Page 25 of Blocked Score

Shame, because I know just how pathetic I am for still dwelling on a summer fling from a year and a half ago that obviously couldn’t have been more meaningless to Lane.

It would be easier if I could hold a grudge against him, maybe. If we were actually dating. If we’d been together longer, to the point where the feelings I did develop for him made sense.

That’s why the tinge of shame is the last feeling to wash away whenever I think of Lane—because all it took was a couple weeks of a guy being thoughtful, considerate, and genuinely nice to me for me to fall for him like a dummy.

I wish I could just think of that summer as a fun, short-term, ultimately meaningless thing that isn’t tarnished by how it ended. But then the image of Lane walking into that bar in the Loop, soaking from head to toe and carrying an entire bag of shoes just because I told him my feet hurt flashes in my mind.

I just haven’t lived the kind of life where a gesture like that fades into the background. It meant something to me. Our time together that summer meant something to me.

I wish I could pretend it didn’t, but it did.

No, I can’t blame Lane for not being as silly and naïve as I was.

And I can’t blame the heartbreak he caused for why I got back with Caleb when I returned home at the end of that summer. That would just be letting myself off the hook.

Instead of letting myself off the hook for my own bad judgment, I need to hold myself accountable and commit to doing better for myself.

The days of giving my heart away heedlessly are over, and so are the days of tying myself to someone who only wants to drag me down.

Caleb’s in the rearview mirror, for good this time. I’m at a great college, and my academic path is finally back on track. I’m done with settling, and I’m done with having low expectations for myself.

I just wish I could stop my eyes from searching for a glimpse of Lane every time I step outside to walk around the town of Cedar Shade—dreading seeing him, and being disappointed when I don’t.

14

LANE

Adrenaline still simmers through me as I unlace my skates in the locker room after practice. My official return to the ice after breaking my leg in the Frozen Four championship game last year is only days away.

Just feeling the blades of my skates sliding over the ice and the sting of the cold on my cheeks beneath my helmet was enough to light me up from head to toe with a dizzying mixture of excitement and nervous tension.

I’m fully cleared to return to the game. I feel good. My leg feels strong. Practices have been going well, and after a couple weeks of shaking off rust, my skills feel just as sharp as ever.

At the same time, there’s no substitute for playing a real, competitive game of hockey, and that’s something I haven’t done for nine long months.

All the indications are in my favor, but the fact is, I’m not going to know if I’m still my old self until the whistle blows.

And until I prove to myself that I am, I know the tight ball of tension weighing down my stomach isn’t going anywhere.

I step into the shower.

Today’s one of those days where that ball of tension is weighing heavier than usual. I try to chase them away, but when I close my eyes to duck my head under the hot stream of water, images of failure flash on the insides of my eyelids.

Getting deked left and right because my leg doesn’t have the same reflexes it used to. Being just a smidge too slow to keep up with the better forwards. Memories of the trauma of my injury making me flinch during body checks and affecting my ability to control the puck.

After toweling off and walking back to my locker, I find myself wishing that one of my teammates would blurt out some bullshit that launches the guys into a ridiculous, pointless conversation to take my mind off those intrusive doubts.

Luckily, and not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for Tuck McCoy, our right forward, to fulfill my wish.

“What’s the longest any of ya’ll have ever gone naked?”

Rhys, my best friend, arches an eyebrow at our roommate. “Naked?”

“Yeah, naked,” Tuck replies chipperly. “Like this.”

He tugs at the towel wrapped around his waist, letting it fall to the floor and giving everyone a first-hand demonstration of what exactlynakedmeans, in case there were any doubts.

Hudson, our goalie, rolls his eyes. “Put your dick away, Tuck.”

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