Chapter Thirty-Three
The Bet, the Silence, and the Screw-Up
Chase
The locker room is quiet in that heavy, post-loss kind of way. A few guys are half-dressed, going through the motions—untaping sticks, peeling off gear like it’s the only thing keeping them from exploding. No one’s making eye contact.
I sit slumped on the bench, pads still on, sweat dripping down my neck. I haven’t said a word since the final buzzer.
I don’t hear most of what’s going on around me—just the low murmur of pissed-off teammates.
I played like shit.
Worse than shit. Like I had no business being on the ice.
And I know exactly why.
“Yo,” Bennett says, dropping onto the bench across from me, arms resting on his knees like he’s just settling in for a chat. “You gonna keep playing like your skates are made of cement, or are you gonna go fix the thing that’s clearly breaking your brain?”
I don’t even look at him. I just stare at the floor and wipe a hand down my face. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
I let out a bitter breath. “I messed up.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “You did.”
I finally glance at him. “Thanks. Real comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you,” he says. “I’m here to tell you to stop being a dumbass.”
That gets a flicker of something out of me. Barely.
He leans back against the lockers, eyes on mine. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like she’s it for you.”
I shake my head, throat tight. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell her about the bet. I let it go on. I made her think she was some... game.”
“And now you’re punishing yourself for it instead of doing anything to fix it.” He gives me a look. “Congrats, you’re the brooding antihero in a sad indie movie.”
I almost laugh, but it comes out hollow.
“You waiting around for her to just forgive you out of the blue?” Bennett asks. “Because that’s not gonna happen. You gotta move, man. You gotta do something.”
“She won’t want to hear from me.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. You won’t know until you try.”
That hits. Hard.
He stands and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let your pride mess this up. Not if it matters.”
He walks off, leaving me alone in the silence, my heart pounding like I’m still out on the ice.
Because it does matter.
It matters more than anything.
And I have no idea if she’ll even read a message from me.
But I know one thing—I can’t stay quiet anymore.
Back in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.
I’ve typed out three messages already and deleted them all.
The first one was too casual.
The second one was too long.
The third one just didn’t hit right.
I don’t know how to fix this.
I just know I want to.
Finally, I open a new message. My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a second, and then I just… let it out.
Me: I don’t have a good excuse.
I should’ve told you about the bet the second the stupid words were out of Ty’s mouth. Before you ever became real to me.
And you are. You’re the most real thing in my life right now.
You were never a game. Not for one second.
I’m sorry I made you feel that way.
You don’t have to forgive me.
But I needed you to know the truth.
All of it.
I stare at it for a long time.
No begging. No explaining. Just the truth.
I hit send before I can change my mind.
Then I toss my phone on the bed and run both hands through my hair, heart pounding like I just stepped off the ice again.
I don’t expect her to respond.
But I hope she does.
I really hope she does.