21. Spencer

CHAPTER 21

SPENCER

O ur last game was a nail-biter, down to the wire.

We came out strong, for an explosive first period, two goals for Rodriguez and one for me. Second period, I scored again, but our opponents had rallied. They were out for blood. Their defense kept me busy while they scored two goals, and then one more in the final seconds.

We went into third period with a slim one-point lead, which we lost to a long shot from just past the neutral zone. It was a shot that never should've gone in, never should've been made, even, but somehow, it flew . It sailed past our goalie like a bolt of greased lightning, hit the back of the net, and bounced out again. Enrique bellowed his fury.

"No way. No way! "

We focused and fought hard, but our foes fought back harder. We held them off into overtime, kept the score four to four, but six minutes into overtime, they got the puck. I gave frantic chase, and so did Rodriguez, but they stormed our defense, swarming our goal. For one hopeful second, I got my stick on the puck, broke it back our way, but all in vain. Their center man swooped in and made a slapshot, and it whizzed past our goalie — He shoots. He scores .

That was the end of our bid for the cup. We'd come close, so close, and gone out with a bang, but a loss was a loss. It still felt like shit.

I sat on the bench when the action was done, a season of aches settling into my body. My back hurt. My legs hurt, especially that right one. My scar felt all tender where the blade had gone in. I kneaded it, winced, then kept on kneading.

"You played well," said Coach Nelson. "This wasn't our year. But next year, I'm thinking?—"

I tuned him out. He wasn't who I needed. Last year, when we crapped out shy of the playoffs, Izzy and Leon had invaded the locker room. They'd staged a whole kidnapping, dragged me out on the town, and by the end of the night, I'd almost stopped hurting.

I looked up, half-hopeful, but the door stayed closed. No sounds of scuffling rose from the hall. Of course they weren't coming. Why would they be? Everything Izzy yelled in my face had been true, the way I broke up with her, my dumbass excuses. My stubborn refusal to tell her the truth. I had put the blame on her. I had been a douchebag. And I hadn't reached out to her to set it to rights.

"You just gonna sit there?" said Enrique.

I grunted and set to unlacing my skates. Would it have been so hard to tell her the truth? Look, it's not your fault. I'm in stupid love. I know you don't want that, and that's okay. I just need a minute, you know, to cool off.

It would've stung saying that, a blow to my ego, but my ego could take it. Our friendship might not. Izzy had promised we'd still be friends, but everyone said that — yeah, sure, I'll call you, but they never did.

Leon hadn't talked to me much either since Izzy moved out. He claimed he was busy, but he was Izzy's friend first. It wouldn't surprise me if he ditched me too.

Dan plopped down on my other side, across from Enrique. He elbowed me hard.

"You're coming out with us, right?"

"Nah, I think?—"

"He's coming out with us." He pumped his fist at Enrique. "Come on, get your gear off. We're gonna get laid! "

I snorted into my helmet. "You're not exactly my type."

"I'm heartbroken," said Dan. "But you know what I meant. C'mon, we came within one game of the Stanley Cup. Everyone's gonna want us, and we don't have training tomorrow. You're coming out with us, so hurry your ass up."

I thought about refusing, but I was all out of fight. I stripped my gear off and hit the showers, and checked my phone out of habit. Nothing from Izzy. Leon had texted earlier to wish me good luck, but nothing since then. Had he watched the game?

I jammed my phone in my pocket and met up with the team. We headed out to some club I hadn't been to before, not really what I'd call my kind of place. It was sparkly, upscale, with a "VIP loft." We ended up there, peering down from above. Watching the dance floor and guzzling champagne.

"This is awesome," said Enrique. "You been to this place?"

I shook my head no and sipped my champagne. It tasted too sweet, like liquid candy.

"My ex wanted to come here, but, man, I don't dance."

"So why didn't you learn?"

"She wasn't the one."

My chest tightened at that. I drank more champagne. I didn't know if I believed in the one, but I sure as hell believed in missed chances. I should've known with Izzy. She was so great. I should've known I'd fall for her and done it all different. Told her ‘let's date' and not ‘be my good luck charm.' She might still not have wanted me, but we'd still be best friends.

"Hey, is that Nash? Is that Spencer Nash?"

"And Enrique Alvarez! Man, you guys suck!"

I slouched down in my seat, rolling my eyes. Enrique surged up.

"Who said that?"

" I did," came a voice from across the loft. Enrique lurched toward it.

"Ignore them," I groaned.

"You had a shot and you blew it. What was that goal?" A big man stood up and lumbered toward us. "He was practically in the neutral zone, and where were you guys? Where was your defense? You suck. You suck ."

"Cool it," said Dan, but no one seemed to hear him. Hoots and jeers rose from the tables around us. Enrique was yelling, and Rodriguez, and Keller. Half the VIP loft was up on their feet.

I stood up. "I'm out of here."

"You need to retire." The big man jabbed his finger right in my face. I brushed it aside, but Enrique steamed in. He took a swing, and the rumble was on. I backed away disgusted, hating this night. Was this what it had come to, this petty bullshit? Here I was in my thirties, and this was my life? What did I have going on besides work?

Dan barreled past me, brandishing a chair. Two big-bodied bouncers stormed up the stairs. They waded into the fray, corralling brawlers. I pressed my back to the wall to stay out of the way. I didn't want to be part of this, didn't want to be here. These weren't my friends. This was a work party and these were my co-workers, and if this was all I had, what was the point? What had I accomplished? What was my life?

If I'd come here with Leon, we'd be laughing this off. Izzy might be throwing a peanut or two. I'd grab her wrist — quit that — and drag her away. We'd end up out back helpless with laughter, kissing against the side of my truck.

Some dick charged up on me, going in for the headbutt. I grabbed him hard by the ears and flung him away. His buddy saw me do it and threw a wild punch. My fist was faster, bang up his nose. He staggered into the crowd, toppling fighters like skittles, and I took advantage of the opening to get the hell out.

The cops pulled up in front as I ducked out back, and I sat in my truck and watched to see what would happen. Mostly, I wanted to make sure everyone was okay. But part of me wanted to rub my face in my mess. This was what I had, now I'd lost Izzy. This job. These jerks. This childish nonsense. If she'd distracted me, I should've thanked her. But she hadn't, not really. I'd distracted myself.

I watched as Dan and Enrique were led out in cuffs, along with the big guy who'd started it and a handful of others. They deserved it, the lot of them, but I followed them to the cop shop. I would be there if my friends needed bail.

I was still waiting hours later when Coach Nelson showed up. He spotted me waiting and fixed me with a scowl.

"Not you as well?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm just waiting in case they need bail. No one's telling me anything, so?—"

"They're letting everyone go once they sign some papers. They'll get slapped with a fine, but that's about it." Nelson sat down beside me. "Were you there? What happened?"

I let out a sigh. "I was there, yeah. Some jerk started heckling. He was yelling stuff at us, retire, you suck . I told the guys to ignore him, but you know how it is. They were high on adrenaline, salty from losing. This jerk came in swinging and that's all she wrote."

" You got out," said Nelson.

I only shrugged. I might've joined in, had I not been so tired. So sick of living like I'd never left college.

"I'll deal with this," said Nelson. "You go on home." He got up and headed for the front desk.

I did as he said and trudged back to my truck. All I could think of was what he'd said two games back, the night I'd gone home and ruined things with Izzy. You're so sure you're gonna lose, so sure you're a loser, you can't help but picture it, and then we do lose . Was that what I'd done that night with Izzy, been so sure she'd dump me I'd dumped myself? All she had said to me was We need to talk . I'd been the one to say we were done. She'd looked almost puzzled, and I'd thought I'd just beat her. Taken the words clean out of her mouth. But what if she hadn't been planning to leave me at all?

I slumped back in the driver's seat, tired beyond words. Had I blown it with Izzy for no good reason? Would we still be together if I'd only listened?

I clenched my fists hard and thumped them down on the wheel. No. No, we wouldn't be. Life wasn't like that. We need to talk only ever meant we're over .

But, still, what if?

What if it hadn't?