Chapter 6
RODRIGUEZ
Being friends with someone I’m completely gone for feels like it’s simultaneously the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.
Best because: Juliette Chastain is texting me. Daily. Sometimes multiple times a day. Sending me random thoughts about her students, complaining about grad school applications, asking my opinion on things that definitely don’t matter but I answer anyway because it means she’s thinking about me.
Worst because: I’m in the friend zone. The deepest, most permanent friend zone that has ever existed. And I put myself here voluntarily because I’m an idiot.
I’m sitting in the team lounge scrolling through our text thread like a complete idiot.
Juliette
one of my students just asked me if I’m a princess because I “skate pretty”
I didn’t know how to explain that I’m actually a goblin who happens to be good at jumps
you’re definitely a princess
a really mean one who turns people into ice sculptures when they annoy her
Juliette
that’s the best princess origin story I’ve ever heard
I’m using that
royalties please
Juliette
you can have one (1) coffee
DEAL
Almardon strolls into the lounge and drops into the seat next to me. “You should see your face right now”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“It’s doing this thing where you look like a psycho while smiling at your phone.”
I lock my screen. “I don’t smile at my phone.”
“You do. It’s honestly disturbing.” He steals a chip from my plate. “Let me guess. Ice Queen?”
“Her name is Juliette.”
“Oh, we’re using real names now. That’s serious. Does she know yours?”
“Of course not.”
“Bro. That’s…” He laughs. “Best of luck with that one. Is that why you’re here every day now?”
“I’m rehabbing my knee.”
“Your PT sessions ended an hour ago.”
Okay, he’s got me there. I have been showing up at the facility around the time Juliette finishes her work with Marnie. And maybe we’ve grabbed food together a few times. And maybe I’ve driven her home twice because “it’s on my way” even though it’s absolutely not on my way. Like at all.
But that’s what friends do, right? Friends show up for each other. Friends give each other rides. Friends text each other random thoughts throughout the day and make each other laugh and—
I’m so screwed.
“You’re in deep,” Almardon observes.
“I’m being a good friend.”
“You’re being pathetic.”
“That too.”
He laughs. “Why don’t you just tell her you’re into her?”
“Because she just got out of a three-year relationship like two months ago. With a guy who cheated on her. She needs a friend right now, not some hockey player hitting on her again.”
“So you’re going to suffer in silence?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” I check my phone again. She hasn’t responded yet. “But it’s the only plan I’ve got.”
My first skate of the year is in mid January; roughly two weeks after our non-date coffee date.
I’m more nervous than I’ve been in years, my fingers fumbling as I lace up my skates. It’s just practice which I’ve done a thousand times before. But my knee is a bit weak, still not quite right, and I’m terrified I’m going to get onto the ice and realize I’ve lost something I can’t get back.
Barrett walks by as I’m lacing up.
“Welcome back, Rodriguez. Take it easy out there.”
“Easy isn’t really my style, Coach.”
“It is today.” He’s not joking around. “I see you doing anything stupid, you’re off the ice immediately. Clear?”
“Clear.”
The ice feels different under my blades.
Or maybe it’s me that feels different. Either way, the cold air hits my face as I push off, sharp and familiar.
I do a few laps, testing my knee, waiting for pain that never comes.
My edges are a sloppy, my timing’s a little off, but I’m finally back to skating.
Roman skates over after drills, spraying ice as he stops. “How’s it feel?”
“Weird. Good. Weird-good.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement for Marnie and her team.”
“Give me a week. I’ll be back to normal.”
“Better be. Playoff push is soon and we’ll need you”
I practice for forty minutes before Jake pulls me off. “That’s enough for today. Don’t push it.”
It’s frustrating but I know he’s right. My knee is already aching which means I’ve pushed close to my limit. I hit the showers and change, feeling that good kind of exhausted that comes from actually using your body the way it’s meant to be used.
When I walk out of the locker room, Juliette is in the hallway.
She’s talking to one of the PTs, taking notes and completely focused. Her hair’s pulled back in that bun she always wears, and she’s got a pen tucked behind her ear. She hasn’t seen me yet.
“Hey,” I call out.
She looks over and gives me a small smile. “How was practice?”
“My timing is complete garbage.”
“It’ll come back.”
“You sound really confident about that.”
“I am confident. You’re annoyingly persistent about everything. You’ll be fine.” She finishes whatever she’s writing. “I have to update some files but I’m free around four if you want to grab food?”
I should play it cool. Should maybe say I have plans or I’m busy or literally anything that doesn’t make me seem as pathetically available as I actually am.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Great. Meet you in the lobby?”
“I’ll be there.”
She walks away and I just stand there slack-jawed, watching her go.
“You’re cooked,” Almardon says from behind me.
I flip him off and head to the gym. I’ve got an hour to kill before meeting Juliette and I need to do something productive besides thinking about the way she smiled when she saw me.
We fall into this routine over the next few weeks. January flies by.
I practice in the mornings, do PT in the afternoons.
She works with Marnie, teaches her classes, preps for grad school.
We grab food together two or three times a week.
She quizzes me on random trivia she learned that day.
I tell her about my teammates’ antics. We argue about music and food and whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
It is. She’s wrong. We’re still debating this.
The texts become constant. Good morning messages that turn into all-day conversations. Photos of stupid things that made us think of each other. Voice memos when typing takes too long, her voice filling my car or my apartment, making empty spaces feel less empty.
I learn things about her. Small things. She has a sweet tooth. She wants to stay in Seattle after grad school. She has a sister getting married in mid-February. She’s really nervous about going back to Toronto for it.
I don’t push for details about the ex. She mentions him sometimes—always carefully, like she’s testing how much she can say—but I never ask follow-up questions. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
Or she won’t. And that’s okay too.
What matters is that she’s texting me at 11 PM because she can’t sleep and wants to know my most embarrassing hockey moment. What matters is that she saves me a seat in the facility cafeteria without me even asking. What matters is that when I see her in the hallway, her whole face lights up.
Even if it’s just friendship. Even if that’s all this ever is.
It’s not enough. But I’m trying really hard to convince myself it is.
Late January, I’m cleared for full contact.
The team is on a win streak, I’m back on the ice actually contributing, and everything should feel perfect. But there’s this restless energy I can’t shake. Like I’m waiting for something but I don’t know what.
“You need to tell her,” Almardon says one day after practice.
“Tell who what?”
“Don’t play dumb. You need to tell Juliette you’re into her.”
“We’ve been over this. She needs a friend—”
“It’s been almost three months since the breakup. At some point you need to stop making excuses.”
“I’m not making excuses.”
“You literally schedule your entire day around when she’ll be at the facility.”
“That’s called being a good friend.”
“That’s called being in love and refusing to do anything about it.”
The words hit harder than they should. In love. I’m not—I mean, I really like her. Obviously. But love is—that’s—
Oh shit.
“You just realized it, didn’t you?” Almardon is grinning at me.
“Shut up.”
“You’re falling for her.” Almardon’s still grinning at me but all I can hear is static.
“I’m not—we’re just—”
But the thing is, he’s right. Somewhere between the coffee shop in early January and now, I stopped just wanting Juliette and started needing her. Needing her texts in the morning and her laugh and the way she calls me out on my bullshit and the way she remembers small things I mention in passing.
I’m falling for her.
And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.
February starts with a road trip. Four games in ten days, all on the East Coast. It’s exhausting but we win three out of four, and I’m playing well enough that Barrett’s actually complimenting me.
But the whole time, I’m texting Juliette.
Photos of terrible airport food. Complaints about hotel pillows that are either rocks or marshmallows with no in-between. A voice memo of Almardon snoring that makes her send back seven cry-laughing emojis.
She sends me updates about her students. A video of a kid falling spectacularly during a lesson with the caption “this is how I feel about life right now.”
On the flight home, I’m scrolling through our texts and Almardon leans over.
“You need to ask her out for real when we get back.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah. I know.” I lock my phone. “I’ve been thinking about it. I just need to figure out the right way to—”
“There is no right way. You just ask her.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself like this.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right, but he is.
We land late on February 9th. I text Juliette from baggage claim.
back in Seattle
you around tomorrow? want to grab lunch?
She doesn’t respond immediately, which is unusual. By the time I get home and shower, there’s still nothing.
I’m about to go to bed when my phone finally buzzes.
Juliette
sorry, crazy evening
lunch tomorrow sounds good
1 PM?
perfect
everything ok?
Juliette
yeah just family stuff
I’ll tell you tomorrow
I stare at that last message. Family stuff. The wedding is this weekend. Maybe something’s going on with that.
I fall asleep thinking about what I’m going to say to her tomorrow. How I’m going to tell her that I like her as more than a friend. That I’ve been patient and I’ll keep being patient but I need her to know how I feel.
That I’m falling for her and I think maybe, possibly, she might feel something for me too.
Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.
I’m at the facility by noon the next day, even though we’re not meeting until one.
I can’t help it. I keep wiping my palms on my jeans and I can’t sit still.
I pace in the lobby for ten minutes before Almardon finds me.
“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” he asks.
“I’m telling her today.”
“Telling her what?”
“That I want to take her on a date for real.”
He stops and stares at me. “You’re serious.”
“Completely serious. We’re getting lunch at one and I’m just—I’m going to tell her.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“And when she tells you to fuck off?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I check my phone. 12:15. Forty-five more minutes. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being friends.”
“That’s actually kind of mature of you.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m always surprised when you do something smart.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Good luck, man. You’ve got this.”
He leaves and I’m alone again with my thoughts and my anxiety.
I run through what I’m going to say. Keep it simple. Keep it honest. “I know we started as friends but I want more. I’ll wait as long as you need but I need you to know.”
The words sound stupid out loud. Everything sounds stupid. My hands won’t stop sweating. I wipe them on my jeans again. This is worse than my first NHL game.
I mean it could work. Or it could completely blow up our friendship and make everything weird forever.
I go to the gym and do a quick workout to burn off the nervous energy. Try not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
12:50. Ten minutes.
I shower quickly and change into clean clothes. Check my hair in the mirror. Consider texting her that I’m ready early, but I don’t want to seem too eager.
12:58.
I head back to the lobby.
1:00.
She’s not here yet. That’s fine. She’s probably finishing up something with Marnie. I lean against the wall and wait.
1:05.
Still not here. I text her.
hey, still good for lunch?
No response.
1:10.
Maybe she’s in a meeting. Or her phone’s on silent. That happens sometimes.
1:15.
The security guard at the desk is starting to look at me weird. I check my phone again. Pull up our text thread to make sure the messages actually sent. They did.
everything okay?
Still nothing.
This isn’t like her. She’s never late. Never doesn’t respond to texts. My stomach twists.
Something’s wrong.
I head upstairs to Marnie’s office, taking the steps two at a time. Maybe she got caught up with work and lost track of time. Maybe her phone died.
The door is closed but I can see through the window that someone’s inside.
I knock once and open the door.
And that’s when I see her face.