Page 44 of Married As Puck
I don’t even hear the puck leave Keith’s stick until it slaps against mine. I fumble it. My chest tightens.
“Jesus, Gray! Wide open net and you miss?” Coach’s voice rips through the air angrily. “Sit your ass down on the sidelines now.”
The whole rink goes quiet for a while before the play picks back up like nothing happened. I drag myself off the ice, every step heavier than the last.
I sit, helmet in my hands, trying to breathe.
You’re useless, Cameron. Can’t even carry the damn puck right. What the hell are you good for?
I blink hard. It’s like my dad is right here, spitting in my face all over again. I rub my palms into my eyes until I see white dots.
The whistle blows. It’s timeout. Coach jogs over, sweat dripping from his temples, eyes burning a hole straight through me.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, deal with it before you come here.” His voice is lower now, not yelling, just talking. “I need you to be present mentally and physically, Gray. There’s a lot at risk here.”
He pats my back then jogs off before I can even think of what to say.
I sit, chewing the inside of my cheek as I ponder on his words.
Later that night, I’m on my balcony, cigarette between my fingers. I hate how much I need it, hate how calm it makes me and most of all, I hate that it works.
The street below is quiet. I can hear faint laughter from a neighbor’s TV. My lungs feel heavy but it’s better than the noise in my head.
I hear light footsteps behind me before a familiar scent hits my nostrils. She stops behind me. I don’t turn, just take another drag of my cigarette.
“Hey!” she greets, but I don’t respond.
“Cameron? Are you okay? Did something happen at work? Practice? Whatever you call it.”
I stifle a groan at her barrage of questions.
“You know that’s going to kill you one day, right?” she continues unfazed by my silence.
I smirk bitterly, exhaling. “Yeah, well, we’re all going to die someday.”
“That’s not funny.” She steps closer, arms folded. I can feel her eyes on my back. “You smoke early in the morning, after practice, before bed, after meetings, any chance you get. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
I take another drag, slower this time, just to annoy her. “Lay off, Brie. You’re not my mother.” The second the harsh words leave my mouth, I regret it. She goes quiet.
I finally turn, and she’s standing there, her face blank except for the small flinch I catch before she masks it. Shit.
“Brie, I—”
“It’s fine,” she cuts me off, “I spoke out of line. I don’t care what you do, Cameron.”
She turns on her heel and goes back inside before I can say anything else.
The cigarette’s burning down between my fingers, the weight of guilt heavy on my chest.
Nice going, Gray. You’re your father’s son after all.
The thought makes me sick.
I lean against the railing, head hanging low, wondering how the hell I can fight all my demons when I keep acting like them.
18
Work is chaotic.
