Page 81 of The Last Guy On Earth
After saying all those soul-bending things to me last month, Jethro has pretty much done everything I’ve asked of him. He hasn’t knocked again on my door at a hotel, and he keeps all our public interactions strictly professional.
But we message each other daily. It’s mostly simple things, like funny hockey videos and jokes. Sometimes I ask how Toby’s doing, and the news there is good. Shelby calls him weekly, and it’s made everything better for the kid.
Also, our old team—the Busker Brutes—is having a fantastic season this year, so we exchange stats and yack about their odds of winning the championship.
The problem is that it’s all killing me one text at a time. He’s always right across the room, where I can see him but never touch him. I miss the hell out of him, just like I did after our split.
This time it hurts worse, if I’m honest. Last time I was angry at Jethro, because I thought everything was his fault. Now our distance is my choice.
Jethro said it bluntly enough—I’m choosing hockey over him. It’s a little more complicated than that, but my heart doesn’t know the difference. Especially on the nights I dream about him. In my guilty dreams, we have a lot of sex. I wake up hard and ashamed with no outlet for my frustrations.
It’s not like I have any other entertainments in my life. At this point in the season, I’m living on coffee and game tape, strategizing for our playoffs bid. It’s grueling work as I search for any edge I can find to put us ahead of the pack.
This is a huge moment for me. Other years, I’ve been pushing just to make it into the playoffs. This time I want to finish the regular season in the top two.
It’s not just about bragging rights; it’s about setting ourselves up for even more success. The higher we finish, the more home-ice advantage we’ll get later—like facing a lower-seeded team in the first round, sleeping in our own beds, and having our fans behind us.
Every point matters. So every practice matters. Every game matters. I’m running myself ragged because I think we could gothe distance, and not at all because I need a distraction from thinking about Jethro.
Nope. That’s not why.
No way.
My wrist vibrates again, and I look at the screen like a trained dog who’s heard the dinner bell. It’s Jethro again.
I have something for you. I’ll come by your office later.
The first response I think of isn’t exactly platonic.
Sometimes I hate my brain.
“And we’ll leave it there for now,” Murph says at the front of the room.
I pop up out of my chair and head for my office. I need to shake off these feelings, stat. So I get down onto the rug, where I hold the plank position for sixty seconds before starting a set of pushups. This will get my blood flowing in a productive way.
“Um, Coach?”
I sit up so fast that I bonk my head on the padded armrest of my office chair. “Shit.”
“Careful,” Liana says from the doorway as I extricate myself from the floor. “You all right?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
She frowns at me. “There’s a risk assessment meeting starting now?”
“Oh. Hell.” I grab my legal pad off the desk and head back out again.
“Should I bring you a cappuccino?” she asks, giving me a skeptical look. “You look a little ragged.”
“That’s my default setting in March,” I argue. “But, yeah, I’d love one. Thanks.”
When I reach the small conference room, I apologize on my way through the door. “Sorry I’m late. Who wants to start?” I sit down at the head of the table. Murphy is there already, along with Tate from PR, Kevin Tang the head trainer, and both our team doctors—Doc Whitesmith who’s our medical doctor, and Doc Baker.
“I’ll go,” the trainer says. He pushes a sheet of paper in my direction. “There aren’t any surprises on here. Volkov is holding up, but we’re sending him to the massage therapist every forty-eight hours. Wheeler’s bursitis is cooperating. There’s a few more knees and ankles on here, but nothing you don’t already know.”
“That’s great, Kevin. Thanks.”
Usually, he gets up and leaves at this point, but I see him hesitate. “There’s one more thing I’d like to mention, but I didn’t put it down on the sheet.”
