professionally."
"For three years in the ECHL before an injury ended his career."
"How do you know that?"
"I know a lot about the families of players I work with. Tom Grant is projecting his own disappointments onto his son."
"What if he's right, though? What if Colin would be better off focusing solely on hockey?"
"What if he'd be miserable focusing solely on hockey?"
"What if he'd be successful?"
"What if success isn't just about hockey?"
I look at Sarah, this woman who's dedicated her career to helping athletes stay healthy and perform their best. "Do you think I'm bad for him?"
"I think you make him happy. I think you've helped him become more well-rounded. I think you care about his wellbeing in ways that go beyond hockey performance."
"But?"
"But ultimately, Colin has to decide what he wants his life to look like. And you have to decide if you can live with his choice."
That evening, I'm in my room studying when Jess comes back from dinner.
"Guess who I saw in the dining hall?" she says.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"Colin. Sitting alone, pushing food around his plate, looking like the saddest person in Florida."
"Good for him."
"Savannah, seriously. The boy is miserable."
"Then maybe he'll figure out what he actually wants."
"What if what he wants is you?"
"Then he'll do something about it."
"What if he's too scared to do something about it?"
"Then he doesn't want it badly enough."
I'm using his father's words against him, and I know it. But if Colin can't fight for us, for what we have together, then maybe his father is right. Maybe I am just a distraction.
Maybe it's better for both of us if I disappear again.
At least this time, I'm choosing to be invisible.