2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jack

I can feel my fingers shake around the handle.

It's a weird feeling: the bite of cold air in front of me mixing with the heat dripping down my back. The sound of ice swishing and cutting through the air surrounds me. My legs jerk, muscle memory kicking in as the hockey stick in my hands guides the puck forward.

Left. Right. Left. Right. One foot before the other. Eyes on the goal.

I can feel someone to my left creeping up on me, coming toward me with precision in his step. I look over to my right: a teammate with just enough space between us. It'll work. I make eye contact, rushing past and swishing the puck forward, sliding it into his space.

The puck stops right in front of him, and I watch as he scrambles to take it. Two players are rapidly approaching him. He's moving too slowly; I can't help but grit my teeth.

"Move, rookie!" I say as loud as I can, pointing toward the end. He breaks out of whatever trance he is in and rushes toward the goalpost. I can't help but notice the way he hesitates for a second too long before he swipes his stick and shoots the puck, sliding it just between the gap of the goalie's feet as he falls to catch it.

I sigh as a whistle cuts through the air. My left knee aches as I slow down my pace, gliding through the ice as I hear our coach clap his hands and call for us. I yank off my helmet as he says something—I can't focus on it, instead feeling the need to touch my knee. Even through the pads and layers, I feel the ghost of an ache.

I almost feel bad for not listening, but I can't seem to shut off my mind. When I look to the side, I can see the rookie shoot his head away from my gaze, pointedly looking at our coach.

"Okay." Coach Williams sighs, tilting his head. Fuck, I didn't hear a word he said. "Get changed and get some rest. Don't party too hard. If I hear any of you get injured 'cause you were drunk enough to fall into a bush, I'm benching you for the next three games."

A bunch of grumbles and conversations flow as everyone slowly makes their way into the locker room. I walk behind, taking my time. I step off the ice and clear my throat. "Rookie."

It's almost comical to see him freeze up. He slowly turns around, and I feel only a little guilty that I don't know his name. "You need to work on your focus."

He gulps and nods almost imperceptibly. He shuffles his feet but stays still, so I continue. "You hesitate too often." I gesture with my stick. "If that was a real game, you would've lost the puck already. Maintaining possession is important. Don't forget it, okay?"

I'm not sure if I'm imagining the way his hands shake when he nods once more. "Yes, sir."

I frown at the honorifics, scowling. I'm not that much older than him. "They're going to laugh at you like you keep that up."

I make a dismissive noise, waving him off and watching him go. If I wasn't so tired, I'd laugh at the briskness of his steps. I take a seat on the bleachers, wanting to take in the quiet first. Coach Williams takes a seat next to me, sighing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

He nudges me with his foot, pursing his lips toward my leg. "What happened there?"

At this point, I don't question how he knows something's wrong. "Think I didn't stretch well enough."

"Alright," he nods, leaning back on the chair. "Give your PT a call, aye? Game soon. I'm sure you don't want to miss that."

I hum noncommittally, looking around the quiet rink. "I'll sort myself out before then." I sniffle, fiddling with my helmet. "Nothing a bit of R Sweet Girl has been the default name since I found her behind the apartment building.

She was small and dirty, a part of her ear missing. I couldn't just leave her there, so now I've got a new companion and an abundance of cat hair on my clothing.

I laugh at the sight of her devouring her food with so much vigor with such a small body. I grab a larger bowl, fill it with wet food, and take it outside. I place it around the same spot where I found Sweet Girl, just in case. This probably isn't the exciting night that the boys were expecting me to have but it's the most exciting part of my day.

I lay in bed after my dinner, running a lazy hand through Sweet Girl's fur as a show plays on TV. The volume isn't even all the way up, more background noise than anything. It's mundane, boring even. A lot has changed since those years. It's not that I don't want to have fun, but the thought of going out tonight just makes me feel queasy.

My phone rings, startling me out of the slow daze I was in; I grab it and accept the call without even looking at it.

"Yellow." I exhale softly, sinking into the bed as I rub my eyes tiredly.

"Hi, Jack."

I sit up straighter, even if she can't see me. "Hi, mom. How are you?"

"All good on my end." She chuckles. "Just wanted to confirm that we're up for dinner on Wednesday?"

Fuck. I forgot about that. I pull the phone away from my face to check the date. It's Monday. Mom's birthday is coming up.

"Yes, of course," I say quickly, making a face at my bald-faced lie. Clearing my throat, I assure her, "I'll be there. Don't you worry."

My heart aches at how relieved she sounds when she says, "Oh, that's great, honey. I'll make your favorites."

"Mom," I laugh, shaking my head. Sweet Girl climbs on top of my stomach. "It's your birthday. You don't have to make things for me ."

"Don't think I won't," Mom playfully replies. If she was here, she would've swatted me on my shoulder. "I'm just saying, when was the last time you cooked for yourself?"

"Last—"

" That wasn't pasta."

I clear my throat exaggeratedly. "As I was saying, Mom. Last weekend, I made myself some stew. How could I not learn how to cook when my own mother was a genius in the kitchen?"

"Suck up," she says fondly, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "But thank you, honey. I'm looking forward to spending time with you."

"Me too, Mom," I reply honestly. It's been a hot minute since I've gone home. I want to say that I've been too invested in practice to come and visit her, but that would be such a cop-out. "I'll see you then."

"Sweet dreams."

I hang up the phone and rub Sweet Girl's ears between my fingers. She shuffles up and plops herself under my chin. "We're going to have to get her a gift, huh, girlie? What should we get her?"

She lifts her head, sniffing around before meowing softly.

I nod solemnly. "You're so right. I'll look tomorrow."