Page 123 of Changing the Playbook
“Can I tell you something?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She nods.
“After my injury, I spent months convinced that if I’d just been more careful, stretched better, trained differently—whatever—I could have prevented it. The guilt was…” I pause, searching for words. “It was easier than accepting I had no control. That sometimes bodies break no matter how careful you are.”
“It’s not the same?—”
“Isn’t it?” I catch her hand, lacing our fingers together. “You’re torturing yourself over something you can’t control. And it’s keeping you from seeing all the amazing things you actually do.”
“Like making nurses cry?”
“Like being the glue that holds your family together. Like getting stellar grades while basically co-parenting an eight-year-old. Like somehow finding time to put up with my ridiculous ass.”
Her thumb traces circles on my palm. “Your ass isn’t that ridiculous.”
“Now Iknowyou’re delirious from hunger.”
Her face goes serious, and my stomach drops. “What happens when you leave?”
The question hangs between us.
“What?” I manage.
“The draft. Next year.” Her voice is carefully neutral, but her hand tightens around mine. “You’ll go to Chicago or Dallas or Vancouver. Start your real life. And I’ll still be here, checking my phone every ten seconds, pretending everything’s fine.”
My chest constricts. We’ve danced around this for weeks, pretending the future won’t touch us. But here it is, immediate as her tears. “Sophie?—”
“We haven’t talked about it.” She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold on. “But I think about it. How I’m letting myself need you when I know you’re temporary.”
“Temporary?” The word tastes wrong on my tongue.
“You’re Mike Altman. Pine Barren’s golden boy, heading for the NHL.” She looks away. “And I can’t leave for a weekend without panicking about my mom.”
“Stop.” I turn her face back to mine. “First of all, we don’t know what’ll happen with the draft?—”
Her look could melt steel.
“OK, yes, I’ll probably get picked up. But you think that means I just vanish? That everything we’re building disappears because of geography?”
“Geography and your career and my family and—” She sighs. “Mike, you’re not going to be here, and that’s okay!”
“We’ll figure it out.” I press my forehead to hers, close enough to feel her shaky exhale. “You think I’d choose hockey over you?”
“You’ve chosen hockey over everything else your whole life.”
The truth stings, but not how she thinks. “Yeah, I did. Past tense. Then I met this stubborn, brilliant girl who makes me want things beyond the ice.”
“Mike—”
“I’m not done.” I pull back to meet her eyes. “You make me laugh. You call me out when I’m being an idiot. You’re the first person I want to tell when something good happens. Or bad. Or boring. I want to tell you everything, Sophie. You think I’m walking away from that for a game?”
“It’s not just a game to you.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s not everything anymore either.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, let my fingers linger against her neck. “Whatever happens—whether I go to Chicago or Stockholm or the fucking moon—we’ll make it work. Longdistance, or you come with me, or I turn down offers. We’ll have options.”
“You can’t plan your career around?—”
“Around the woman I love?” I snort. “Watch me.”
