Page 184 of Make the Play

Delete it again.

Not like this, I tell myself. Not when she’s fragile. If I tell her now, she’d probably think I was using it to get her back, and not because it’s the truest fucking thing I’ve ever felt.

And I want to say it right. To her face, with no hesitation or fear. I want to watch the way those soulful brown eyes go wide, how they catch the light when she’s trying not to let me see that she feels it too. She’ll probably say something sassy or rude or ridiculous, just to keep me on my toes, but I’ll see through it.

I’ll see it hit, land square in her chest, and stay there. A part of me I’ve never given to anyone else, but would give to her without question because I know she’ll keep it safe. Tuck it behind her ribs. Bury it deep in her bones.

That’show I want to tell her.

I drop my head into my hands, elbows digging into my knees. My hand is bleeding steadily now, bright red along my split knuckles, and I don’t even care.

I miss her so fucking much and she’s only been gone fifteen minutes. There’s a weight in my chest I can’t move, and I want to crawl out of my own skin and scream. I want to hold her until she believes me, until sheseesit—how much I fuckingloveher.

Ping.

I scramble for my phone.

Zoe:I’m home

Two words, no emoji. Barely any punctuation and definitely noxox. Just two words wrapped in the softness of her knowing I needed it.

It doesn’t fix anything, but it saves me.

I sit there, staring at it, heart pounding against the walls of my ribs like maybe it’ll finally break out and beat its way to her itself.

I type back slowly, honesty in every letter.

Me:No, you’re not. Your home is here with me

***

The locker room’s already buzzing when I walk in, but the second I cross the threshold, it shifts.

Not by much, just a little bit quieter and a little more cautious. But I feel the hush that settles—the one when someone’s carrying something volatile and everyone can sense it.

Jake notices me first, his gaze dropping to my hand, then snapping back to my face. He doesn’t say a word, just tilts his head, jerks his chin toward the wall of stalls. I follow him to the far corner like we’re about to talk trade lines. He grabs a roll of pre-wrap from a bench and holds it out.

“Non-dominant?” he asks, voice low and careful.

I nod once. “Didn’t touch the right.”

He blows out a breath. “Punch a wall or your own reflection?”

I crack my neck. “Drywall.”

Jake makes a low noise in his throat. “So just your ego then.”

All I can do is grunt in response.

He tapes my hand for me, the silence between us sharp and tight. He doesn’t push, doesn’t have to. I realize that Zoe would have spoken to Charlie, who must’ve filled him in already.

“Just keep it clean,” he mutters. “Coach asks, you aggravated it lifting weights and not because you’re a fucking idiot who went feral on interior architecture.”

I nod again, not trusting myself to speak.

Across the room, the guys are buzzing like normal. Logan’s tossing a puck into the air while Eli argues with Reid about stick curves. I should be part of it, I should say something. But I can’t, because my mouth feels wired shut.

“Yo,” one of the rookies says loud enough to carry. “Anyone seen Zoe today? She skip the Monday media gauntlet, or what?”

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