Page 38 of Player Misconduct
It’s been thirty-six hours since the motel.
Thirty-six hours since I pretended to be asleep while she slipped out before dawn, leaving nothing but the imprint of her body on the sheets and the ghost of her apology hanging in the air.
Please don’t hate me.
I wanted to tell her not to go, but even half-awake, I knew fighting it would only make things worse. So I stayed still, eyes closed, and let her slip out into the morning air—let her thinkshe’d made a clean getaway. Because for whatever it’s worth, I know she needed it that way.
But that doesn’t mean it’s over.
I’ve been here before. Not with her, but with life trying to tell me no.
I wasn’t the draft pick everyone bet on. I bounced between farm teams, spent years on an international circuit, had a career injury and surgery, then made a comeback to the AHL before I got my first NHL call-up, and even then, I wasn’t supposed to last. Every season since has been a fight to prove I belong. I know what it feels like to start at the bottom of the roster and claw your way back onto the ice.
I know what it feels like to be the underdog, and I wear it as a badge of pride like my father taught me to do.
So no… this thing between us isn’t over. Maybe she thinks walking away is the smart play. Maybe it is, but I’ve made a career out of turning long shots into breakaways.
I just need home-ice advantage again, and a better plan to make her see there’s more here than she’s willing to admit. Because I don’t believe we ended up on the same team by accident.
Some things don’t happen by chance. Even the stars follow a pattern if you look close enough.
Still, knowing that doesn’t make the silence any easier to sit with.
The motel emptied fast once the CDC cleared us. Passengers, flight staff—all accounted for and free to go.
Turns out the man they airlifted out on a medevac helicopter didn’t have Ebola after all. Something else entirely—and not contagious.
An hour later, when the lobby started to clear out and I still hadn’t seen her, I finally pulled out my phone and texted her.I had asked one of the agents about her and they said she was swabbed and put on the first bus headed for the airport.
Me: Are you safe?
She answered... a few hours later.
Kendall: Yes. Just made it back to Seattle. And you?
Me: Boarding my flight now.
That was it.
She didn't respond back. Like the rest of it, the fear, the laughter, the way she’d whispered my name when she came for me, hadn’t even happened.
Later, somewhere between the CDC clearance and boarding my flight, I sent a second text.
Me: Can I come by your apartment when I get home? Just to see you.
I wasn't looking to push. I just wanted to see for myself that she was okay.
Kendall: That’s not a good idea. I’ll see you at the stadium.
Now I’m back in Seattle, sitting under the fluorescent buzz of the Hawkeyes locker room, ready to battle it out with Colorado for a western championship, because that's the only thing I have any control over.
She wasn’t at practice yesterday. Coach said she needed a day to rest. Theo covered her rounds.
He would’ve offered me the same, but I told him I was fine.
And I was… Physically.
Mentally? Not even close.
