Page 71 of Falling Offsides

She says nothing in return.

Doesn’t look back. Simply closes the door, turns, and disappears up the steps into the building.

Gone.

Just like that. Leaving me staring after her wondering why I’m still sitting here waiting till the coast is clear for me to go park my car a safe distance away before I come back and sneak upstairs to my apartment right next to hers.

Samson whines softly when I place him in her vacated seat. And I sit here a minute longer, staring at the empty sidewalk where she stood.

Feeling like I just let her walk away with every fucking piece of me.

And worse—knowing I’m not done.

Not even close.

I killthe engine and just… sit in a dark corner of the parking lot, staring at the concrete wall in front of me like it might offer clarity. Maybe the answer to where I go from here.

Courtney’s torn through every wall I didn’t even realize I had left. Every wall that I had put in place to keep me focused on the one dream I’ve had since I can remember.Gone.

And now the idea of walking away, of not seeing her tomorrow, of pretending like none of this ever happened—it guts me.

Leaves me sitting here like an idiot, soaked in my own obsession.

There’s that whole saying of you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, but I knew.I know. Because she’s made everything better.

Every long day, every brutal drill, every hour that used to stretch out cold and empty—all better now.

Because of her.

Because of her fire. Her sass. Her smiles.

Because even when she's pissed at me, even when she's building walls faster than I can climb them, I can still breathe easier just knowing she's close.

And fuck me if that’s not the most fucked up observation of my life. I had everything I ever dreamt I needed… until her. I had all I ever wanted, until Courtney fucking took my puck to the head—and somehow, I’m the one with the brain damage.

I don't even know if she wants me the way I want her.

Not really. She said it herself: she doesn’t do relationships.

So maybe she’s right—it’s better if we stop.

Except… I can’t. The thought alone turns my stomach.

Because for the first time in years, I feel something real.

Something that doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with hockey or expectations or anyone else's idea of who I'm supposed to be.

It’s all her.

Courtney Nilsson. With her stubbornness, her wicked tongue, her blinding smile.

And I can’t let any of it go. I’ll never forget her.

Samson leaps into my lap, smelling of her. A perfect combination of flowery vanilla enveloped with ozonic accord. Fucking sunshine in a lungful of air.

“I’m going to fix this,” I tell him when he tries to curl up into my chest the way he did when I picked him up from the breeder, except he’s bigger and heavier. His light whimpers have become confident snorts. “She’s changed you too, huh?”

Samson grumbles back when I open the door and jump out into the wet afternoon and hewers his way inside my zip-up hoodie.

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