Playing Hurt

by Kelly Jamieson

He lowered his voice too. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure out what I have to do. You go back to California and get back to doing what you want to do. I know it’s been hard for you.”

  My face contorted and I opened my mouth…but nothing came out. A cold, hard fist was squeezing my throat.

  Then he turned and walked out, through my living room. I jumped up to follow him, my hands twisting together, my mind spinning. He stopped in the foyer to grab his jacket out of the closet, then turned. Standing in my living room, I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking everywhere.

  “Bye, Jordyn.”

  No. Nooooo. This wasn’t happening. He was leaving. A hot knife stabbed into my heart, and I nearly dropped to the floor, my legs shaking so much.

  I thought he felt the same about me. Obviously I was wrong.

  As the door closed, my world fell apart…again. Only this time there would be no Chase to help me put it back together.

  LOS ANGELES

  APRIL

  “These songs are amazing, Jordyn.”

  My heart warmed at Aaron’s words of praise.

  Aaron and Malik were at my house and had just listened to some of the songs I’d been working on the last few months. Once I’d gotten started, things had flowed. I had more than enough for another album.

  My relationship with Aaron had evolved over the years, but he’d always been involved artistically, helping me curate and develop the content on my albums. I trusted and appreciated his feedback on my music.

  I’d been singing a bit now, after getting the okay from the specialist last week, but he wanted me to take it easy and work with a speech pathologist so I didn’t injure my vocal cords again. We had to put off recording a while longer, but it felt so good to sing, to be able to express my feelings with my music. Because I had a lot of feelings lately.

  “I’d like to get Charli Marna to listen to these,” Aaron said.

  I blinked at Aaron. Charli was another of his clients, a huge star. “Really?”

  “Yeah. That one song—‘Chasing Dreams’—it has a sound that would really work for her.”

  “That’s my song.”

  “Could be big bucks for you, if she likes it.”

  I bit my lip. “No.”

  He grinned. “Okay. Are there any you’re willing to share?”

  My mouth twitched. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Some of these songs were deeply personal, coming not only from what I’d gone through with my voice and not being able to sing, but also from the feelings I’d developed for Chase. Feelings I shouldn’t have developed for him, which made listening to them bittersweet. “I’d be honored if she wanted to record some of my songs.”

  That would be freaking fantastic!

  “I’ll set it up.”

  Malik was moving, eyes closed, clearly playing music in his head, hands tapping on the piano. I watched him, curious. Then he opened his eyes. “Play this one again.” He was referring to “Tempting.”

  I set my fingers on the keyboard and started to sing. “I want it so bad but I know I can’t have it, oh yeah. Can I give up what I want most for what I want now, uh-huh.”

  He broke in with his own lyrics, tapping his hand on the piano. “What more could you ask for? The strong wine? You complain about an unmade bed. I gotta love it though—somebody still speaks for the divine. Powerful, painful, enticing, like hockey. Boy, I tell you, I thought you were rocking. I can’t take the unmade bed, can’t take the puck. I woulda tried to talk I guess I got no luck. Beyond the walls of friends, life is defined. I think of love when I’m in a Chicago state of mind.”

  Excitement and energy filled me, my skin tingling everywhere, because it was good. I kept playing and singing.

  “You have to record it with me,” I said to him with a smile when we finished.

  “Yeah, boo. I’m in.”

  Aaron approved of this idea and told me about some other artists my label had suggested to collaborate with me. When he mentioned Jasper, I curled my lip. “Ugh.”

  “It’s business, Jordyn. He’s huge.”

  I sighed. “I could do it, but why? There are many other people I’d have much better chemistry with. Yeah, it’s a business, but it’s art too.”

  Aaron nodded. “Point taken.”

  We talked more business, about when we could start recording the album I’d had to put on hold. I’d given up the idea of recording it in Chicago now that Chase and I were over. Then Aaron and Malik left, with hugs and kisses, and I was alone in my house.

  I deflated. I’d been putting on an act for everyone since I’d returned to L.A., pretending everything was fine. The news was good about my throat and my voice. I was singing again, getting back on track. I’d done lunches and dinners and business meetings, and even gone to a party, letting everyone know I was back. I smiled and laughed and sometimes I even had fun.

  But there was a hole inside me I could hide from others but not from myself, an aching, gaping, bleeding hole which was where my heart should be. Where Chase should be.

  Spending time with him in Chicago, going on that trip with him, doing everyday normal things like shopping for food, making meals together, sleeping over at each other’s places…going to concerts and having dinner with my parents…watching him play hockey, sitting with the other girlfriends and wives…getting to know him better…how could I not fall for him? He was the best man I’d ever met.

  Except he was fucking stupid and blind about playing hurt.

  Okay, he was the best man I’d ever met, but he wasn’t perfect. Who was? Not me. But even knowing his faults, I still fell in love with him.

  I wandered to the windows at the back of the house, gazing out over the canyon. The view was amazing, part of the reason I’d wanted to rent this house. And yet I found myself missing Chicago. And missing Chase.

  I should be ecstatic that my career was moving forward after a whopping scare and a forced hiatus. This was all I’d wanted. I was happy. And relieved. But I wasn’t ecstatic. Inside, a heavy sadness weighed me down.

  I’d been so honest with him. I’d been my real self with him because I trusted him. I should have known better.

  I wandered back to the coffee table and picked up the remote for the TV. I’d tried to avoid hockey, but I couldn’t. My Condors were out of the playoffs. The Aces had had a playoff spot locked up for a while now, so their last few games of the regular season hadn’t meant much. But the playoffs had started and the Aces were up against Minnesota in the first round. With so many guys out with injuries—they’d even had to call up a new goalie since their backup goalie Boyarov was injured—their chances of winning didn’t look good, and they’d already lost two games.

  The endurance and stamina the players had to have amazed me. Each playoff round could potentially be seven games. It was a grueling road to the Stanley Cup. I was worried about Chase’s wrist, despite his assurances it would be fine. He was crazy to be playing hurt. No, no, playing injured. Like I’d said to Chase, I got that they were all playing hurt at various times—bumps, bruises, strains, and tweaks.

  Hockey players were tough and tried to play through anything. But Chase had a real injury that was putting him at risk.

  Maybe it was a small risk. I didn’t really know. But I hated it. Hated it.

  He’d been playing hurt all year, basically. It made my heart ache for what he’d been through.

  Tonight was game three of the series. The Aces hadn’t won a game yet. If they lost again tonight they’d be facing elimination. Chase’s dream of another Stanley Cup would be just a dream.

  I wanted him to have that. He wanted to win. He worked so hard. I knew how frustrated he’d been all season that he hadn’t played as well as he could, that he hadn’t contributed. I knew he felt he was letting down his team and the fans. I knew how much he wanted it.

 
; Okay, so he was stupid and blind about putting himself at risk…but I had to admit that I admired him for his determination and his loyalty to the team. And to his fans. He wouldn’t be the man I’d fallen in love with if he’d been selfish and put himself first. I thought he should put himself first, but he was putting the team first. And that made me love him even more.

  But I was still worried about him.

  So, so worried.

  I curled up on my couch, hugging a cushion, watching the game with my heart lodged in my throat. The two teams traded goals, with the score tied one all at the end of the first period, and three–three at the end of the second.

  Chase wasn’t getting a lot of ice time. That had to bother him.

  The team needed him. And yet…they needed him when he was at his best. He had to know that. But he was so determined to contribute, to be part of this.

  It was near the end of the third period, the score still tied. Chase was on the ice and had possession of the puck in the Aces’ end. He started out, about to cross the blue line…but one of the Minnesota players came up behind him and literally stole the puck away from him.

  “And Hartman just had his pocket picked!” the TV announcer crowed.

  “Oh my God.” I watched in dismay.

  It all happened so fast. Chase turned and tried to recover the puck, and it looked like he could get it, but he…didn’t. He appeared to hesitate and in that split second the Minnesota player turned, skated in alone on Aces goalie Brent Stoyko and flicked the puck over his shoulder and into the net.

  The Minnesota crowd went crazy.

  I stared in horror.

  The camera zoomed in on the celebrating Minnesota players, then switched to the Aces bench, where they sat dejected. Chase dropped onto the bench, head bent, shoulders slumped.

  “Where the hell was your defense?” I shouted at the Aces through my TV, then closed my eyes. No yelling.

  How much time was left? It had been less than two minutes last time I’d noticed. Yes, they’d announced the last minute of play, so…when the clock reappeared on the screen, my heart dropped to my toes. Thirty-two seconds.

  The horn sounded to end the game. Another loss for the Aces.

  They weren’t out of the playoffs yet, but they had an uphill road to make it through this first round. They’d have to win the next four games in a row.

  Chapter 21

  Chase

  MINNEAPOLIS

  I sat in the dressing room, the atmosphere somber and heavy. Nobody was saying much and that wasn’t a good sign. We were a tight group usually, able to talk through things and lighten the mood even when we’d lost. Not that we didn’t take things seriously, we did, but this feeling was different. Painful.

  Maybe it was just me. I was blaming myself for this loss, when we’d badly needed a win. I kept reliving that moment in my mind. I couldn’t believe I let that happen. And when I’d tried to recover the puck, I’d hesitated because I was afraid I was going to hurt my wrist if I dug for it.

  I was ashamed. Embarrassed. And so fucking angry…at myself.

  Chin on my chest, my elbows rested on my knees, hands dangling. My throat felt thick and my gut churned. I kept swallowing. I didn’t want to look at anyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to any of the sports reporters who’d be swarming in here.

  I pulled a long breath into my burning lungs and let it out.

  I was done.

  I started taking off my equipment. Helmet. I wanted to hurl it across the room, but I refused to give in to that loss of control. Jersey. Shoulder pads. I bent over to unlace my skates and pull them off.

  I felt the looks the other guys were giving me. Tension pulsed in the room. My eyes burning, I focused on getting the hell out of there. Some guys were stretching, but today, I didn’t have a single fuck to give about stretching or staying strong. I was done.

  I went to Tony, the head athletic therapist. The trainers were busy gathering up the equipment, bustling around the visitors’ dressing room. “I’m done.” I said it again. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I need to have that surgery.”

  He set a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Yeah. Good decision.”

  Fuck. My insides were on fire. My legs felt stiff and clumsy. We went to talk to Coach.

  “I feel like I’m letting everyone down,” I said, barely able to meet his eyes. “I wanted to keep playing to contribute, but in the end I let you down anyway.”

  “Chase, you know that a loss is never all on one person. We play as a team. We win as a team. We lose as a team.”

  I ducked my head in agreement, but he was just saying those clichés to make me feel better.

  A while later I was on the bus to the hotel with everyone else. I slumped in a seat in the back of the bus, in the dark. The mood was still sober, the bus quiet.

  Brick dropped into the seat beside me. “You okay, man?”

  I took in his expression—genuine concern. If he was pissed at me, he was hiding it.

  “Not really.”

  Brick, to his credit, didn’t push me. He just sat there.

  “I have to have surgery on my wrist.”

  He straightened. “Huh?”

  “You know it’s been bugging me for a while now.”

  “Yeah. Shit, Chaser. What’s wrong?”

  I gave him a short version of events. “I was trying to wait until the season’s over. But tonight…Well, it’s obvious I’m not helping the team. In fact, I’m hurting the team.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Thanks, man, but yeah, it is.” I sighed. “You know what’s even worse? Jordyn tried to tell me I needed to have the surgery, and I blew her off. Didn’t want to listen to her. Got pissed at her for interfering and trying to tell me what to do and basically broke up with her over it. And now this. What a fucking idiot I am.”

  “Shit.” Brick rubbed his face. “You got me there.”

  I gave an amused snort. “Right? You can’t even argue that.”

  “That’s why you broke up? That’s why she’s back in L.A.?”

  “Yeah. And the only reason I know she’s there is from her Instagram.”

  “You sound more busted up about that than about the surgery.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Just let those words sink in. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  “Things got serious with you two?”

  “I guess.” Hell, I was so confused.

  “You know how lucky you were to be with her, right?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Brick nodded. “Well, I got the feeling she felt pretty lucky to be with you.”

  I turned to him, my face scrunching up. “Really?”

  He shrugged. “Just a gut feeling, that night at the party. She looked really into you.” He paused. “You know…it wasn’t your fault we lost.”

  “Yeah. It was.” Coach had tried to say the same thing, but I knew the truth.

  “Don’t fucking blame yourself, okay?”

  I nodded, staring out the window into the darkness, the bus slowing in front of our hotel.

  I was done with hockey. I was done with Jordyn. What the fuck did I have left? Not much.

  I went to my room alone. Tomorrow I’d fly back to Chicago, while the rest of the team stayed here for game four.

  I turned on the lamp on the desk. Then I took off my suit jacket and my tie, tugged my shirt out of my pants, and stretched out on the bed. My phone sat next to me. I eyed it. For some reason I wanted to pick it up and find Jordyn…

  Man, I’d thought it hurt when I moved my wrist the wrong way. When Dr. Engram had pushed on that spot and sent me through the roof. But that was nothing compared to how I’d felt walking away from Jordyn that night.

  I’d been so
pissed off when she’d tried to push me into having the surgery.

  That was what happened when I got too involved with people. Everyone had expectations. My parents only approved when I did what they wanted—played hockey and played it well. The one time I’d tried to quit, life had been hell. When I’d been going out with Amanda and I’d been drafted by the Islanders, she’d pushed me to turn pro right away, even if it meant playing in the minor leagues. I’d known it hadn’t been the right thing to do, and I’d decided to go back to the Spitfires in the OHL for another year, knowing it would make me a better player in the NHL eventually. And she’d been so disappointed in me she’d dumped me because of that.

  I should have known this would happen with Jordyn—we’d get involved; she’d get all mad because I wasn’t doing what she wanted me to do. People only cared about me when I was perfect. When I did what they wanted.

  I tried to be perfect. But I wasn’t. I had a fucked-up wrist, and I’d been playing shitty, and the team and the fans all knew it, and they were giving up on me too. Everyone had been criticizing me and judging me, and they didn’t even know the whole story.

  I wasn’t going to be manipulated by guilt and shame and having love withdrawn. That was why I’d walked out, because I’d known that was coming.

  My breathing became rough; my hands curled into fists. My face tightened and heat flushed through my body. Intense pressure rose inside me, hot and throbbing.

  I knew better than to get involved with someone. To care. Maybe I’d been all starstruck by the fact that it was Jordyn Banks, the gorgeous, sexy, talented pop singer I’d had a crush on from afar, and I’d let my guard down. I’d fallen in love with her, goddammit.

  But hell…I was miserable without her. They could cut off my fucking arm and I’d still miss her more.

  It was more than just the image—the sexy pop star. It was her heart, her humor, her unaffected, unassuming manner. She bowled and played air hockey and drank beer. She was afraid of candles. She lost her keys, her phone…she’d even lost her car once, when she forgot to note where she parked it. Sometimes she was a bit of a drama queen, and some might think she was a ditzy blonde, but I knew better. She was smart and talented and cared about people, even the fans she’d let down by having to postpone her album. She’d come to the hospital with me that day, and she’d been awesome.