Chapter 2
TY
Iplay a game guessing who’s a tourist and who’s a local as we drive along, making snap judgments based on shoes, clothing choices, and whether someone looks even remotely aware of where they’re going.
It passes the time, gives my brain something harmless to do.
It’s the kind of afternoon that feels routine. Predictable.
I like predictable. In fact, I love predictable. Give me a predictable-I-know-what’s-coming kind of summer day, any day of the week. Please and thank you.
“Take a left up here,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.
Liam glances over at me, one hand loose on the steering wheel. “A left?”
“Yes.”
Liam doesn’t question it, easing the car into the turn as the street narrows slightly, rows of brick buildings stretching ahead of us.
Offseason has its advantages. There’s no game tonight. No morning skate. No media waiting to ask the same five questions in different ways. I’ve got a couple months of workouts, training, and—
Liam hums, interrupting my thoughts. “So, where are we going?”
I give him the address. There’s a beat as he processes it.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “And what’s at that address?”
“An appointment.”
He snorts. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”
I shrug, keeping my tone even. “I just did.”
Liam glances at me again, longer this time. “Since when do you have appointments on this side of town?”
I don’t respond. Outside, the city moves past in a blur of brick and glass and people who are not currently thinking about what they said ten minutes ago.
I am.
“You’re being weird,” Liam says.
“I’m always weird.”
“Yeah, but this is different weird.”
I move slightly in my seat, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve even though it doesn’t need adjusting. “It’s nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” He taps the steering wheel with his thumb. “Does this ‘nothing’ have anything to do with the fact that my sister’s best friend just planted her lips across yours for no reason?”
I don’t look at him.
“That was unrelated.”
“Unrelated,” he repeats, like he doesn’t believe me. I exhale slowly through my nose. It should be unrelated. It was random. Unplanned. A moment that doesn’t require follow-up or analysis.
Except, my brain doesn’t seem to agree.
My phone chirps, alerting me to a text message. I’ve never been so relieved to pay attention to my phone in my life.
Emma:
Hey—if you’re free Wednesday, we should meet. Go over the practice schedule before things ramp up.
I read it once, then again.
“Don’t do that,” Liam says.
“Do what?”
“Disappear into your phone mid-conversation.”
“We’re not married and I’m still listening.”
“Sure you are.”
What time?
Outside, the street opens up a little, traffic thinning as we move farther from the main strip.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from my sister.
Emma:
Morning? Coffee. I’ll bring notes.
Morning is better. It’s quieter. More structured. And I find it a lot easier to focus.
Okay.
I start to lock my phone, but another message comes through.
Emma:
Also—your appointment is today. Don’t think I forgot. Are you good?
My thumb hovers over the screen for a second before I respond.
Yeah. I’m good.
Emma:
Call me after.
I send it, then turn the screen off and rest the phone against my leg as Liam merges onto the highway.
A minute passes before he tries to shoot his shot again.
“So what kind of appointment?” Liam asks, glancing over. “Doctor, lawyer, secret-second-life I should know about?”
I look at him. Liam’s one of the few people who didn’t ignore it when things started to slip. How the noise in the arena started to crush in on me, and the way it didn’t shut off after. The way one mistake turned into three because I couldn’t reset fast enough mid-game.
He noticed, pulled me aside one night, and said something. Because he didn’t make it a joke, I think that’s what got me in front of the team psychologist in the first place.
Dr. Phillips told me I was overprocessing. That I needed to talk to someone who could actually help me figure out what to do with it. So I did. And now—
“I’m seeing a therapist,” I say.
Liam nods once, like he knew that was the plan all along. “Okay.” He waits a beat. “And?”
I glance back out my window.
“They think I’m on the spectrum.”
The car stays quiet for a second. I feel a little wobbly because it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud to someone I’m not related to.
“Yeah?” Liam says, shrugging a shoulder. “And?”
“Did you hear me?” I let out a slow breath. “Turns out I’m a thirty-year-old man who just found out he’s autistic.”
He takes that in without reacting right away. Then he nods.
“Alright,” he says. “That makes a lot of things make sense.”
I glance over at him. There’s no pity in his voice, no change in demeanor. The energy in the car is…as it was. There’s only quiet and understanding.
This is why we’re friends.
“We can talk about it if you want,” he continues, like we’re going over a play from last week’s game. “But I won’t push.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, because it is Liam, but that was easier than I expected. Which is funny, since talking hasn’t always been.
There were stretches where I knew what I wanted to say, but it didn’t come out in the right order.
Or at the right speed. Too much at once, or not enough.
People would fill in the gaps before I got there.
Parents, teachers, girlfriends—all frustrated and thinking I was taking my time on purpose.
Not knowing I was processing in real time when I did that, slowed myself.
Dr. Phillips said that happens. That sometimes it’s not about saying it faster—it’s about having someone who waits long enough to hear it.
I’ve had a few of those people over the years. Not many. My sister is one, and my mom. A few close friends in high school may have seen my cracks, navigating around them before they or I could label it, but Liam is the first person in Alexandria who figured it out.
Back when everything in the arena started stacking—noise, mistakes, the way I couldn’t reset cleanly. He saw it and gave me space, and then circled back when I was ready. And I guess I am.
Because, turns out, I’ve been masking it for years…until the mask started to erode.
“Hey,” Liam says, like he just remembered and not like we’re in the middle of talking about my life-altering news. “You still want me to come by next week? Help with those drills?”
“Please.”
“Just checking. Didn’t know if things were getting shuffled around with Emma’s schedule and everything.”
“They’re not,” I say. “We’re keeping it consistent. It matters with this group.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile there. This is why I like him. We go from deep convo back to normal in zero-point-two seconds flat.
“That’s why she’s been bringing me in more,” I add. “So it’s not a whole reset this week.”
“They’re used to you now.”
“Mostly.”
“Pretty sure half of them just like you because you don’t make them do suicides,” he says, a chuckle underlining his words.
“I do make them do suicides.”
“Not like she does.”
I don’t argue that. Emma’s version of “conditioning” has always been aggressive.
“She’s got enough going on,” I say.
“Yeah,” Liam agrees. “Wedding alone would be enough.”
I nod once, chuckling. Emma doesn’t do anything halfway.
She never has. She’s the oldest. First one on the ice.
First one to take it all the way. Olympics.
Gold medals. Everything that came with it.
And now, she’s built something of her own with this 14U girls ice hockey team.
Giving back to the very thing that inspired her and put her on her path. Her legacy.
Which means I’m not going to be the one who lets it slip.
We come off the highway a minute later, the car slowing as we merge into lighter traffic. The rhythm changes. Less movement. More stops.
Liam taps the brakes as we roll up to a red light, and I let my gaze drift out the window.
It’s busier in this part of town. People move along the sidewalk—couples, someone walking a dog, a woman balancing a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.
But then I see something, and I do a double take.
For a second, I think it’s her. Same height. Same long brown hair with blonde highlights. Same quick, purposeful walk. My focus sharpens automatically, tracking…
And it’s not her. Not unless she can fly.
My hand comes up before I think about it, fingers brushing lightly across my mouth. I drop my hand and exhale. I shake my head once, more to myself than anything.
It was random.
It doesn’t matter.
She needed my lips…or rather, an out.
“Next right,” I say, turning my head back toward the windshield and replaying the moment she looked back.
It was only once. Like she couldn’t help it. But also like she knew I’d still be there.
“Hey,” Liam says, snapping his fingers lightly. “Earth to Ty. Are you listening?”
“Kind of. What’d ya say?”
He chuckles. “Hang out later?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe.”
“Might be good to download.”
“It could be,” I repeat, quieter now. “But let me see how I feel afterward, okay?”
Liam doesn’t say anything, only nods. He gets it.
“Next right,” I say. “There, with the green awning.”
Liam slows the car, glancing at the building as it comes into view. “You sure this is it?”
“I’m sure.”
He pulls up to the curb but doesn’t put the car in park right away.
“Do you want me to wait?” he asks.
“No.”
“Okay.” Another beat. "You've got a ride back?”
“I’ll call an Uber, but thank you.” I reach for the door handle. “It’s just an appointment.”
And I’m already out of the car before he can ask anything else.