Chapter 32 Rodriguez
RODRIGUEZ
She doesn’t write me back.
I know because I watch my phone all Wednesday night like it’s going to spontaneously generate a message from her through sheer force of will. It doesn’t. The screen stays dark, empty, a black mirror reflecting back exactly how fucked I am.
I text her twice more before my hands start shaking too badly to type.
I’m here when you’re ready to talk.
I meant what I said. I’m not giving up on us.
At 3 AM I give up on the pretense of sleep.
My apartment feels wrong without her in it.
Too much like the before times when I didn’t know what it felt like to wake up with her cold feet pressed against my calves.
I head to my building’s gym and run until my lungs burn, and my legs forget how to work, and the only thing in my head is the pounding of my feet on the treadmill and the ragged sound of my own breathing.
It doesn’t help.
Nothing helps.
Because every time I close my eyes I see her face when she walked away from me. The hurt there. The doubt. The way she looked at me like I was Garrett and I wanted to scream that I’m not him, I’m nothing like him, I would never do what he did.
But I hid something from her.
And now she can’t trust me.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
Practice Thursday morning confirms what I already know: I’m completely fucked.
Every drill is wrong. Passes going wide. Timing off. My body knows what to do but my brain won’t cooperate. Too busy replaying the fight on loop, too busy trying to figure out what I should have said differently.
“RODRIGUEZ!” Barrett’s voice cuts through my spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Everything. Everything is wrong.
“Nothing, Coach.”
As I skate closer I can see the frustration radiating off him. “You’re playing like you’ve never seen a puck before. Whatever’s going on with you, fix it before tomorrow’s game or you’re riding the bench.”
“Yes, Coach.”
After practice, Almardon sits down next to me in the locker room without saying anything. Just sits there while I unlace my skates with hands that won’t stop shaking.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
I focus on the laces, on the mechanical process of loosening them, anything to avoid looking at him. “Sienna got to Juliette before I could explain. Now she thinks I’ve been cheating on her.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“She asked for space.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “So I’m giving her space.”
Almardon’s quiet but I can feel him studying me, weighing whether to push or let it go.
“You’re in love with her.”
It’s not a question. Doesn’t need to be. I’m sure it’s written all over my face. Has been for months.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Then stop giving her space and go get her.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works.” He stands and claps my shoulder once. The weight of it grounds me for half a second. “You fucked up. Now you fix it. Figure it out before you lose her for good. Cap and Doc read all those romance novels, maybe ask them how the guys in those books grovel.”
He walks away and I sit there in the empty locker room staring at my phone, at the messages that still haven’t been read.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I should—
But what if she doesn’t want to hear from me? What if I push and it makes everything worse?
I put the phone down and finish changing.
Tomorrow. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
The arena is packed for our home game against Edmonton. I’m trying to block out the noise and go through every pre-game ritual I’ve done a thousand times before. Tape my stick. Stretch. Try to find that headspace where nothing exists except the ice and the puck and my teammates.
It doesn’t work.
Barrett pulls me aside before we head out and studies my face like he’s trying to read a book in a language he doesn’t speak.
“You with me tonight, Rodriguez?”
“Yes, Coach.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his eyes. But he nods anyway. “Whatever’s in your head, leave it in this locker room. I need you focused.”
“I will be.”
I’m lying and we both know it.
The puck drops and immediately I’m drowning. Everything’s too fast, too loud, my body’s moving but my brain is still back in that hallway with Juliette, watching her walk away from me.
Five minutes in, I lose the puck at our blue line. Don’t even see the Edmonton forward steal it until he’s already streaking toward our net. Luca makes the save but it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.
Barrett benches me for the rest of the period.
I sit and watch the game continue without me, watch my teammates do the job I’m supposed to be doing, and keep seeing the hurt in Juliette’s eyes. About how I put it there. About how I’d give anything, my contract, my career, everything, just to take it back.
Second period, Barrett puts me back out. One more chance. One more opportunity to prove I’m not a complete disaster.
I’m skating up ice with the puck and my head finally starting to clear. See Dex breaking toward the net. Start to thread the pass.
The hit comes from my blind side.
One second I’m upright. The next I’m weightless. Then my head cracks against the ice and the world goes black.
Sound comes back first but it’s wrong. Muffled and distant like I’m underwater. Someone’s trying to help me sit up and I push at their hands because everything hurts and I don’t understand what’s happening.
“Rodriguez, it’s Marnie. I need you to stay still for me.”
Marnie. Right. I’m at a game. I got hit.
But something’s wrong. Something’s missing.
“Where—” The word comes out slurred and thick. “Where’s Juliette?”
“She’s not here. Let me check you first—”
The panic hits me like a second collision. She’s not here. She’s not here and I need her and everything hurts and I can’t think straight.
“No. Need, I need Juliette. Please.” My voice sounds wrong, broken, but I can’t stop it. “Call her. Please call her.”
“Romeo, you hit your head really hard. I need to examine you—”
“Juliette.” I’m clawing at my helmet trying to get it off but someone’s holding my hands down and I can’t pull away. “Please. She’s, I need her. Please.”
The crowd noise is too loud. The lights too bright. Everything’s spinning and the only solid thing in my head is her name. Juliette. Juliette. Need Juliette.
Strong hands help me off the ice. Voices around me that I can’t quite process. The tunnel. The locker room. Training table.
Marnie’s trying to ask me questions but I can’t focus, can’t think about anything except the crushing weight in my chest that Juliette’s not here.
“Call Juliette.” I grab Marnie’s wrist. Not hard, just desperate, anchoring myself to something real. “Please. I know she’s mad. I know she doesn’t want to see me. But please. I’m begging you. Call her.”
Marnie exchanges a look with someone. It’s hard to tell with everything blurry and wrong.
“Okay,” she says gently. “I’ll call her. But I need you to let me finish examining you first. Can you do that for me?”
I nod even though it makes the room tilt sideways, even though every movement sends pain shooting through my skull, because she’s going to call Juliette and that’s the only thing that matters.
Marnie goes through the concussion protocol while pulling out her phone. Questions I try to answer even though my brain feels like it’s full of cotton. The ringing is the only sound I can focus on. Once. Twice. Three times.
Please pick up. Please please please pick up.
“Juliette, it’s Marnie.”
My whole body tenses with every muscle coiled tight waiting.
“No, everything’s not okay. Romeo’s been injured.”
I can’t hear what Juliette’s saying. Can only hear Marnie’s half of the conversation and it’s killing me not knowing if she’ll come.
“Pretty bad concussion. I need you to come to the arena.”
Silence that stretches forever. I hold my breath and hold onto the edge of the training table so hard my knuckles go white.
“I know you guys are having issues but he’s really hurt.” Marnie’s voice is careful, measured. “He won’t let me treat him properly. He keeps asking for you. Please. Just, please come.”
Another silence. This one worse than the first because what if she says no? What if she’s so hurt and angry that she leaves me here alone with my head cracked open and everything spinning?
“Thank you. Come to the family entrance. I’ll meet you there.”
Relief hits me so hard I nearly fall off the table. She’s coming. She’s really coming.
“She said yes?” My voice cracks on the words.
“She’s coming.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes. Maybe less if she drives fast.”
Twenty minutes might as well be twenty years. But I lie back and try to breathe through the nausea rolling in my stomach, through the pounding in my head, through the desperate need to see her.
Almardon appears at some point, still in his gear with his face tight with worry.
“How you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
“Yeah, you look like it.” He’s trying for light but it doesn’t land. “Juliette’s coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He squeezes my shoulder. “That’s real good, man.”
Marnie keeps checking on me. Shining lights in my eyes that make me want to vomit, asking me questions I answer on autopilot, taking notes on her tablet while I count the seconds until Juliette gets here.
Sixty seconds. One hundred twenty. Three hundred.
Every second feels like drowning.
Finally I hear her voice in the hallway. Low and urgent and the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
Marnie must go to get her because footsteps approach, fast, nearly running.
Then she’s there.
Standing in the doorway in sweatpants and my Puckaneers hoodie that swallows her whole with hair falling out of a messy bun, no makeup, face pale and scared and so fucking beautiful I can’t breathe.
“JuJu.” Her name comes out wrecked.
“Hey.” She crosses to me in three quick steps with her hand going immediately to my face, cupping my jaw like she needs to verify I’m real. “What did you do?”
The touch grounds me, centers me, makes everything that was spinning finally slow down.