Here We Go

by Shannon Stacey

  “Kristen, don’t do this. Please.”

  “I spent my whole childhood waiting for scraps of attention from my own father and brother. I won’t do it anymore.”

  “Scraps?” He stood, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit, Kristen. You’re not being fair.”

  “It’s how I feel.”

  “You always knew I was going back to Baltimore,” he said as she stood, not wanting him looming over her. “I never gave you any reason to believe I wouldn’t.”

  “I…sometimes things change.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d fallen in love with him and had hoped he would love her enough to choose her.

  “What hasn’t changed is that I’ve worked for months to rehab my shoulder so I could get back out on the ice. I didn’t see this coming, and it does change things. But not enough that I’ll just turn my back on my team and my career like that.”

  “Then nothing really changed at all.” She was going to break down soon. She could feel it building in her, like the tide pulling away before the tsunami crashed over her. And she didn’t want him to be here when the big wave hit. “Go, Will. Don’t make it harder.”

  His jaw flexed, and his hands were clenched, but after a few excruciating seconds, he exhaled slowly. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this. I have to go, Kristen. I can’t not go back. But we’re not done.”

  Her throat had tightened beyond the ability for her to speak, so she watched him in silence as he put his coat and boots on and yanked open her door. But he turned back a final time, giving her a long look filled with raw emotion. “We are not done.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she sank to the couch and flopped over on her side, sobs wracking her body. It didn’t matter what he said, because he was still leaving.

  And they were done.

  12

  Will woke up in his own bed, and his first thought was of Kristen. His last thought as he fell asleep was of Kristen. And he’d thought about her almost every minute between. Waking up after almost no sleep in his hotel room. The plane ride home. Walking into his condo.

  He’d been haunted by her—by the pain that was all he could feel right now. He’d sent her several text messages and left her two voicemails. She hadn’t responded, which only cut deeper.

  It was tempting to believe he hadn’t meant anything to her after all, but he knew that would be a lie. She was in love with him. She just couldn’t get past the resentments of her childhood and the damage Lamont Burke had done.

  Today, he was rejoining his team. A full practice. A final check-in for his shoulder. Tomorrow, a home game. He was back.

  And it felt empty. He felt empty.

  A few hours later, he sat on the bench and, after rehydrating, watched the second line do their thing. Physically, he was in damn good shape. His shoulder was good, and the time in Boston had gotten his legs back under him. There was no reason he wouldn’t be 100 percent for tomorrow’s game.

  Mitchell, who’d been the left wing to his right wing for several years, sat next to him. “You’re playing pretty hard for a practice. Got something to prove?”

  What he had was a lot of emotional turmoil he didn’t know what to do with, but he shouldn’t be bringing it out on the ice with him. Definitely not with his teammates, but not with their opponents tomorrow, either. The last thing he wanted to do was make sloppy mistakes or lose his shit and accidentally hurt somebody.

  “Just glad to be back,” he said, since Mitchell was his teammate, not his therapist.

  “How are things going with Burke’s sister?” Mitchell shook his head and didn’t wait for an answer. “Did not see that one coming, man. Can’t lie.”

  “I don’t know,” he lied, because he didn’t want to get into it today. Or ever, really, though at some point it would have to be said, and it would have to be before Erik Burke rolled into town. But not today. “I’m not sure it’ll survive the distance.”

  “That’s tough, man. Hopefully Burke will be a professional about it and leave that shit off the ice, where it belongs.”

  Will nodded, but he didn’t really care. Burke could high stick him, take him to the ground, and beat him bloody on the ice—it still wouldn’t hurt him as much as Kristen had.

  He knew what to do with the physical injuries. Grit his teeth and play through the pain. Ice. Heat. Very carefully monitored pain meds when necessary. Hot tubs and massages. Sometimes, like the shoulder, they could only be waited out.

  But he had no idea what do with a fucking broken heart. Based on how he felt right now, none of the broken hearts he thought he’d suffered in his younger days had been the real thing, and he had no coping skills for it.

  He did his best to keep himself in check for the remainder of practice. He did everything right. He cleared his final medical checkup with the team doctor. But he still couldn’t feel the rush of triumph at a successful return from injury.

  He showered then texted Kristen and got no response. He ate a meal because he had to. He stared at the television for a while because he had nothing else to do, and then he went to bed at the same time he always went to bed before a game, but he stared at the ceiling.

  He went to sleep thinking of Kristen and woke again thinking of her. He felt stuck in some kind of dark, emotional Groundhog Day situation, and it sucked. But he got up and showered.

  Tonight he’d be in front of the Harriers hometown crowd, and they were going to be screaming his name. He owed it to them and to his team to put Kristen out of his mind somehow—if it was even possible—and give it everything he had.

  It was time to suck it up and do his job.

  Kristen glanced at her phone when it chimed, but chose to ignore it when she saw Erik’s name on the screen. She didn’t want to talk to her brother. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, though she was going to have to get over that pretty quickly if she wanted to find a new job so she could continue to eat.

  Thanks to her savings, she wasn’t in crisis mode yet, so she was giving herself time to wallow—three days so far. It annoyed her to even be wallowing, since she’d known long before she even met Will that she couldn’t compete with hockey. The game came first, always. But since she was sad, she was allowing herself to go all in on the wallow, which included avoiding people who might try to help her feel better, like her brother.

  When she heard a key in the lock, she groaned and dropped her head against the back of the couch. She really should take Erik’s key away from him.

  “You are home,” he said after he’d let himself in. He kicked off his boots and hung his coat up. “I wasn’t sure, since you won’t answer my text messages or answer my calls.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We just got back from Montreal, and Dad’s been sending me text messages about you. I figured if you were bad enough so he not only noticed but is worried, it must be bad. And the more you ignored me, the more worried I got.”

  “I’m fine. Go away. You must have game tapes to watch or something.”

  “I’m not leaving you like this, Kris.”

  “Like what? Sitting in my own damn apartment, watching some television and relaxing?”

  “Yeah, I hate to point it out, but the TV’s not even on. And you’re in your bad-day sweatpants with your bad-day hair.”

  She actually laughed, which she hadn’t done in days. “Bad-day hair?”

  “You wear ratty sweatpants and just ball your hair up in one of those puffy elastic things when you’re having a shitty day.” He dropped into the chair. “Also you have red eyes and a red nose, and your face is so puffy you look like you’re having an allergic reaction to something.”

  “It warms my heart you could take the time out of your day to stop by and cheer me up,” she said, tossing a coaster at his head. Of course he had great reflexes and ducked his head easily to the side to avoid it.

  Fucking hockey players.

  “Talk to me,” he said. She ignored him, but he just settled himself a lit
tle deeper in the chair and folded his arms. “I’m not leaving here until you do.”

  “You’ll leave eventually. You have practice. Games. Workouts. Whatever it is. You’ll have to do something hockey-related. You always do.”

  “So this is about Cross.” He rolled his eyes. “Or Will. Whatever you want to call him.”

  Hearing his name cut through the numbness that had taken over Kristen once she’d smashed some things in anger and then cried herself out. Being numb had been working out for her so far, but apparently that was over.

  “Maybe I’m sitting here in my bad day sweatpants, apparently not watching television, because I not only blew up my promotion but also quit my job.”

  “Maybe don’t forget you’re talking to your brother here. I know you, and this isn’t how you’d deal with losing your job, no matter how focused you were on that promotion. Like I said, when even Dad—”

  “I don’t want to hear about Dad right now,” she yelled, tossing a throw pillow at him. He dodged that, too. “I don’t want to hear about hockey at all, but I definitely don’t want to hear about the asshole who’s probably only concerned about his daughter because whatever’s bothering her might be something that would distract his son from his game.”

  “Have you heard from Cross?” She noticed he didn’t bother denying it.

  “A couple of voicemails and a few text messages. He misses me.” And missing him was so hard, she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully live her life again. It felt empty without him.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “No,” she snapped. “Because he doesn’t miss me enough, does he?”

  “He’s got a job to do, though. A career, and a team that depends on him. Just because he has to be in Baltimore doesn’t mean it has to be over.”

  “If you’re going to sound like Dad and try to explain why hockey is more important than me but not to worry because I still matter even if I don’t feel like I do, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

  “Here’s the thing, though, Kris. Hockey didn’t make Dad an asshole. He’s...just an asshole.” He held up his hand. “Yes, I know he and I are close. I love the guy, and I appreciate everything he’s done for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see how he’s wired. It’s a shitty thing to say out loud, but even if I sucked at sports, he was always going to put me above you. Because you’re a girl.”

  He wasn’t wrong, and Kristen blew out a sharp breath. “I’ve about had my fill of misogynistic douchebags.”

  “Hockey’s my life, and Dad made it his life, too. It sucks we made it your life, too, but that’s not the game’s fault. That’s Dad and, yes, me. Maybe if Mom...”

  He let the words trail away, and Kristen didn’t bother to rebut them. They both knew it wouldn’t have mattered if their mother hadn’t died. Lamont hadn’t valued his wife’s opinion any more than he valued his daughter’s.

  “It almost sounds like you want me to end up with the infamous Cross Lecroix,” she joked, hoping to lighten the mood even if she didn’t feel it. Her brother wasn’t going to leave until he thought she’d be okay, so she needed to pretend to be okay if she wanted to get back to staring at the blank TV screen.

  Erik didn’t even smile. “I hate that fucking guy, but when you were with him, you were the happiest I’ve ever seen you. There was nothing fake about that.”

  “No,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “There was nothing fake about my feelings for him.”

  “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t faking, either.” She shook her head. “So, what happened?”

  “Hockey happened.” She sighed and picked at her nail polish. There wasn’t much left of it. “Hockey always happens.”

  “What does that mean, exactly? You didn’t even know he played hockey when you first hooked up, but you knew before you started feeling shit for him.” He paused, giving her a hard look. “Tell me you didn’t give him an ultimatum.”

  “It’s not out of the question for a guy his age, who’s accomplished what he has, to consider retiring.”

  “Kris.” He shook his head. “A guy with a career like his isn’t going to retire when he’s at a low point. He’s going to wait until he’s back at full strength—maybe even make another run at the Cup before he hangs up his skates, or it’ll just look like he couldn’t make it back.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “And you framed it as a choice between you and his career?”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Kristen snapped, her patience for the conversation at an end. “Of course you’ll support him choosing his career since you chose yours over Andie, and she didn’t even ask you to retire. She just wanted you to make time for her when you weren’t on the ice.”

  When some of the color drained from Erik’s face and his jaw clenched, guilt drowned out her anger. “I’m sorry, Erik.”

  It had been almost three months since the woman Kristen had honestly believed would be her sister-in-law someday had gotten sick of fighting for Erik’s attention and walked away. And Lamont hadn’t helped. He fought against anything that distracted his son, and he wasn’t happy unless Erik was preparing for a game, playing a game, or analyzing everything he’d done wrong in a game in order to be ready for the next game.

  “You want to keep it that real, Kris? I don’t think Cross chose hockey over you. You chose it for him. You told yourself the entire time you were with him that he would eventually choose the game over you, so you wouldn’t even listen to him unless he said he’d quit.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Have you responded to his text messages?” He leaned forward in the chair when she clenched her jaw and refused to answer. “I didn’t think so. You boxed him into a corner and when he wasn’t willing to just drop everything—to walk away from his team, his contract, and his fucking future Hall-of-Fame career—just because you like having him around, you told yourself you were right all along and shoved him out the door.”

  “I wanted to be first,” she yelled, and she stood as the anger swelled to drown out the sorrow again. “I wanted to be more important to him than hockey.”

  Erik stood too, taking a step toward her. “Did you tell him you’re in love with him?”

  She bit into her bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling, as tears spilled over her heated cheeks. Dammit, she wasn’t all cried out after all. Her throat was so tight, she wasn’t sure she could talk, so she just shook her head.

  He wrapped his arms around her, holding tight, and for a few moments she just listened to her brother’s heartbeat and let the rhythm of his breathing calm her.

  “You need to tell him,” he said quietly, with his cheek resting on top of her bad-day hair bun.

  “It’s too late.” She buried her face against his chest, wishing for things it was definitely too late to be wishing for.

  “You better not be wiping your nose on my shirt. And it’s not too late. He’s still reaching out, Kris. You need to be willing to reach out, too. To compromise. As much as it kills me to admit it, he and I are both looking at a few more years at the most. You’re going to give up a lifetime of love with him because of a few years of hockey and travel? He’s in Baltimore, not California. It’s like an hour and a half flight. Or you move to Baltimore for a few years. You can make it work if he’s worth it. And he’ll make it work because he knows you’re worth it.”

  “Or maybe he could get traded to the Marauders,” she added.

  She actually felt his full-body shudder. “I’ll miss you when you move to Baltimore, sis.”

  Laughing, she backed out of his arms, using the sleeves of her baggy sweatshirt to mop at her face. “I don’t know, Erik.”

  “This whole hockey or me thing? That’s your damage, Kris—done by Dad and by me—not his. Don’t put Cross in that box with us without giving him a chance to prove he can love you and play the game.” The muscles along his jaw flexed a few times, and she thought she glimpsed a sheen of moisture in his eyes before he bl
inked. “Give it a chance, Kris. Trust me, you’ll always be sorry if you slam that door without even trying.”

  Andie. The sadness and regret was clear in Erik’s eyes, and Kristen was sorry she’d brought her into the conversation. But her brother kept his emotions so locked down as a rule, she hadn’t realized until now just how sorry he was he let Andie walk away.

  “Has he reached out to you today?” Erik asked, and she nodded, even though she didn’t see the significance. “Yeah, so he’s preparing to go out on his home ice tonight for the first time in months, and he has to prove he’s back to a hundred percent against a team with a bad habit of teeing off on opponents’ known weak spots, but he’s thinking about you. Reaching out to you because you’re what’s on his mind. That means something, Kris.”

  She nodded, glancing at her phone where Will’s texts and voicemails waited, unanswered. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it in the shower,” he suggested, and the exaggerated wrinkling of his nose made her laugh.

  He left a few minutes later, after she promised to clean herself up and eat a proper meal since the empty Little Debbie wrappers littering the coffee table had ratted her out.

  But she didn’t get in the shower after he left. Instead, she returned to the couch and picked up her phone. She didn’t feel strong enough to hear Will’s voice at the moment, so she didn’t listen to the voicemail. Instead, she pulled up the text messages and read through them.

  Then she took a deep breath and finally responded.

  I miss you, too. Have a good game tonight.

  There was no response, not even the little dots to tell her he was typing, and she looked at the clock and realized he had to be in the locker room, gearing up and going through whatever pregame rituals he had because it was almost game time.

  She was halfway to the shower when it chimed.

  Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow. Please answer.

  “Cross, the Marauders are on your schedule for next week. Do you think your relationship with his sister will have any effect on the rivalry between you and Erik Burke?”