Chapter Two
Dash
I pull into my townhouse’s driveway and park in the two-car garage. As soon as I make it through the door to the kitchen, Jersey’s mewls greet me.
“Hey, baby.” I bend to pick the tabby cat up and scratch just under her chin. She rewards me by clamoring and clawing to get away from me. I release her so she can hop back to the floor toward her food bowl.
“I see you’re playing hard to get, too,” I say with a chuckle. She winds around my ankles while I give her what she really wants—dinner. Once she’s taken care of, I reheat the leftovers I ordered from Carpacci’s last night. Their lasagna isn’t as good as Mom’s but it’s pretty dang close.
I sit down on the couch and flip on the TV, sure there’s a game on.
After a few minutes, Jersey settles near my shoulders on the back of the couch with a contented purr.
When I grow bored of the game, I set my dinner aside and grab my phone.
As if it’s second nature, my fingers tap into my preferred social media app and find Sarah’s page.
And my stomach drops.
Because the last picture she posted isn’t her usual workout selfie or a picturesque sunset. It’s her with Ryan—her freaking boss—his hand resting lightly on her hip, his lips pressed against her temple, and her holding her left hand up like the rock fitted to her finger is a trophy.
Just to rip my heart open a little more, I read the caption.
So we did a thing last weekend. Say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Ryan Meeds! Followed by a gazillion diamond ring and heart eye emojis.
“Dang.” The word heaves out of me in a heartsick sigh. Not because I’m heartbroken—that hurt ebbs less and less with time—but because Mom was right all along.
It wasn’t that Sarah didn’t want to commit. She rebuffed my proposal and broke my heart because she didn’t want to commit to me.
The thought of marriage didn’t scare her like she claimed. It was the thought of marrying me.
The old ache that springs up whenever I look up her social media profile increases with each swipe of my finger.
There’s not just one photo of the two of them together—there’s at least ten.
Ryan and Sarah on the beach in Cabo. Parasailing.
Shopping. Drinking wine on some terrace, staring at her favorite sight—a sunset dripping with pastel pinks and vibrant reds.
I press the button to make my phone go dark and toss it on the couch beside me. I don’t know what I was thinking, looking at her page again after the last time. I promised myself I’d stop checking up on her. Told myself it was pointless to hope that she regretted choosing her career over me.
This whole time I’ve been wishing we’d get back together, holding out hope for someday while she’s been having a whirlwind romance with her much older, twice divorced, boss.
It’s only been six months…
I turn off the TV and jump to my feet, startling Jersey. She leaps off the couch, the tiny silver bell on her collar jingling as she scurries over to her tower.
I need a shower. Time to clear my head and scrub away the memory of my ex before I livestream tonight. Even I can’t pretend to be happy and fine after a blow like this.
***
“So that’s the gist,” I say into my mic as my avatar runs through the forest to collect all the items they’ll need for their next mission. I chose a mindless game I could play with my eyes closed while I filled my followers in on the tournament details.
“That said, I’d like to do a giveaway,” I continue. “I want to give away two tickets—for you and a friend—to Game One in the series. Whoever wins will have to pay for their own travel to get to DC, but I’ll cover the accommodations once you’re there.”
A flurry of comments floods the chat. Things like, “OHMYGOSH NO WAY!” and “For real? Pick me! Pick me!”
“Don’t worry, guys. I’ll use my trusty automated name picker to generate a winner like always.”
My gaming peeps know the drill. I give away free stuff all the time…Springtown merch, online gaming passes, and more. Whatever I can do to give back. It certainly doesn’t hurt that all the hype from big giveaways helps me gain followers and diehard fans as well.
Not that I crave some sort of online fame or notoriety. I really don’t. But now that I’ll likely have to set hockey aside for good, I’ve decided I need to lean into something else—something that’ll sustain me financially. Might as well be another thing I love to do.
Gaming started as an outlet for me. One day on a whim, I decided to go live and stream while I was playing just for the fun of it.
People jumped on and kept jumping on any time I went live.
Apparently, my commentary while I play is entertaining because I quickly grew a substantial following.
No doubt some people started following my channel because they’re hockey fans, but I’d like to think they stay for more than just my hockey fame.
Either way, I’m glad they’re here, and I want to show my appreciation in any way I can.
A familiar username pops up in the chat. When will you pick a winner?
“I’m going to pick a winner from this comment thread later on tonight. Just as a thank you to all of you for hopping on. I was…kind of having a rough time earlier and it feels good to connect with you guys.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
I do my best to keep my personal life personal.
Especially in this space since some of my followers tend to get defensive on my behalf.
And I don’t need any drama—online or otherwise—blowing up my life.
Nor do I need a thousand comments asking me what’s wrong.
“I promise, guys, I’m fine,” I say to reassure them and ward off the slew of incoming questions. “But you know how it is…you get some disappointing news or see something sad on TV and it kind of wrecks your mental health for the rest of the day.”
That’s an understatement, but hopefully it’s vague enough.
It’s the girlfriend, one commenter says. He hasn’t spoken about her in months and whenever we ask about her, he deflects. I’m telling you, they broke up!
Sheesh. So much for keeping it on the downlow. I don’t respond to that comment. People can and will think what they want. I’ve learned not to let their comments or theories affect me.
Sarah and I did our best to steer clear of the public eye.
She despised everything about me playing hockey, from the training schedule to the fame that comes with being a professional athlete.
And with her pursuing a career in law, I understood.
Even if her lack of support hurt at times.
She never escorted me to galas or big pre- and post-game events because she didn’t want to give the media anything they could twist for their own devices.
Her reasoning made sense at the time, so I agreed to her demands.
But now…I can’t help but wonder if it all had less to do with hockey and more to do with me.
With a sigh, I skim over the comments pertaining to my relationship with Sarah.
I wasn’t shy about bragging about her many qualities online.
My girlfriend makes the best homemade garlic knots.
A recipe I thought she perfected just for me…
My girlfriend reads while I livestream on here.
It’s the perfect marrying of hobbies! Or was she just filling her time while I spent mine gaming?
She claimed she didn’t feel neglected, but I’ll never really know the truth, will I?
The high praise I doled out about my ex to these strangers online sours my stomach. I should’ve kept more of my life private. Then I wouldn’t be opening myself up to these wild relationship conspiracy theories filling the chat.
“So anyway, back to the giveaway…” I finish giving all the details while I approach the boss at the end of this level. I’ve beat him before; it shouldn’t be too hard to do it again.
“May the best person win and good luck,” I say to my viewers.
“Now, let’s see if I can take this guy down in just a few moves.
” It takes less than four minutes to destroy this monster.
I celebrate with my viewers as usual, silently wishing life’s bosses were this easy to conquer.
The hurt Sarah left in her wake makes me never want to respawn and try again.
I finish the livestream and text my moderator to begin adding up entries for the giveaway, so we can announce the winner in the next video, when my phone begins buzzing in my hand. My cousin's face fills the screen.
A sigh leaves me in a rush before I answer it. “Well. This is a nice surprise.”
Max laughs, a familiar sound that transports me back to the humid nights of our childhood summers when we’d stay out long after the fireflies appeared to run around and play hide and seek.
“Is it? You sound tired.”
I lean back in my gaming chair and get comfortable. “I am tired.” I pause, waiting for him to come right out and admit the reason for his call. When he doesn’t, I blow out a breath. “I’m assuming you’re calling because you watched my livestream?”
Max chuckles. “Listen, if you saw what I just saw, you would’ve called me too. So, I gotta ask…has my favorite cousin relapsed?” A voice echoes through an intercom in the background, letting me know he’s likely walking through an airport.
“Define relapse.” I run a hand through my hair, knowing full well what he means.
“Aw, come on, man. We talked about this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub the heel of my palm into my right socket. “I know we did. But it’s harder than I thought it would be.”
He hums, a deep, thoughtful sound. “Look, I’m sure it is. But you’re never going to get over her if you keep stalking her socials.”
“I am not stalking her socials.”
“Dash. Looking her up just to check on her, even every other week, is too much when you’re still nursing a broken heart.”