Page 107 of The Puckable Playbook

“I keep fucking this up, and I don’t want to do that. Hockey is my first love, you know. It’s all I’ve thought about for a long time, but none of that even matters right now because I’m supposed tobe celebrating you. I’m only trying to tell you where my reaction came from.”

“You’re jealous.”

He starts to shake his head but stops. “Maybe. Maybe it’s that, and it’s because I’m afraid you’re finally going to figure out that you’re better than me and helping me is a waste of time.”

“Where did all those mindset prompts go? Just because I win doesn’t mean you lose. It definitely doesn’t meanIthink you lose. When you read the article, you’ll know exactly how I feel about what you’re doing.”

He wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you. So, so happy. You’re going to be a writer extraordinaire. I knew you would.”

His attempts bring a smile to my face because they’re genuine, but I can’t shake the feeling that I had to yell at him to get them. I had to point out that he was doing wrong.

“Hey, please don’t give up on me,” he states, voice quivering. “Hockey makes me crazy, and I’m stressed and feeling the weight of graduation coming soon, but that’s no excuse. I was out of line, Len. Please, I’m ridiculously happy for you.” He squeezes my hands and gives me a desperate smile.

I let out a breath. It bothers me that he’s reacted this way because I know he’s better than that. He’s sweet and kind. Yes, hockey does make him crazy, but I understand the pressure. My dad’s been on me since I was a sophomore. These are growing pains, right? Totally normal.

“We’re going to celebrate, okay? I was actually late coming out because I bought us tickets to the hot springs. Let’s order some wine and you can tell me all about the article.”

I lean into him, grasping onto his promise that he’ll make this right. “That sounds perfect.”

His chest rises and falls with a breath of relief. “I love you.”

Now that has me smiling. The butterflies come back with a frenzy that warms me from the inside out. “I love you.”

He whispers in my ear. “I’ll do better.”

And he will because Zaiah can do anything he puts his mind to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Zaiah

Waitingfor a game to start feels like molasses dripping in winter…

And now I want cookies.

I clock Lenore’s shut door again. It’s still closed like it has been most of the morning since my family didn’t take us out for a getaway. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem blares through my headphones, and even though I should be meditating like my mindset coach said, I can’t stop wondering why today feels off.

In half an hour, I have to leave to meet up with the team, and I’ve barely spoken to Len, even though we’re always together on game days. Always.

The song switches in my ear, and I skip it on my phone when a sad melody starts playing. I don’t need to double up the emotions coursing through me. Poor Len. What was supposed to be a trip that showed her what a great boyfriend I could be turned into a nightmare. I’m not sure she’ll forgive me. That has to be why she’s been distant for the last week. It’s like I’mliving with a roommate and not a girlfriend—and definitely not a girlfriend I professed my love to.

My leg bounces up and down as I try to talk myself out of going to see what she’s doing. I don’t like this. I’m usually calm and settled before a game. In fact, the last time I wasn’t calm and settled before a game was when I was with Trish. She would guilt me into feeling bad that I had to take time out of our relationship to play a game I loved. That’s not what Lenore is doing, but my gut clenches all the same. I want us to be good. I don’t want to go into the game worried that there’s something wrong.

Pulling out my phone, I text my sister.

You guys still on the way?

No. We decided we didn’t like you very much, so we turned around an hour ago. We were going to wait for you to find out when you looked up into the seats and didn’t see us.

Shut up.

Well, don’t ask stupid questions.

My fingers hover over the screen. Iz and Len have gotten close. Would they talk about me? Would she know if something is up? The temptation is too much to keep quiet, so I send a text.

Has Len said anything to you today?

Her response takes a little time.

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