Chapter 19

Asher

The sound of seagulls screeching outside my window drags me out of yet another restless slumber. I sit up in bed, running a hand through my disheveled hair as the reality of my situation sets in. My eyes dart to the clock on my nightstand, and I curse under my breath. Shit, I'm late for practice again. But this time, there's no Elle to blame it on.

I jump out of bed, the cold hardwood floor jolting me awake even further. My heart races as I throw on my workout clothes – a Charleston Renegades t-shirt and black athletic shorts. The red and black colors I love only add to the pressure weighing down on me.

I can't afford to let my team down. They're counting on me to help them win the Championship Cup. Instead, I’m consumed by thoughts of Elle, her scent still lingering on my pillowcase like an intoxicating perfume.

Fuck.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. My usually bright green eyes seem dull and hollow, haunted by memories that refuse to fade.

With no time for breakfast or coffee, I rush out of my apartment, my stomach growling in protest. As I pass Love Beach on my way into the city for work, it’s buzzing with life. It should be a beautiful sight, but all I can think about is how much I've screwed up.

I get to the rink and into my gear in record time.

"Hey, Jet!" one of my teammates calls out as I hurry toward the rink. "You alright?"

"Fine, just running late," I respond, forcing a smile. Inside, I feel anything but fine. The thought of Elle fills every corner of my mind.

"Damn, dude, you look like hell," he says, giving me a concerned look. "Get some rest, man?"

"Will do," I say, though I know that sleep won't come easily tonight either.

As I make my way to the rink, I think of how different things were just days ago – when Elle was still in my life, when her laughter filled the air and her touch ignited a fire within me like nothing else ever could. But now, all that's left is an empty space in my heart, a void that seems to grow larger with each passing moment.

"Focus, Asher," I tell myself as I step onto the ice, determined not to let my personal life interfere with my professional one. But deep down, I know that until I face the truth about my feelings for Elle, I'll never be able to give the game – or myself – everything I have.

"Alright, guys, let's do this!" Coach shouts. The Charleston Renegades roar in response, but it feels hollow, like a sound echoing through an empty chamber. This time, hockey isn't enough to fill the void.

I skate across the ice and wonder if I've lost Elle forever.

Practice continues, but my mind refuses to focus on the game. Each time I try to concentrate on a play or pass, memories of Elle come flooding back. The way her hair smelled like the ocean breeze, and the sparkle in her eyes when she laughed. The image of our last time together, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, plays on an endless loop in my head.

"Jet, you're lagging!" Dakota calls out as he skates past me. I snap back to reality, realizing I'm falling behind. My heart sinks. I've never been one to disappoint my team, but now I'm struggling just to keep up.

I push myself harder, trying to make up for lost ground. It doesn’t matter how fast I skate or how fiercely I attack each play, it's clear that something is missing. I feel incomplete.

"Come on, Jet! Get your head in the game!" Coach shouts from the sidelines, his face a cross between one of frustration and concern. He knows better than anyone how important this season is for the Renegades, and he can see I'm not playing at my best.

"Damn it," I curse under my breath, slamming my stick against the ice. I know I need to pull my head out of my ass, but it feels impossible with the weight of my emotions bearing down on me.

"Take a breather, Asher," Coach orders, recognizing that I'm only hurting the team by continuing to play in my current state.

"Thanks, Coach," I say, grateful for the opportunity to collect myself. As I skate off the ice and take a seat on the bench, I feel defeated. It's clear that if I want to be the player my team needs me to be, I have to find a way to resolve the turmoil inside me.

But what if she's already moved on? It’s been a week. Surely, she hasn’t. What if she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore? The thought terrifies me, but I know I can't keep going like this. I need to reach out to Elle, even if it means risking my heart in the process.

"Jet, are you good to go?" Coach asks after a few minutes, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yeah, Coach," I reply, taking a deep breath and bracing myself to make a conscious change. "I'm ready."

As practice finally comes to an end, I retreat to the locker room. My body aches from the physical exertion, but it's my heart that feels the most battered and bruised. I take an extra-long time in the shower to let the team file out and give me space. Then I dry off and slump onto the bench. I pull out my phone, Elle's contact name glaring back at me.

"Come on, Asher. You can do this," I mutter to myself, trying to summon the courage to make the call. A cacophony of doubts and fears swirl in my mind, each one louder than the last.

"Hey, Jet, you alright?" I glance up to see concern etched across Kaleb’s face. I’m getting tired of everyone asking me that damn question. Yeah, I know they’re all my hockey family and care for me, like I do them, but come on. I fucked up. I don’t need everyone to know that.

"Uh, yeah, just... thinking," I reply, forcing a weak smile. He nods, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before continuing to his locker. It looks like he’s the last of my teammates here. Good, now I can be alone.

"Okay, let's do this," I mumble and take a deep breath, my thumb hovering over Elle's contact name. The thought of her voice squeezes my aching heart, but I know I have to face the possibility of rejection if I want any chance at reconciliation.

"Damn it, Asher. Just call her," I chastise myself, feeling my resolve strengthen. With one final inhale, I tap on Elle's contact and hold the phone to my ear, my heart pounding.

The ringing in my ear feels like an eternity, each tone heightening the tension building within me. I know I need to apologize and express my true feelings, even if it may not change Elle's mind. My fingers tap anxiously against my thigh, betraying my inner turmoil.

"Come on... come on..." I whisper under my breath, as if willing her to pick up.

Hey, this is Elle. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you when I can. Her voicemail greeting chimes through the phone, and my heart sinks.

"Elle, hey..." I begin, trying to maintain a casual tone, but the words catch in my throat. With a large inhale in and exhale out, I continue, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that happened between us."

The locker room around me fades into the background as I pour out my emotions. "I miss you, Elle. I miss your laugh, your touch, the way you'd chew on your thumb when you were deep in thought. It was... it was beautiful."

My chest tightens as I contemplate the possibility of never being with her again. "I understand if you don't want to see me, but I just had to tell you how much I care about you. You mean the world to me, and I wish I could go back and make things right. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know."

"Anyway, I hope... I hope you're doing well, and... maybe we can talk soon?" I say, my voice laced with a rare uncertainty. There's a brief pause before I add, "Goodbye, Elle."

It's all out in the open now, my heartache etched into every word of the voicemail. As I hang up the phone, I’m relieved yet still uncertain. I don’t know if my heartfelt message is enough to mend the rift between us or if it will only serve as a reminder of what's been lost.