Page 132 of Player Misconduct
He turns and walks back toward the building, leaving me standing alone in the rain.
The studio feels smaller than it did this morning.
The walls close in, the silence pressing down like a weight I can't shake. I peel off my soaked jacket, my shoes, my socks, and stand in the middle of the room, dripping onto the hardwood floor.
Everything I own is still here. Still packed. Still waiting for a move that's never going to happen.
I sink onto the floor, back against the wall, and let the exhaustion wash over me.
Niko shifts, a slow roll that feels like a question.
What are we doing, Mom?
"We're protecting him," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Even if he doesn't understand. Even if it hurts."
Because that's what love is, isn't it?
Not just holding on. But knowing when to let go.
Maybe that's the only thing I know how to do.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aleksi
The jet sits on the tarmac, our next few games are away but I still haven’t seen or talked to Kendall besides the small handful of returned text messages she’s sent.
Fog rolls across the runway, turning this late-September morning into something softer than it feels.
I stand at the bottom of the jet as player after player passes by me with their headphones and duffle bags, everyone’s ready for another pre-season set of games. We’re looking good out on the ice, but before I can board, I need to send one more call. It feels wrong to leave town without calling her. Maybe because this isthe first away game since I got called up to the Hawkeyes that Kendall won’t be with us.
That odd feeling like I left the stove on is back, and it’s even stronger as I stare back at the Hawkeyes jet. I’m leaving something behind for sure. I’m leaving them behind. As much as I hate it, Kendall isn’t giving me a choice.
I stand at the bottom of the stairs, duffel slung over one shoulder, phone pressed to my ear for the third time in ten minutes.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Voicemail.
Again.
"Hey, Doc. It's me. Again. I know you're probably busy, but… I was hoping to see you before we left. Call me back when you can, okay? Please?"
I end the call and stare at the screen, willing it to light up with her name. It doesn't.
Behind me, Luka's voice cuts through the fog. "You coming, or are you planning to propose to your phone?"
I glance over my shoulder. He's halfway up the stairs, grinning like he thinks this is funny.
"Yeah," I mutter, pocketing the phone. "Coming."
But my feet don't move right away. I scan the parking lot one more time, half-hoping—stupidly, uselessly—that she'll pull up in that little sedan of hers, the one with the temperamental heater and the bumper sticker she pretends to hate but won't peel off.
She doesn't.
Of course she doesn't.
I exhale slowly, forcing my legs to carry me up the stairs and into the belly of the plane.
