Chapter 26
twenty-six
DAVIS
Keep fucking going, I tell myself.
Wind rips past my ears, muffled by my helmet as I push myself harder and harder. The puck is just ahead, I can make it there before them, I can fucking do this.
But Blair beats me to it.
He makes it there before I do, and all I can think is that I’m failing at this just like I failed with Sasha.
These last couple of weeks have sucked without her, but I’m right back to where I was a couple of months ago. I don’t have the balls to talk to her, to figure out how I can make this right.
If I can make it right.
Sasha Price may never speak to me again, and I don’t fucking blame her.
I don’t regret going after Claire that night, she needed me in that moment, but I do regret not giving Sasha some sort of explanation, or a promise that we’d figure things out. I just let her end things.
Technically, I ended things, but we could have tried harder.
I should have tried harder.
Because even though I went twenty-two years without her in my life, these last fifty-six days have felt worse than any of those days combined.
Back then, I had no idea what I was missing, and now I do.
She kept the light on, she kept me from falling.
“Davis!” Coach yells from the bench, motioning me to come over. “You do know we’re going to the championships in a couple of days, right?”
“I know Coach.”
He assesses me for a second, “then why are you acting like you’ve never put on a pair of skates before?
” His face goes red, the anger and frustration he feels towards my performance lately finally coming to a head.
“I don’t know what you need to do to get your head on straight, but I need you to do it.
Whatever’s going on between you and your girl can wait. ”
“How do you know it’s got to do with Sasha?” I pause, “actually, don’t answer that.”
It doesn’t really matter how he knows.
He’s right, I need to focus. This is my last chance to catch any scout’s eye, my last chance to accomplish my dreams. I need this.
So I put my head down and push myself to the brink of exhaustion. Every breath hurts, every breath feels like a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
All of this —hockey, achieving my dreams— means nothing if she’s not there with me.
“What do we need to do to get your head back into this?” August asks gruffly, dropping his helmet to the ground in our locker room.
I shake my head, “I don’t know, dude. I just can’t focus.”
“He needs his girl back,” Blair calls out from the opposite side of the room.
That’s an understatement.
“I’ve been hanging out with Sasha,” Lucas says casually, “I’ve learned a lot about her.”
“Shut up dude, that’s not helping,” Miller hisses. “He misses her, and hearing about you getting to spend time with her isn’t going to help.”
“I don’t miss her,” I protest.
They all know I’m lying, but if I say it out loud enough, maybe it’ll eventually be true.
Lucas grins. “She told me about her tattoos, they’re super interesting.”
He’s lying.
She doesn’t talk about her tattoos.
“Did she ever tell you about that rose on her shoulder? Apparently, she got it after trying to work at a summer camp. Oh, and that one piece on her wrist? It’s covering up a scar from the accident.”
My blood runs cold.
Lucas chuckles, “she tells me everything. I really like spending time with her, and it seems like she doesn’t even miss you when she’s with me.”
I charge him, using my forearm to pin him against the wall. “Shut the fuck up.”
“What? I thought you didn’t miss her.” There’s a challenge in his eyes, he’s doing this to goad me into admitting how I feel.
And it’s working.
The room around us is dead silent. I can see the guys in my peripheral vision, all of them watching closely to make sure this doesn’t go too far.
“I don’t,” I bite out.
“Yes. You do,” he says pointedly. “Stop lying to yourself, this is ripping you apart inside.”
It is.
But I don’t want it to.
I don’t want to miss her because she’s better off without me.
All I’m going to do is bring her down. I’m going to keep fucking up, because that’s what I do. I’m not meant to have a great love, I’m meant to be the stupid, silly friend who makes his friends laugh and then disappear when I’m not needed anymore.
I fucking hurt her. I doubt she’s going to forgive me.
Fuck, she hurt me too. That night, she made me choose between two of the most important people in my life, she put me in an impossible position.
I was so fucking angry with her, for so long, and now I just wish we could go back to the way things were and have her in my arms again.
“Go get your fucking girl, idiot. She loves you, and misses you. She fucking needs you, but you’re too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, this thing could be good for you.”
“I know it was good for me,” I drop my arm, taking a step back, “but she doesn’t need me.”
Miller puts a hand on my shoulder, “how could you possibly know that?”
“Go get her,” August groans, “this whole sad boy bullshit doesn’t look good on you, and it sure as shit isn’t making either of you feel better.”
“You guys need each other,” Blair says.
The club is dark, flashes of neon lights the only thing allowing me to see the sea of people around me. Music pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of my own misery.
This is the only place where I don’t feel.
The floor vibrates from the music, the speakers shake the walls, people bump into me, all of it muffled and muted from the sheer amount of liquor I’ve consumed since getting here.
Seeing her on campus every day feels like someone’s ripping my heart out, and after watching her get into Lucas’s car earlier… I needed to not feel.
I know she’s still friends with them, that they still get to see and talk to her whenever they want, and it’s killing me.
Her voice haunts me. It keeps me awake at night, taunting me, torturing me with the mistakes I’ve made.
Why did I leave her?
Why would I do that?
She was the only thing that made me feel like I was normal. She took away all the pain, made me feel like I could actually make it to tomorrow.
She was my hope, my sunshine.
And I fucked it all up.
I take another sip of my drink, allowing it to dull my senses.
The lights continue to flash, faces coming in and out of view for split seconds, their features fuzzy.
That’s when I see her, her dark hair, her hips swaying to the music, the ink peaking out of her sleeve.
Pixie.
I stumble towards her, pushing through the crowd in a sloppy frenzy. The need to be close to her is overwhelming, and maybe if I can just get close enough… she’ll see me and want me back.
My arms curve around her waist the second I get within reach, holding onto her for dear life. She steadies me, leaning into my touch, letting me hold her, even if it’s just for now.
I drop my head to her neck, and the sigh that I can barely hear over the beating music makes my heart soar. The kisses that I press to her pulse make her arch against me, grind on me.
It feels so right.
Until I smell her perfume.
My nose scrunches up.
It’s too sweet.
“Don’t stop,” she moans.
But I do.
“You’re not her.” I take a step back, running a hand down my face and trying to focus. Why can’t I focus?
This isn’t Sasha. Her hair is too long, she’s too short, she’s not wearing what she would wear. This isn’t right. It’s not her, but I thought it was.
I need to leave.
“Where are you going?” The girl calls out as I walk away.
The bouncers of the club glare at me when I push past them and onto the street, but I don’t give a fuck about them.
Pulling out my phone, I close one eye, trying to see my screen long enough to dial her number.
It rings out.
Voicemail.
Hey! This is Sasha, leave a message at the beep!
I stay silent on the line, even after it beeps, wanting to say something but not knowing what.
“Fuck” I mutter, hanging up.
I watch her from across the room, waiting to see her read the letter I left on her usual seat.
She doesn’t know they’re from me, she has no idea that these letters are as much for me as they are for her.
They started just after her brother died, even though I had no idea what exactly had happened until a little later, I knew something was wrong. She looked so fucking sad all the time, and all I wanted to do was make her feel better. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.
Even if I couldn’t be in her life, I could —hopefully— make a difference in it.
She deserved to feel seen.
I didn’t know how true that was until I met her, and she told me about how invisible she felt all the time.
But she was never invisible to me.
I felt and saw her everywhere.
Never in a million years did I think that they would actually make a difference. I thought that maybe it would give her some comfort… but then I saw her glow.
Everything seemed like it weighed a little less on her, she was walking about in a better mood, she looked like she was starting to heal.
So I didn’t stop. I kept writing and writing because for the first time in a long time, I saw behind the curtain. I started to see the real Sasha Price.
She drops her bag in the chair next to her, and for a second I think she won’t notice the letter, but then she pauses. She just stares at the seat.
I haven’t written her one in a while, so she’s probably wondering why they’re all of a sudden appearing again.
One day I’ll tell her they’re from me, but for now I need her to know everything I’m feeling about her, even if I can’t say it to her directly.
I want her back more than I want to live, but seeing as I haven’t gotten any kind of phone call back, or so much as a text from her… I’m gonna assume she needs some more time.
Maybe she won’t want me back at all, and if that’s the case, then I’m perfectly okay with being in her life through my letters.
It’s better than nothing.
Sasha reaches down, her hands trembling as she picks up the folded piece of paper. She looks around, the same confused look on her face as every other time we’ve done this little dance, and that’s my cue to pretend I’m looking at my phone.
I don’t need to be looking at her to know she’s put it in her bag, she does it every time.
She saves the letters for later, or maybe she just throws them out. I don’t actually know, but it feels good to think she cherishes them.
The guys were right, I need to get my girl back… I just have no idea how I’m going to do that.