Page 64 of Taking It To Overtime

“You’re misunderstanding me, Will.” I duck my head to meet his gaze. “I thought I needed to let mine go, for both our sakes. Or at least I told myself that. The real reason I broke up with her was because I thought I had no choice. Not if I wanted to really make it in this sport. Hockey needed two-hundred percent of my focus. There was no room for anyone else. And do you know what happened?”

“You got drafted,” the kid glares at me. “You know, I think you’re making the exact point you said you weren’t trying to make. Can I go now?”

“I never got over her.” I say, even as he shrugs off my hand and tries to push past me. “I tattooed her over my heart. I thought of her before every game, and I never found someone else. Not for over sixteen years.”

“But you did eventually?”

I shake my head. “No, I just got another chance. With her.”

Will frowns, looking every inch the kid he is. “Are you shitting me? Vera Novak is here? In central New York?That’swho your date was with? How did I miss that? I need to tell…” he loses steam, face going blank.

I nod.

“Look,” I say, “I’m not great with words and stuff, but the point is that I thought I had to let her go and I never really did. I assumed ending our relationship would put all of my attention on hockey. I assumed that was what I needed to go pro. But the truth?” I meet Will’s eyes. “The truth is that I’ll never know if it was true.”

“I don’t understand,” Marlowe says, but he’s not rushing to get out the door anymore.

“I’m saying I already had my juniors invite before I broke things off. And after I ended things with her, I definitely didn’t think of her less. Would I have still been drafted if we’d given it a shot? Would she still have traveled all over the world for runway shows and photo shoots? I don’t know. I’ll never know. My point is, don’t let someone else decide for you and for her.”

“It’s just a high school relationship. It’s not like it would have lasted, anyway.” He says, turning away from me, but I catch the way he carefully shuts down his emotions, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Is that what you think? Or what someone told you. Plenty of high school relationships don’t work out, you’re right.” I shrug. “But plenty do.”

“So you’re saying…”

“You don’t have to break up with her to play good hockey.” I hear him suck in a breath at my words. “And she’s allowed to be at our practices and tomorrow’s scrimmage. As long as you want her here.”

“But Coach B said—”

“Coach B is no longer a part of our program. He overstepped when he told you what he did. You do.Bothof you do.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Marlowe’s face is flushed and his eyes look shiny wet.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him. “Take five minutes, think about what I said, and then come out with your head in the game. You and Nora can decide what happens next together.”

I swerve around him, heading back to the ice and the rest of the teams, but I turn at the door and peek at Will Marlowe. His gloves are on the floor, his phone is in his hand, and his fingers are punching at the screen. A small smile on his face.

The locker room door closes behind me.

For one terrifying moment before the puck dropped, he thought she wasn’t coming. He can count on one hand the number of practices she’s missed. The number of games is far fewer. He’s learned how to pick her out of the crowd with no effort at all. She always thinks it’s hysterical because he’s awful at those Waldo books. He doesn’t know how to explain to her it’s not what she’s wearing, or what she looks like, it’s a feeling. A pull from deep in his chest when she’s nearby.

He could pick her out of an NHL arena, an NFL stadium. He’s pretty sure he could pick her out if he was blindfolded. And wearing noise cancelling headphones.

He finally spots her after his first shift, hurling himself over the bench and in a hell of a fucking mood, until he looked up and there she was. Wearing one of his old hoodies, a small white hat jammed on her head, glowing among the students and families and all the additional onlookers.

He smiles.

In the grand scheme of things, this game is just meant to be for fun. An exhibition match to raise money for breast cancer research and, more specifically, one of his teammates’ aunt’s treatment. He cares about that, but other than wearing the pink jersey with the breast cancer ribbon front and center, his focus is what it always is. Get to the puck. Get the puck to the net. Score.

Vic hands him a water bottle, and he shoots some through the cage of his helmet, in his open mouth.

“You saw her,” his best friend says, and it’s not a question.

Robbie nods.

“Thank fuck,” Erik says from his other side. “You were getting mean out there.”

Robbie rolls his eyes. It was a forty-five second shift. Hardly time to be an asshole, but the twins are right about one thing. He’s definitely feeling better now.

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