Page 64 of Holiday Interference
I nod without looking back. My throat’s tight and dry, but I skate harder, trying to lose the noise in my ears.
But every stride feels off, like my body’s out of sync. It’s a foreign feeling, and I don’t know what to do with it.
My brain keeps pulling me backward—back to this morning, her curled up on my sheets like she belonged there.
Back to the way her fingers slid into my hair.
Back to the way she bit her bottom lip to keep from making too much noise.
Back to the way she looked at me when she said goodbye—like it meant nothing.
She’d changed back into her party dress and slipped on those thin flats.
Said, “Thanks for the bed.”
And walked out the door with her coat in one hand and her handbag in the other.
I didn’t stop her.
Just watched her go and stood there, letting it hollow me out like a dumbass.
Another whistle blows. I rotate into the next drill—breakouts.
Logan makes a clean pass across the zone. Beau skates it up the wall and drops it to me.
And I fumble it. Just flat-out fumble it like I’ve never held a goddamn stick before.
“Again!” the coach shouts.
This time I catch it, but my timing’s late. My angle’s off. The shot goes high, clanging off the crossbar and bouncing wide.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. My chest heaves, my face burning.
Finn loops by again, barely hiding his grin. “You want me to hold your hand next drill?”
“Maybe he’s thinking about someone special,” Riley stage-whispers. “Somebody snowed in with him?”
I shoot them both a look, but it’s weak. I don’t have the bite today. Just exhaustion and static.
During a line reset, Maddox skates over, slow and silent like he always does.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” The lie stings as it comes out.
His eyes narrow behind the cage of his helmet, unreadable. Then he exhales through his nose. “Fix it before game day.”
That’s it. Just that. And that’s all he needs to say in his own Maddox way.
But it lands like a brick.
Because he’s not wrong. I’m screwing this up. And I don’t even know how to pull myself out of it.
I nod, but it feels hollow and useless.
Maddox skates back to his crease, throwing one last glance at me over his shoulder.
I shift back into the drill line, blinking sweat from my lashes.
