41. Van

41

Van

A pparently, I've been a pain in the ass lately. You'd think that would be enough reason for my teammates to want to leave my sorry ass at home when they traveled to Claybrooke, but no. It's been just over two weeks since my injury, but I was cleared to travel short distances as long as I wouldn't be driving. That's how I ended up tagging along on our road trip, and I can't lie—watching that first game gutted me. I thought about staying in the hotel and skipping this afternoon's game, but we'd already checked out, so I had nowhere else to go.

I had that same itchy feeling when the guys were doing warm-ups, but I forced myself into a good headspace. I'm no good to my team sitting on a bench and stewing about not being able to join them, so I focused my energy on watching them play. Sitting out sucks, but it also gave me insight I was missing into some of the habits a couple of guys have gotten into. The freshmen are probably sick of my help, especially since I've told Dean to change up pretty much every aspect of his game.

He bitched a fair bit and told me I was crazy, but he listened and had the best game of his life this afternoon. I might walk like an eighty-year-old man these days, but I still know hockey.

We're heading back to Bainbridge now, and I keep falling asleep. I'm not even taking the good meds anymore, but my body is exhausted.

I must get a pretty good nap in because Will's shouting in my ear and when I open my eyes, we're back home.

"Wait, let me help you," Norris says as he pulls open the van door. Since they're traveling with me, the guys get to ride in style. And by "style," I mean a big-ass passenger van.

"I'm good," I assure him, but he's not taking no for an answer.

"Dude, it's pouring down rain and I don't want you to slip."

Just as the words leave his mouth, we hear a clap of thunder and the rain starts coming down in sheets.

Norris helps me inside, but I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about Josie. "Will! Will, where the hell are you?" My voice echoes around the house.

The freshman phenom rushes to the top of the steps and looks down at me. "What's wrong? Did you fall?"

Why is everyone so goddamned worried about my knee?

"Where's your phone?" I ask him. He pats his pockets and shrugs. "I guess it's in my room. Why?"

"Get it. Just get it now, please."

He looks at me like I'm nuts and I can't blame him. I'm literally holding my own phone in my hand.

A few seconds later, he bounds down the steps and holds it out to me. "Did your battery die?"

"No," I say, pushing it back toward him. "I can't text her. You have to."

"What the hell are you talking about? Did you take a pain pill?"

"No. Just text your girlfriend and see if she's with Josie."

"She is," Will says. "They were doing a spa night or something. Why?"

My leg is throbbing and I should get some ice, but this is more important. "Just…just text Mel and tell her that I'm okay—that we're all okay and she should tell Josie we're home. And she has to use that word, home ."

Will narrows his eyes at me. "Um, it's kinda weird that you want me to message my girlfriend so she can tell your ex-girlfriend that you're home. Where else would you be? And no offense, but why would Josie care? You dumped her."

I don't have the time or the patience to explain. The wind is howling outside and I can hear the rain beating against the windows.

"Just do it, okay? I get it. I'm an asshole and a dick and fucking coward, but I made it home safe, and I don't want her to worry that I didn't."

The room is quiet and all eyes are on me.

I take a deep breath and make my way over to the freezer to grab a bag of ice. "Don't look at me like that. Josie hates storms. They make her worry, and I've already put her through enough so can you please just text Mel?"

Will nods and does as I ask. A few seconds later, his phone lights up. "Message received," he tells me. "Oh, and Mel said to tell you thanks, and also that you are a giant asshole. That's a direct quote, by the way."

I'm completely worn out and ready to fall into bed, but Mikalski's standing in my way.

"You love her," he says.

No one says a word, so Mikalski just fills the silence, because that's what he does best. "You love her," he repeats.

I'm starting to lose what little patience I have left. "Of course I love her. I have never not loved her. I met her in the middle of the night and I couldn't remember her name and it didn't matter because I knew I loved her and that I'd find her."

Now it's Norris who pipes up. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

I look down at my leg. "I can't run my ass over there can I?"

Norris is unimpressed. "You know what I mean. Why are you pushing her away?"

I don't really feel like spilling my feelings everywhere, but the words just tumble out of my mouth. "Because I have nothing to offer her."

"What the fuck?" Pete asks.

"There's no future for us," I tell them. Then I make my way across the room, prop my crutches against the wall, and sit down on my bed. It'll take me a minute to arrange the pillows and the foam wedge just right, but it makes it easier to sleep.

My best friend's not letting me off the hook that easily. He stands in front of me, shaking his head. "No future? There's a storm and you lose your shit making sure she knows that you're okay? You gonna do that in six months? A year? Two? How sustainable is that? After Josie finds someone new, are you still gonna hound Will to text her?"

And just like that, the very thin thread of my patience snaps. "Fuck off, Pete. You know better than anyone?—"

"What I know," Pete says, cutting me off, "is that Josie has dealt with real loss. The permanent kind. She knows exactly what it feels like when somebody never makes it home, so this pity party you're throwing yourself needs to fucking end," he says, his patience gone, too. "You can make it home to her every night, asshole. Is it the way you thought it'd be? No. It's not even the way you deserve and that sucks. But you're here and so is she. You love her and she loves you. So why are you pissing away your time? It's not infinite, you know. We never know how much we'll get, so only a fucking dumbass," he says, his words pointed, "would waste it."

For the first time in our friendship, Pete Santos turns his back to me and walks away.

I don't stop him.

I don't say anything.

Because he's right.