Page 45 of Comeback
“Um.” She bit her lip anxiously. After a hesitation, she buried her face in her hands. “God … thereissomething else, actually …”
“What?”
She peeked out at me from between the cracks of her fingers. “I have a confession to make.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. I hated confessions. They never led to any good.
“What’s that?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
“… I broke the captain’s rules.”
I knew right away what she meant: she’d looked me up on her phone.
Why’d you have to do that?I thought, saddened.
“What’d you read?” I asked.
“Your Wikipedia page.” She paused. “I hope you’re not mad at me. I was just so curious about you, you know? It’s not every day that someone tells you they’re a former pro athlete.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“But now that I read it,” she continued, “I can’t stop thinking about it. Why’d you retire, Jack?”
I frowned. “I lost my love of the game.”
“Was it because your friend died?”
I inhaled through gritted teeth. “Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms around and me squeezing me tight. “How did he pass?”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” I said.
“Oh.” A silence followed. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“It’s okay.”
Another long pause ensued, and a gulf grew in the silence between us. As hard as it was to talk about that time of my life, I didn’t want to blow this with Emma.
Besides, I didn’t have to tell hereverything. I just had to tell herenough.
“It was a car crash,” I said. “Soupy died in a car crash, the night we won the Western Conference Finals.”
“That’s awful.” She laid her head on my chest and ran her fingers through my chest hair. “I also read you didn’t play in the Stanley Cup Finals after he died.”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask why?”
“I was too upset. The Finals started the day after Soupy’s funeral. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t get myself to care about hockey.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said, running the tips of her fingers along my jawline.
“A lot of people do.”
“Is that why you came to Bayfield? To get away?”
“To be anonymous, yeah.”
