Page 54 of Jaded

Did not see that one coming.

It weirdly doesn’t surprise me, after that initial blindsided shock. And watching him and Avery—who isnothis kid—is entirely endearing.

Should I have gone inside?

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to follow him in like a lost little puppy or a hopeful, star-struck lover. But I know better. He’s a distraction—one that clearly has a lot of emotional and physical baggage hanging around.

And distractions, I’ve learned, aren’t worth the risk. Not when my career hangs on such a precarious thread, where even the smallest deviations could pull that thread just a little too tight . . .

He has a whole otherlife,far, far removed from hockey—and hockey is my world. I want it so much more than I want friendship, more than I want to drink, laugh, water the seeds of an impossible crush.

Which is exactly why I’m driving away now, leaving that silly blip of imagination behind.

The pale street lights glint off the ice frosted over the road, sometimes as sparkling dust and sometimes in dangerous black sheets nearly invisible to the unwary eye.

This city feels like hockey. From its belching factories to its time-worn homes perpetually buried in a fluffy white powder. It’s cold, icy, stark. Unforgiving.

Just like the game.

Like the Ice Out.

I think about hockey all the way home. As I lie down in bed, I picture the ice, white and open before me. The sharp bite of cold intermingling with the soft stench of moldering gear—

Green eyes swim before my mind’s eye, erasing the white. Soft. Worried. Laughing. Serious. How very many emotions I saw written in those eyes tonight, how much subtle softness on a such hard man as he cared for his daughter’s boyfriend.

I wonder if he ever wanted anything more from hockey, if it was his dream. With talent like I saw at the Ice Out, he must have, once upon a time—

Jesus, Olli. Go to sleep.

But how the hell is sleep supposed to work when my brain’s constantly churning out thoughts, then obsessively cycling over and over the most compelling ones?

Was I a total fool walking Avery to my truck? What about in the car ride back to Nat’s—how many awkward things did I say? Or when I refused to go inside, was that awkward?

Crap.

This is why I can’t let him distract me. Because my stupid brain will do this all freaking night. All morning. All day, if I let it. Because I’ll spend my life wondering what I’ve said and done wrong to make him not want me—when the reality is, it probably has nothing to do with me—

Stop. It. Olli.

I sleep like crap, but still, I’m up long before the sun’s poked its nose over the crest of the city. Back in the truck, in the dark and cold of five a.m. Navigating ice-slicked streets through a maze of white and grey that glints silver in the soft city light.

I pull into the tiny public rink on the west side of town. Several cars already sit in the spots near the door, and I can’t help but grin. I’m not the only one who feels the pull of the ice, the call of the game. Not in this town.

Day River is a world of ice and snow—and its residents are all creatures of the same composition.

Ice and snow, hockey in our hearts.

No wonder the Ice Out calls to so many.

Still smiling, I hop out of the truck and lift my bag from the bed. Honestly, I shouldn’t be skating drop-in hockey—or any non-team-sanctioned event. But here I am.

Whatever. I don’t tell anybody who I am, maybe nobody asks, maybe we all just shut our mouths and skate and I play half speed and we all have fun and go home.

A guy can hope, amiright?

I shoulder my bag and head towards the rink. Another dude’s headed the same way, a bag over his shoulder, stick in hand. I open my mouth to call out a mumbled greeting, maybe throw a brief intro his way—

Two more figures fall into line behind him—one slightly smaller and one much smaller, female. All of them wearing backwards baseball caps.

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